Ashen Dawn

The silver spike felt cold in her palm.

I was dragged back to the main keep along with that curse's residual echo, like being leashed to her bloodline by an invisible chain.

After the blood contract burned out, I should have been free, yet my corpse, my death curse, the heart's blood still remaining in her body—all of it still bound me to this palace.

The moment Serena stepped into the main keep, her stride faltered.

She forced her arrogance to hold, her voice cold as iron: "To his chambers. Now."

Viktor stayed glued to her right side, gentle as poison: "Your Majesty, you're finally no longer led by his nose. It was all an act for pity."

She needed this.

I could see it clearly—she didn't want the truth, she wanted an excuse to keep her arrogance intact.

At the corridor's end, the chamber seals were violently broken by guards.

Runes exploded, the stone door slammed into the wall with a bang, cold air mixed with the scent of rust rushing out.

She and Viktor crossed the threshold.

Viktor laughed first, then his laughter froze halfway.

The chamber held no gold or silver, no ledgers, no letters of treason.

Only walls covered with spell diagrams drawn with needle-fine precision; a row of blood-letting instruments hung in perfect order—silver tubes, barbed hooks, collection bottles, restraining racks; a pile of "junk" in the corner—old cloaks, broken hairpins, faded ribbons, fragments of crown ornaments.

All things she had discarded.

Serena instinctively sneered: "Playing the victim."

Viktor immediately laid cushions for her retreat: "He arranged this for Your Majesty to see. Don't soften your heart, Your Majesty. Wolves excel at manipulation—"

I watched from behind her, my heart terrifyingly calm.

These things weren't arranged for her to see.

They were remnants of when I feared her death so much that I tore my own life into fragments, stuffing them into the trash she scorned.

She reached out to touch them.

Her fingertip barely brushed that faded red ribbon before silver runes flickered to life, as if recognizing their master.

Protection magic.

Carved once, life shortened by one segment.

Her breathing hitched, as if someone had slapped her.

But she refused to admit defeat, violently throwing the ribbon back and grabbing something else—as if finding one piece of "evidence" would let her bury this pain back in the coffin.

She seized that cheap crystal hairpin.

She had once publicly laughed: "A wolf's taste in aesthetics? Really?"

Now, inside the hairpin, silver runic pathways were more complex than the ribbon's—capable of blocking one death curse impact.

Her knuckles went white, hands trembling so badly she could barely hold it.

Viktor continued his gentle brainwashing beside her: "Your Majesty, see? This is just to make you feel guilty. Your guilt is his victory."

Serena didn't respond to him.

Her gaze fixed on a row of incense boxes in the wall cabinet.

The boxes bore pureblood family crests—seals she knew all too well.

"Soul-soothing powder."

She had always thought Viktor sent them.

Every time the backlash pain drove her to lose control, a sprinkle would calm her down. This made her trust him more and scorn me even further.

Expressionless, she broke the seal and tore open the inner lining.

Inside wasn't medicinal powder.

It was fine ash, with bone-white glints mixed throughout.

Bone powder.

Werewolf bone powder.

I remembered the sound of bone-scraping—like breaking myself open from inside out. That was the "sedative" I had traded for.

Serena's pupils contracted sharply, the backlash in her chest stabbing like a direct knife twist.

She braced against the wall, fingertips clawing into stone cracks, still forcing her moan back down her throat.

Seeing her unsteady, Viktor immediately approached, his voice softer still: "Your Majesty, don't be deceived by him. The bone powder might be stolen from battlefields, specifically staged—"

"Shut up." She spat two words like throwing a blade at his feet.

Viktor stiffened, his smile strained: "I'm only worried for you."

Serena ignored him, staggering deeper inside.

She seemed to be fleeing yet self-torturing, forcing herself to turn the chamber upside down—she had to find evidence of "betrayal" to prove her years of coldness were justified.

She approached the blood collection tank half-embedded in the floor.

The tank walls were carved with measurement marks, beside them stacked thick scheduling sheets.

She pulled out the topmost sheet, its corners stained brown with blood.

Dates starting from years ago, not missing a single day.

Each box filled with time, quantity, ratio, and a note so brief it was almost humble.

—"Her Majesty's backlash was severe today, added three drops."

—"She slept uneasily, released early."

—"She has court tomorrow, cannot let her hurt tonight."

The handwriting was steady, like that of someone long accustomed to gripping blades, yet all that hardness was driven into his own body.

Serena's voice trembled like hearing the world speak for the first time: "The Blood Moon elixir... was actually... blood?"

She finally knew what her daily "ordinary supplement" really was.

My life, bled on schedule and carefully prepared.

