The tension in the room? Atomic. It didn't breathe. Every eye was a blade. Even the torches flickered like they were trying to hide. Fien's boots clicked on the marble floor—sharp, final, like punctuation on a death sentence.
It was the first time Fien had laid eyes on Gideon since he stabbed her right in the back—with politics, not a blade, which honestly made it worse.
And for Gideon? This was the first time he was seeing Shæz again. His former advisor. His maybe-once-almost-lover. The woman he'd built an empire around, and who'd left it all for a wild ride with Jim Slevann and a dream bigger than Dalab.
Geleam stood to Fien's right, sharp-eyed and silent, ever the guardian. Gideon had his right hand, Meta, looming behind him like a shadow made of judgment, and then there was Max Donman—the wildcard, the Earth-boy, the problem child who somehow kept ending up in the middle of ancient Senedran prophecies.
Shæz's eyes narrowed the second she saw Max. The last time they'd met, he'd been running off with the Scepter of the End, clutching it like a stolen skateboard and looking completely confused about how magic worked. And now… now they were all in one damn room.
"I completely don't freaking understand what you're saying," Fien snapped at Gideon, folding her arms like she could will the nonsense away.
"Shæz knows," Gideon said quietly, resting a hand on Max's shoulder like Max was a prophet and not just some cursed tourist. "She knows this boy doesn't lie. The Shams are coming."
Fien rolled her eyes so hard it could've caused a minor quake. "Oh, come on, coward. I know the Shams exist. We used to hunt them, remember? But this kid's little fairy tale? Not buying it. You're just scared shitless because you're losing the battle, huh?"
Shæz flinched. Her memories surged—that moment, the twisted voice of a Sham whispering words to Gideon, its breath like grave-dust. Max's story wasn't myth. It was worse—and it seemed like it was true.
She turned to him. "Max of Newyork… are you certain?"
"One hundred percent," Max replied, firm. "Like, apocalyptic levels of certain. Shams, big ones. Fast ones. Creepy-ass whispery ones. You name it."
Geleam remained still. The name "Sham" was new to him. Steza had never faced them. But he knew enough to listen when warriors turned pale.
Fien, though, had had enough. "I didn't march here to be lectured by a wannabe prophet and a man who failed his queen. I came to take back what's mine. And now everyone's acting like this kid is the Oracle of Doom."
"There's no need to fight, Fien," Gideon said, trying his calm-king voice. "Join me. We'll strike the Shams together. I'll give you the throne. After all, isn't that all you ever wanted?"
Fien actually laughed. That loud, full-body laugh that meant danger was about to drop. For a split second, the words hit something soft. Something old. But she crushed it under her boot.
"Oh honey, no. You can't give me what I can take. Fien takes. She is never given."
Shæz moved forward, trying to speak, but Fien cut her a glare that could melt bone.
"War is on," she said flatly.
"You cannot win this battle," Gideon warned. "You have no army."
Fien raised a brow. "What the what?"
"He's right," Shæz said quietly. "You know it, Fien."
"Oh wow, wow, wow! And you believe him?" Fien's voice went pitchy. "Girl, maybe you forgot who I am."
Then Gideon twisted the knife: "The army is not yours. It is my brother's. And Dezo has given a new order."
He turned to Geleam. "You know this, do you not?"
Geleam said nothing. But the silence told enough. Shæz's chest tightened. That was the warning she'd tried to give Fien before, the moment before the gates opened. The brown bear army… was borrowed. And Dezo had just asked for it back.
Fien looked around the room—looked right into their eyes. Max's, Shæz's, Geleam's, Meta's. Even Gideon's. And in all of them, she saw the same thing: they thought she'd lost. Even Geleam.
That one stung. He looked down, guilt already gnawing at his spine. He hadn't said a word, but Fien could feel his silence like a betrayal. She smiled, just a little. Cold, amused, devastating. Her heart didn't break—she had burned that organ to ash long ago. But oh, it smoked.
"You're all so young," she said. "I'll excuse you for that."
And then she rose. The Scepter of the End flashed in her hand—not blinding, just... confident. Like her.
She turned her eyes to Gideon. "Negotiations have failed, General." The title hit like a slap. Deliberate.
"We are going for war."
Then she walked out of the room like gravity answered to her personally. Like kings bowed where she stepped. Because they used to—and some still would.
Geleam followed after her, like a soldier chasing after a thunderstorm, opening his mouth to speak but catching no words. Nothing he said now would fix what was breaking.
Shæz stayed a moment. Met Gideon's eyes. Didn't say a word, but the look said you knew this would happen, didn't you? Then she turned and left too.
Max blinked, utterly overwhelmed and a little in awe. "Christ Jesus… that is what I call aura."
Gideon didn't respond. He just stared after her. And somewhere, far away—but not far enough—Deliah watched the whole thing like a bored theatre critic with a glass of wine. That Setrum girl. Still wearing her crown of pride and spite. Still walking like the world owed her a second reign. Still… Fien.
"Now fallen," Deliah whispered to herself, "but still so very stubborn."
Outside, the wind carried a strange tension—the kind that comes before thunder, or before war.
The generals had received the order: the bear army, the brown-furred strength of Steza, was being recalled. The command had been sent by Dezo, and orders were orders.
They waited. Waited for the queen to say something. Maybe even goodbye. And then… she stepped out. Fien of the old world. The Queen Returned.
Her soldiers stood straight, stiff, uncertain. Their loyalty swayed like branches in a storm. They weren't hers anymore. Not officially. Not for long. But when she stood before them, wind tugging at her cloak, scepter in hand, jaw set?
They remembered. Not the politics. Not the throne but her. And gods help them—many of them still wanted to fight for her.