Thygon moved through the antechamber like a shadow, silent and deliberate. The stench of blood and iron filled the air, clinging to his senses, but he hardly noticed. His eyes were fixed on Veronica’s still form, the faint rise and fall of her chest a cruel tease against the finality he knew was coming.

He had arrived too late. The hunters had come and gone, leaving devastation in their wake. Two-thirds of her coven—gone. Her daughter—gone. And now, the weight of it all pressed down on him as he crouched beside her.

“Veronica…” His voice was low, rough, barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to resonate in the cold silence. He had no right to speak; no right to disturb the fragile peace she had carved from her agony. Yet he could not help it. Something primal urged him to reach her, to see if any spark remained.

Her eyes fluttered open for a brief instant, catching his gaze, a faint recognition in the depths of her pain. Thygor did not move closer; he could feel the power draining from her, see the way her life clung to her like a fragile thread. She was strong once, the backbone of her coven, the mother of its next generation. Now… she was human, fragile and fleeting, her body a battlefield of wounds no one should survive.

He knelt there, watching the last embers of her strength slip away, feeling a strange mixture of anger and sorrow. The hunters had taken so much from her, yet she still fought—not for herself, but for the child she had sent running into the wilderness. Thygor had seen warriors fall, covens crumble, but there was something about Veronica’s defiance that made the blood on the floor feel heavier.

Hours passed. Time lost meaning in the stillness of the chamber. He saw her lips move, heard her whispers to the daughter he had never met. Anise—the name burned into his mind like a sigil of hope. Thygon wondered if she would survive, if the Morgontivich Covenant would take her in, if her mother’s last instructions would guide her safely through the shadows of the mountains.

When her chest stilled, Thygon did not flinch. He had faced death enough times to recognize it when it came, and yet a hollow ache filled his chest. He remained by her side, listening to the echo of her heart finally surrendering, as though even in death she had pulled herself forward just long enough to give her daughter a chance.

He rose then, finally, letting his gaze sweep the room once more. The hunters had left only ruin, but from ruin came choices. And Thygon would make one now: he would find the child. He would see that Anise survived. He would honor Veronica’s final act, no matter the cost.

The silence of the chamber was shattered by a single thought, repeated over and over in Thygon’s mind: She fought for her daughter. And so shall I.

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, moving toward the uncertain path that Veronica’s final act had carved through the world.