She had always thought herself naturally gifted, able to suppress blood backlash.

She had simply been kept alive by being fed.

I watched her noble pallor fade bit by bit, revealing the underlying whiteness—not pity, but the terror of having cognition shredded.

Viktor still tried to stabilize the situation: "Your Majesty, this proves his deep scheming even more. Leaving these things here, waiting for your regret. The more you waver, the more he—"

Serena whipped around, blood roiling in her eyes: "Say one more word and I'll cut out your tongue."

Viktor's smile froze, a flash of cold malice in his gaze's depths.

She ignored him, continuing to search like grasping a final straw. She yanked the bedding aside, revealing a hidden compartment at the headboard.

Inside lay a thin leather-bound diary, its cover stained with blood, edges hardened black.

I recognized it.

When I wrote in it, my hands often shook—not from fear, but blood loss.

Serena pulled it out and opened it.

The first page held only one line: "She wore that crown today, like a blood moon."

No resentment, no accusations.

She flipped faster.

"She gave away the ring I sent to a servant again. It's fine, the array remains, it can block one assassination attempt."

"She hates the wolf scent on me, so I washed three times. When she frowns, it's like she wants to erase me from her world."

She flipped to that page and stopped.

"Viktor sent flowers today. She smiled. She didn't lose her temper today, those flowers seemed to make her very happy. As long as she can smile, this sunlight burning pain is nothing."

I remembered those three days.

Under scorching sun, silver sand searing bone, she had me held down kneeling, my knees rotting to pulp. I never looked up, afraid she'd see my gritted teeth and be even more disgusted.

I wrote "is nothing" in the diary.

Now those three words hooked back like barbs, tearing blood from her throat.

She continued flipping, faster and faster, like performing self-torture.

"Tonight's backlash came early. I released more blood, made it more concentrated. She frowned when drinking it, I feared she found it bitter, so I added sweetness. Hope she doesn't notice."

"She said I'm a tool. It's fine. Tools can also protect her for a hundred years."

She flipped to the final page.

The writing was so faint it seemed ready to scatter, yet remained stubborn.

"I probably won't return from this campaign. I've left the last of my heart's blood in the cellar, enough for her to live carefree for another hundred years. Don't be afraid, my queen."

"Don't be afraid."

In that instant, Serena's psychological defenses completely collapsed.

Like having her bones pulled out, she fell to her knees directly, crown askew, cloak spread wide, clutching that blood-stained diary and grabbing the bloodied clothes brought back from the ice coffin, burying her face deep into them.

A tuneless wail tore from her throat, like a dying beast.

"No... Caleb... no..."

I watched her break down, my heart still calm.

Not because I had beaten her.

But because I finally no longer needed her understanding.

Viktor frowned, stepping forward to pull her, his voice still trying to maintain that gentle facade: "Your Majesty, don't do this. His death is perfect timing, the wolf clans—"

He never finished.

Slap.

Serena backhanded him, sending him flying into the array wall, blood seeping from his lips.

Viktor covered his face, his gentle mask finally cracking: "Serena, are you mad?"

Serena slowly stood up.

Her eyes were crimson, blood energy churning, killing intent focused completely on her "childhood friend" for the first time.

"You said he was acting for pity." Each word deliberate. "Then what are these things? These arrays, this blood, this bone powder—who gave them to me?"

Viktor's gaze turned cold for an instant, then he forced out a smile: "Of course it was me—everything I did for you, you—"

"You're worthy?" Serena hurled the "sedative incense" box at his feet, bone powder scattering.

The silver array triggered, deep humming echoing through the chamber, mocking his lies and judging her foolishness.

She raised her hand, the silver spike gleaming cold in her palm, its tip aimed at Viktor's throat.

I could tell—she truly wanted to kill.

But in that moment.

Crack.

At the chamber's center, the "royal city barrier nexus stone" that had been powered by my bone marrow for years made a crisp shattering sound.

Like being drained of its last ember, it instantly turned to ash.

The array lines on the walls dimmed one by one, silver runes extinguished, protective resonance cut short.

Above the main keep, the blood-rune barrier visibly collapsed, cracks spreading wildly.

Then—war horns tore through the night sky.

One after another, shaking the very walls.

The four pureblood dukes' rebel armies, seizing the opportunity, had arrived at the gates.

Viktor climbed up from the ground, wiping blood from his lips, his smile returning but no longer gentle—only venomous.

"Do you hear that, Your Majesty?" he said softly. "Without that wolf, you can't even hold the gates."

BOOM—

The main keep's outer wall, its first line of defense, was blown wide open, rubble falling like rain.