Page 191 of Daughter of the Serpent

The wall he’d rebuilt brick by brick, just now, right in front of her.

The mask of stone that had once slipped - but now sealed him away again. For good.

Her chest caved with the weight of it.

Her knees threatened to buckle, her heart collapsing inward as the realization took root.

He wasn’t coming back.

And suddenly she knew she couldn’t stay.

Not when every second threatened to pull her under, could shatter her whole.

So, she drank him in like breath - knowing it would be her last. Every line of him, every scar, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. She burned it into her memory, seared it onto her heart where he already lived, where he’d always live. Even if she never saw him again.

The man she loved.

The man she couldn’t trust.

He stood cloaked in moonlight, strands of his raven hair dancing in the breeze. His eyes locked on hers - fierce, unwavering - as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along. As if he knew it would end like this.

And for the briefest heartbeat, she saw it: a flicker in his gaze.

An aching grief. Regret.

Maybe even love.

But it didn’t matter.

Not now.

Not anymore.

Her throat tightened. Her limbs heavy and weighted. But she still turned - body trembling, resisting each step toward the trees. It felt like a betrayal of everything in her that screamed to stay, to fight, to beg. The forest opened before her, shadows stretching over her like hidden refuge amidst the tempest of her emotions. Her palms bit into bark, scraping her fingertips as she searched for something to hold her upright, to keep her steady, as kept moving. The air thickened around her, the wind no longer gentle but biting. It clawed at her cloak, tangled in her hair, like even the night itself resisted.

But she didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Because if she did, she’d break.

Axel was gone.

Her heart along with him.

And she knew - she would never be the same.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Mardovian ships loomed along the coastline, their long - necked prows piercing the mist like silent specters summoned by fate. The salt wind kissed Sylvie's cheeks, threading fingers through her hair as waves lapped hungrily at the shore. A soft drizzle clung to her cloak, turning the fabric dark and weighted, but she hardly noticed. Her heart thundered too loudly, drowning out the world. She had spent the night at the edge of the forest, cloaked in trees and grief. Her only comfort was from mother earth, who had cradled her anguish, her rage, her tears.

She hadn’t returned to Godvick, to Haldor, to the temple. There was no peace there. No solace. Not when the only arms she wanted to fall into would never hold her again.

But now, as she stood at the tree line, the early morning mist still curling around her feet, gazing out toward the sea, she knew there were more important things than just the pain in her heart.

Today, she would board a ship and set sail towards her fate - or doom.

How long had she lived in anticipation of this moment?

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