Chapter 13 - A Kingdom Reborn
The collision of golden light and dark shadow was cataclysmic.
A blinding flash of white filled the cavern, accompanied by a deafening roar that shook the very earth. Malakor screamed as the golden light enveloped him, his dark staff shattering into a thousand pieces before he was thrown violently against the stone wall, collapsing into unconsciousness.
At the center of the vortex, Theron leaped forward, driving his glowing blade straight into the core of the shadow-beast with a thunderous roar of his own alpha wolf.
The dark energy fractured, splintered, and dissolved into harmless wisps of smoke that drifted away into nothingness.
Silence descended upon the subterranean vault.
The air cleared, smelling clean and crisp like fresh rain after a summer storm. The ancient runes on the walls glowed with a steady, peaceful blue light, sealing the containment cells for eternity.
Theron stood panting amidst the rubble, his armor scuffed, his chest heaving, but victorious. He turned immediately, his eyes searching the dust for Maren.
She was standing near the center of the chamber, her hands still glowing faintly, her breathing heavy, but completely unharmed.
Theron crossed the distance between them in two massive strides, scooping her up into his arms and pulling her fiercely against his chest. He buried his face in her ash-blonde hair, breathing in her scent, letting out a ragged sigh of profound relief.
“You did it,” Theron whispered against her skin.
“We did it,” Maren corrected softly, wrapping her arms securely around his neck.
Up above, in the safety of the royal nursery, baby Tavian let out a soft, happy coo in his sleep, completely unaware that his parents had just saved the world from the edge of destruction.
When Theron and Maren returned to the palace surface hours later, the morning sun was breaking over the horizon, painting the snow-capped peaks of Baldross in brilliant shades of gold and rose.
The traitors were locked away in permanent, inescapable confinement. The ancient shadow was sealed forever. And as Maren walked out onto the grand balcony hand-in-hand with the Alpha King, holding their sleeping son between them, the citizens of Baldross cheered from the courtyards below.
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The spiral brand on Maren’s forehead caught the morning light, shining like a crown. She was no longer an exile, no longer a monster, and no longer alone.
She was the heart of Baldross, and the winter of her past had finally, beautifully ended.
