Camila's POV
The kingdoms reacted in waves.
Some called me a savior. Others, a heretic.
Rebels began branding themselves with crimson tattoos. "For the Veil," they chanted. Whispers of war stirred beneath tavern floors and in the desert cities.
Thorne placed a bounty on my head—one million gold coins and a full pardon to whoever delivered me alive.
But no one could touch me now. Not without facing what stirred inside me.
And I wasn't just protecting myself.
I was building something.
An alliance of the unwanted. Banishlings. Outcasts. Half-breeds and former assassins who'd survived Thorne's experiments. They didn't follow me because of bloodline. They followed me because they saw what I'd seen.
The rot at the heart of the world.
And I was the blade.
Nathaniel
He'd changed since the awakening. Softer. Sharper. Guilt carved into every glance he threw my way.
One night, as I sat alone sharpening a blade, he knelt beside me.
