“I Never Loved You. I Only Needed Your Grave.” — She Pressed Her Bleeding Hand Against the Storm King’s Tomb as the Earth Began to Scream

The cavern shook violently as Saraveane, realizing her hounds were failing, slammed the butt of her staff against the stone floor. A shockwave of dark purple magic erupted from the impact, creating a barrier of crackling energy between the healer and the two rogue entities.

"You think a simple awakening can save you?" Saraveane cackled, her milky-white eyes bulging with fanaticism. "The blood-lock is already complete! The king lives because she breathes, and she dies the moment he claims his full power! You are bound to each other’s execution!"

Dawn’s expression darkened into a mask of pure lethality. He stepped forward, but Saraveane raised her hand, chanting an ancient, guttural curse.

Instantly, the crimson seal burning across Dawn’s chest flared with blinding intensity. He gasped, dropping to one knee as a spasm of agonizing pain wracked his massive frame. Black veins crept outward from the seal, spider-webbing across his collarbones and neck.

"Dawn!" Jorah cried out, dropping to her knees beside him. She grabbed his arm, her fingers pressing against his burning skin.

The moment her silver-laced blood mingled with his, a strange thing happened. Instead of the pain worsening, a brilliant flash of golden light surged outward from their point of contact, pushing back the purple corruption of Saraveane's curse.

Dawn inhaled a sharp, ragged breath, his amber eyes locking onto hers with searing intensity. "She lied," he gritted out through clenched teeth. "The seal... it wasn't designed to kill us. It was designed to bind our souls so completely that the Haltorn Pack could control both of us through a single master."

Saraveane’s face twisted in horror as she watched the golden light consume her dark purple barrier. "No! That's not possible! The ritual of subjugation cannot be reversed by an unawakened pup!"

"She is no pup," Dawn roared, standing up with Jorah still gripped securely against his side. The spectral direwolf behind him grew twice in size, its jaws parting in a silent, bone-shattering snarl. "She is the true heir of the Northern Gales, and I am the Storm King. We are done serving in your shadows."

With a sweep of Dawn’s hand, a wall of white-hot lightning erupted across the cavern, obliterating Saraveane’s staff and shattering the stone platform beneath her feet. The healer screamed as the magical feedback consumed her, her body dissolving into a cloud of ash that scattered into the subterranean winds.

The tunnels fell silent once more, save for the heavy, ragged breathing of the two survivors.

Dawn turned to Jorah, his massive hands resting gently on her shoulders. The anger in his amber eyes melted away, replaced by an overwhelming, fierce tenderness.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.

Jorah shook her head, her heart hammering against her ribs—not from fear, but from the terrifying, exhilarating realization of the power humming beneath her skin. She looked up at the man who had crawled out of a grave for her, the monster the world had feared.