Samuel's POV
The air was thick with smoke and old blood, the scent of burnt ash clinging to every breath. Henry paced like a wolf without a leash, while Owen sat near the edge of the obsidian platform, eyes fixed on the roiling storm far beyond the cliffs. And me?
I leaned against a fractured pillar, arms crossed, pretending like the silence didn't feel like a prelude to war.
But inside, my mind wasn't here.
It was still with her.
With Roselle.
The way she looked when she said, "He's the answer." Like she meant it. Like she believed in me more than I ever believed in myself.
I didn't ask to be part of some cosmic chess match. I didn't want thrones, gods, or responsibilities.
And yet... I said yes.
To her.
Damn it.
I knew exactly why I agreed.
Because when Roselle looks at the darkness, she doesn't flinch—she owns it. And when she looks at me... she doesn't see a monster.
She sees a weapon that can turn against fate itself.
"You're quiet," Owen finally said, breaking the silence without looking away from the storm.
I shrugged. "Just thinking about how deep in shit we are."
Henry snorted. "That's the understatement of the damn century."
I glanced at him, catching the subtle twitch in his jaw. He looked pissed. Not just about the war—but about something else.
"What's your deal?" I asked.
Henry muttered, "Still can't believe she agreed to meet me."
"She?" Owen asked.
"Nocturne," Henry grunted. "The Goddess of Fucking Despair. She doesn't talk to people like me. She devours them. Smothers them in their own regrets. And now she's... what? Helping Roselle?"
"Guess the end of all creation makes strange bedfellows," I muttered.
Henry ran a hand through his hair, annoyed. "This isn't just war anymore. This is ancient. Older than gods, older than any of us. And she—Nocturne—she's not just despair. She feeds on hopelessness. She moves through people like rot."
"Maybe that's why she's needed now," Owen said quietly. "Because whatever's coming... might make us all beg for oblivion."
That got us quiet again.
Owen's shoulders were stiff, his hands clenched on his knees. I could see the weight on him—on his heart.
"You thinking about your people?" I asked.
He nodded slowly. "My pack, yeah. But more than that—every soul I couldn't save before. Every time I told them it'd be okay, and it wasn't. I don't want to lie to them again, Samuel."
"You won't," I said firmly.
Owen looked at me, eyes hard but thankful. "And you? Why are you here, really? You don't do teams. You don't follow orders. What changed?"
I looked toward the horizon, toward where the stars died and the sky bled.
"Roselle," I said simply.
Henry snorted. "Figured."
"She said I'm the answer," I muttered, almost to myself. "And for once, I didn't want to prove her wrong."
A heavy silence settled between us—one not born of fear, but of understanding. We were broken things, cursed things, loyal things. And in the war to come, maybe that's exactly what the gods needed.
Not heroes.
Just monsters who chose to stand.
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Samuel's POV – The Bonefire Chamber, Outer Fringe of Oblivion
I heard the shadows shift before I saw them. The flame in the bonefire dimmed—just slightly—as if the darkness itself bowed in reverence.
And then she walked in.
Roselle Vasilyev, the Queen of Darkness. Crimson-eyed, midnight-haired, and every bit the sovereign of shadow I remembered. Her aura rolled in first, like velvet thunder—commanding, poised, and far too dangerous to ignore.
And just behind her… came her.
Nocturne.
The Goddess of Despair.
If Roselle was the velvet dusk, Nocturne was the void beneath it. Skin pale like moonlight drained of warmth, eyes bottomless with suffering and beauty intertwined. She didn't walk — she glided, as if the world bent just to let her pass.
Henry stiffened instantly.
Owen stood slowly, body tensing.
I didn't move. But I didn't relax either.
Roselle gave a slight smirk as her gaze swept across the three of us. "Don't look so surprised. We travel well together. You know, opposites."
Nocturne said nothing. Her presence spoke louder than words.
Roselle crossed her arms and got right to the point. "We want Yvette Jennings involved."
That name hit like a silent detonation.
Owen's reaction was instant — his jaw locked, fists clenched. He stepped forward, eyes flaring gold, the Alpha rising in him. "Not a chance in hell," he growled.
Roselle didn't flinch. "Relax. We're not asking for a reunion, Romeo."
"She—" Owen bit the words back, shaking his head. "She nearly ruined me. Took everything I was and turned it to ash. It took everything I had to walk away from her."
Nocturne's gaze shifted to Owen, unblinking. It was like being watched by a storm.
Roselle softened her tone. Just slightly. "We don't need her. Just the Royal Scroll she possesses."
Henry blinked. "Royal Scroll?"
"An ancient blood-bound relic from the Forgotten Court," Roselle explained. "She's the last direct descendant. That scroll can override Voidbound seals placed by the Null Architects themselves."
"In plain language?" I asked.
Roselle looked at me. "It can open or shut any gate tied to the Obsidian Realms. Including the one the Architects are trying to rebuild."
I whistled low. "So it's a key."
She nodded. "A very old one. And dangerous in the wrong hands."
Owen still looked on edge. "So what, you want me to go get it from her?"
"She's more likely to listen to you than any of us," Roselle said flatly. "She trusted you once. Might even still love you in her twisted, power-hungry way."
"She doesn't love anything but control," Owen muttered.
"But," Roselle added, "you know her tells. Her habits. You can get in, get the scroll, and be out. We won't have to involve her at all."
"And if she refuses?" Henry asked.
"I'll deal with it," Nocturne finally said, her voice low and cold, like the last breath of someone falling into the abyss.
That shut everyone up.
Roselle looked back to me. "Samuel. You're going to need that scroll to enter the threshold beyond the Forsaken Veil. The Null Architects sealed it long ago with three locks—blood, despair, and shadow. You've got the latter two. We just need the blood piece."
I nodded slowly. "So we're playing fetch before we go storming the gates of the gods."
Roselle smiled faintly. "Exactly."
Owen looked at me, pained. "I'll do it. But if she pulls her old tricks—"
"She won't," I said. "Because this time, you're not alone."
He met my gaze, and for a second, I saw the Alpha ready to die for his people… finally willing to live for something again.
And Roselle… she just watched us all.
Silent. Calculating.
Like the Queen of Darkness always does.