Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 511: Chapter 511

Circe listened carefully as the man spoke, her face slowly filling with horror and concern. The rider explained that the entire community had been desecrated. Buildings had been burned to the ground. Homes, market stalls, and farmland had all been reduced to ash and rubble.

Without another word, Ragnar spurred his horse forward and broke away from the group to see the destruction for himself.

Circe quickly rode after him.

The moment the ruined settlement came fully into view, a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

Everything had been leveled.

Blackened skeletons of buildings stood crookedly against the horizon like corpses left to rot. Smoke still drifted faintly upward from charred remains, carrying with it the bitter stench of ash, blood, and burned wood. Entire homes had collapsed inward on themselves, leaving nothing behind except splintered beams and scorched stone.

So much destruction. So much loss.

Circe could barely fathom how the people who once lived there must have felt as they fled while their homes burned around them.

Still, a desperate part of her hoped the villagers had escaped in time. She prayed no lives had been lost.

But the moment she drew closer, she realized that hoping in a situation like this was futile.

An unbearable sense of grief hung thickly in the air, pressing against her until it became difficult to breathe. Her magic stirred uneasily beneath her skin as though reacting to something unseen that lingered in the area.

Then she felt the presence of the dead.

Restless spirits that wandered the ruins, lingering where they had died, unable or unwilling to move on. Their sorrow seeped into the space around, impossible for someone like Circe to ignore.

They reached out to her with their sadness and pain, begging for reprieve.

Circe’s breathing faltered.

As her eyes swept across the destruction, she suddenly spotted what looked like a charred hand protruding from beneath a collapsed pile of debris.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Slowly, she dismounted her horse. Tears burned the backs of her eyes as she approached the remains.

Then she reached inward, toward the endless well of magic resting inside her.

Dark energy seeped from beneath her skin like smoke curling in the breeze.

She had not even reached the body before the visions struck her.

Chaos exploded behind her eyes. Screams tore through her mind, echoing in her ears. She saw flames swallowing homes while people ran desperately through smoke-filled streets. Mothers clutched crying children against their chests while armed men stormed through the village mercilessly. She saw bodies collapsing onto bloodstained ground. Heard pleading voices cut short by violence.

The visions were so vivid, that they stole the breath from her lungs.

But these were not ordinary visions, they were memories. The memories of the dead.

One of the wandering souls had felt the pull of her magic and, through that connection, had forced her to witness the truth of what happened there.

The sheer brutality of it overwhelmed her.

Circe stumbled backward suddenly, catching herself before she could fall completely. Her throat tightened painfully as grief and horror crashed through her all at once.

But the spirit was not finished with her.

Its voice slithered through her mind like a whisper carried by the wind.

’Another army is coming.’ It said. ’They are heading towards you.’

Circe froze, eyes widening in realization. freёweɓnovel.com

If soldiers were approaching, then the queen must have somehow learned of Ragnar’s plan to storm the capital. And if she knew...

Then she had already sent forces to stop him before he could ever reach the palace.

She glanced back at Ragnar, only to find him already watching her with concern as he stepped toward her. Then Circe turned her attention back to the souls wandering through the ruins. They had already lost their tether to this world, and it was never good for a soul to remain too long among the living when it belonged with the dead.

So she reached for her magic and called them toward her. Just as she had once watched her mother do, she let the power guide the wandering souls from the land of the living to the realm of the dead, where they could finally find peace.

This, she told herself, was the kindest thing she could do for them now.

Ragnar reached out to steady her as she remounted her horse, but before either of them could speak, a low rumble rolled across the frost-hardened ground.

The vibration traveled up through the horses and to the riders. At first it was faint, little more than a distant tremor, but it grew steadier with each passing second. Men shifted in their saddles, heads turning toward the road ahead. The rumble deepened into the unmistakable rhythm of multiple hooves striking the earth in unison.

"There are soldiers coming our way," one of the scouts called back urgently.

Ragnar lifted his hand, signaling the army to hold position. The men surrounding him slowly fell silent.

The thunder of the approaching force built until the air itself seemed to pulse with it. No one needed to guess what it meant. The queen had learned of their march sooner than expected and had chosen to retaliate.

Then the first specks appeared on the horizon, dark against the sea of white. They looked small at first, like mere dots scattered across the frozen plain but they multiplied quickly, spreading into a wide front. As the distance closed, the tiny specks became mounted soldiers, then into full ranks of infantry marching in tight formation behind them. Banners waved in the wind, bearing the emblem of House Acheron.

The enemy host numbered at least as many as Ragnar’s own force, perhaps more. They advanced at a steady pace, closing the gap with every heartbeat.

Ragnar turned in his saddle, his voice carrying clearly over the growing din. "Draw your weapons and stay on guard!" he shouted. "Ready yourselves for battle!"

Swords scraped free of scabbards. Axes were lifted, bows strung, shields raised into place. The men formed up quickly, their earlier unease hardening into focus.

Circe met Ragnar’s eyes for a brief moment, a silent conversation passing between them. Whatever came next, they would face it together. The two armies continued their approach, the space between them shrinking, the moment of collision drawing near.

At the front of the queen’s army, leading the charge, was Aeron Tavish.