Page 48 of Shifting Hearts 1
She stares at our joined hands, at the cloth now soaked in blood and firelight.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she whispers.
“I did,” I vow. “Because you’re not just prophecy. You’re mine, and I’ll burn every law I wrote to keep you alive.”
The fire roars behind us as the room seals the rite.
And somewhere deep in the mountain, the Brotherhood feels the shift. I just hope I still have allies come morning.
TWELVE
Archane
The war drums echo through the hollowed mountain, low and steady like a heartbeat preparing to stop.
Steel glints in the torchlight. Blades are sharpened. Sigils are painted in ash and blood. The old rites are being honored tonight—not for protection, but for vengeance.
I stand before them, second in command to the last loyal sons of the Forsaken Brotherhood. My voice cuts through the silence.
“If there are any among you still loyal to Kieran... step forward now. Step out. May gods have mercy on your souls.”
The silence breaks.
Chairs scrape against stone. A third of the Forsaken rise, not all at once, but in waves. Some move immediately, heads bowed. Others linger, torn, before finally turning their backs and walking out.
I watch them go. I do not stop them.
“Let them leave. Let them carry his mark into exile. But know this—when dawn breaks, they are no longer our brothers.”
The remaining warriors shift, the air thick with fury and betrayal.
“He was our Alpha, our lawgiver, our shield. But he broke the code, he bound the prophecy to his mark, he claimed what was never his to claim.”
I step closer to the fire, letting its heat bite into my skin.
“At dawn, we ride. Not for glory, not for honor. For reckoning. The war begins when the sun touches the eastern ridge. And by nightfall, the mountain will remember who we are.”
I turn to face the loyal few.
“We are the Brotherhood. We do not beg, we do not bend, and we do not bleed for traitors.”
The flames roar higher as the drums quicken, and behind me, the empty seats burn.
THIRTEEN
Kieran
The wind shifts.
It carries the scent of iron and ash, war. I feel it before I hear it; The low thrum of boots on stone, the distant clatter of blades. The mountain is waking.
I step onto the balcony, shirt half-buttoned, mark still burning from the rite. Below, shadows move through the mist. Figures. Dozens. Maybe more.
My hand goes to the hilt at my side.
So this is how it begins.
I knew Archane, my second-in-command, would rally them, I knew the laws I wrote would be turned against me, but I didn’t expect them to come this soon. Not before the sun had even broken the ridge.
