Page 145 of Bound to the Dreadlord

And they will learn that soon enough.

I rise to my feet, my reflection distorting in the river’s surface, shifting, changing—until it no longer resembles me at all.

I turn my back on it.

On the past. On everything.

And I walk into the unknown.

54

VEYLAN

Ido not sleep. I do not stop.

The war is over, but my battle has just begun.

I search for her like a man possessed. Like a man who has already lost everything and does not care what it takes to get it back.

She is gone. And it is my fault.

The days turns into weeks.

The ruins of the battlefield fade into the past. The broken stones, the scorched earth, the blood-soaked altars—they mean nothing to me now.

All I see is where she should be.

The ghost of her lingers in every shadow. In every cold gust of wind. In every sleepless night where I wake, reaching for someone who is no longer there.

She should have died.

I killed her with my own hands. I watched her blood spill across the altar, felt it soak into my skin. But she came back, different. Stronger. Colder. Unforgiving.

She left me standing in the wreckage of everything we had built.

And I let her go.

I was a fool.

I should have chased her the moment she walked away. Should have grabbed her, forced her to see what she had left behind.

But I was a coward.

Now, she does not want to be found.

And yet, I still search. I do not deserve her… but I cannot live an existence without her.

The air in House Drazharel is thick with dust and magic. The stone walls remember the war, but they do not mourn it. My brothers carry on—meetings, rebuilding, restoring power. The kingdom is stable now. The people kneel. The blood has dried.

But I am not among them.

I return again—empty-handed, dirt-streaked, and exhausted—from another fruitless search.

The war room falls quiet as I push the door open. Drathis, Xalith, and Maelrik are already gathered, their eyes heavy with unspoken judgment.

Drathis breaks the silence first.

“Well? Another day. Another ghost?”

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