Page 165 of Fallen Nocturne

“Shade!” Rhianelle’s scream tears through the throne room.

The ground beneath our feet begins to crack.

Chapter 22 Svenn

The cracks in the floor spread like spiderwebs. I have seen Rhianelle angry before. I have watched her call upon her dark patrons and the gods she carries in her blood.

But this is different.

This is wrath.

“Shade!” Her voice breaks on his name, raw with anguish. The sound of it cuts deeper than any blade Ruth could wield against me. She loves him. The Grimsbane assassin with his sharp tongue.

Eirik Bloodhound wrenches his sword free from Shade’s chest, and the assassin crumples. Blood spreads across the stone beneath him, far too much of it. Rainer is there in an instant, catching him, his face twisted with something I’ve never seen before.

Fear.

But I can’t focus on them. Ruth will regenerate soon. The wounds Bas and I inflicted are already closing, and it will not be long before he rises again.

Lilith laughs, the sound high, cruel, and delighted.

“Did you see that?” she asks. “Did you see your precious little friend fall? This is what happens when you defy me, little queen. Everyone you love will—”

Her words die on her tongue.

Rhianelle is walking toward her. There is something in my wife’s eyes that makes even Lilith take a step back.

“You think you frighten me?” Lilith tries again, but her voice wavers. “I possess a powerful vessel now. Morgaine’s magic, her strength, all of it belongs to me. You are only an elf. A broken little girl—”

Rhianelle is unbothered by Lilith’s words.

“You’re nothing,” Lilith spits, but I can hear it now. The fear creeping into her voice. “You’re—”

The ground splits open. The stone floor of the throne room tears itself apart, and something begins to rise from the depths.

Two enormous gates emerge from the chasm, dragging chains and fragments of blackened stone behind them. They are carved from bone and despair, covered in ancient symbols that writhe across their surface.

The gates of Hel.

Mal rises before them. One of the Unyieldings. One of the forgotten gods.

He is tall and his face is half-hidden beneath a hood woven from shadow. Bone gleams where flesh should be, and hollow eyes burn with pale blue fire.

I have seen him before, standing in the snow when Rhianelle freed me from Lilith’s curse. But seeing him now in the full glory of his power, with nothing restrained, is different.

Behind him, the gates yawn open.

I have witnessed kingdoms fall. I have survived wars, plagues, and horrors that would shatter mortal minds. Nothing compares to what waits beyond those gates.

The screaming pours out first. Millions of voices, every damned and lost soul crying out at once. Shadowed hands reach through the opening, clawing at the edge of the Hollow as though desperate for anything still living.

This should be impossible. Rhianelle must already be exhausted from opening the paths to Astefar and calling its creatures into our world. Now she is summoning the Un as well. She is stretching her power too far.

Rhianelle stands at the center of it all, silver hair lifting in the wind pouring from the Hollow.

“Little queen,” Mal’s voice echoes, ancient and amused.

“I have a gift for you,” Rhianelle says to the guardian of the Hollow.