Page 88 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Because the only way to trap a ghost…is to stop playing by the rules of the living.

Time to build a snare worthy of a Wraith.

EIGHTEEN

SHARDS

ALVARA

“Remember, El...”

A flash of that war tent—his war tent. That arrogant smirk, slouched behind the desk like he already owned the world. Books stacked beside him. A flash of gold lettering on black leather. I couldn’t read the title...

Then: blood. Seeping across black marble...

“No, not yet. Focus, El. Remember. I can’t do it for you...”

The book again. Black, leather-bound. Gilded title still unreadable. Then, in his hands—my enemy’s—as he marched into Grayshell...

Blood again. Spilling like a waterfall...

“El, stop. Focus. Wake up, please.” A voice threaded with panic, desperate. But it was another voice that rose clearer in my mind⁠—

“The only thing more powerful than a leader is a martyr. There is no greater boon to rebellion than the death of the beloved. If we wish to turn the tides of any war, the most revered must fall. Or be perceived as fallen.”

So, a trick? A manipulation?

I looked up at my father. His long white hair framed lifted cheeks, a silver crown gleaming above his softened expression. The smile he saved for me, when it was just us.

My heart ached. “But…what of that love?” I asked, voice small. “Can a people survive the loss of it?”

“Where love grew,” he said, “grief will follow. But it’s in our lowest moments that a people unify.”

“And if we want to prevent rebellion?” my brother asked—always the challenger. His hair hung wild, dark waves refusing to be tamed, just like him.

“Then you crush it before it begins,” Father replied without pause. His gaze hardened. “At the first whisper of dissent. The moment a leader begins to rise, you strike...”

“El, please.” This time, the voice was hoarse. Cracked with despair...

Then—white. Blinding, colorless white. Endless and consuming.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

My heart pounded against my ribs. Shallow gasps of air barely kept me tethered to the veil...

“I am not a man inclined to begging, but I implore you—don’t choose that path again. It might just kill me...”

Mother lifted her hand. But no shadows followed. Only pale, trembling flesh...

“Wait,” said the voice—fear now edged into it. Grief braided through the lone word...

“R—Reaper…” she breathed, a broken sob...

“No.” Just one word. But it shattered...

Then the mob. Faces blurred by rage, descending from all sides. No sign of my brothers. No allies. No escape. She tucked me behind her, trying to shield me—but it wouldn’t matter. Not this time.

They saw us as demons. No mercy. Not for what we were...