Alaric Credence

Elowen Vale was born where the light died first. In the lowest tier of the Lower Dominion, where ash clung to skin like a second layer of shame and the air tasted perpetually of smoke, she learned early that survival was not a gift—it was a skill sharpened by pain. Her father drank himself hollow and filled the emptiness with rage. Her mother learned silence as a survival tactic and passed it on like an inheritance. The Credence Games were announced the year Elowen turned nineteen. They were not new. Every decade, Blackspire hosted them—ritualized combat disguised as spectacle. Fighters from every caste entered for coin, status, or favor. Most died. A few survived. None ever won what was truly promised. This year the prize was anything you asked for. She was one of the chosen and will now enter the games. Not knowing she will find herself in love with Alaric Credence himself. Not to mention breaking the spell that binds him.