The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1845

Ailithir had made it painfully clear that this was just her attachment—her desperate fantasy that had never happened. A fantasy in which she could have saved him and Mt. Nyxvarn.

These delusions had festered into an obsession.

His words stirred pieces of long-buried memories awake inside her.

Even without the formation, she would have brought Dalton to the mountain and fallen for him. She would have infuriated every major sect because she shattered their power structures, too.

She communed with beasts but refused to help them harvest demon cores. She bowed to no faction, not even the imperial court. She had razed Mt. Lunther to the ground.

So, they came for her. Under the pretense of suppressing "evil from the underworld", Mt. Lunther led the sects in besieging Mt. Nyxvarn.

Now, she remembered everything.

She remembered the day of her wedding. The spirits she had once helped pass on had returned to bless her. Mt. Nyxvarn was alive with celebration.

Ailithir, weathering his thunderstrike trial, had only one wish—to see her marry the man she loved. So, the ceremony was rushed.

Her seniors, wanting her at peace, wove a protective formation around the mountain. But because of it, they were all injured. That vulnerability gave the sects their chance to strike.

After Ailithir perished, the remaining sects divided Mt. Nyxvarn's golden encounters.

She'd been ensnared by witchcraft, numb to it all as she was dragged to Mt. Lunther. They wanted her beast-taming secrets. And the imperial family ordered her to wed into the Winston family, as if her marriage to Dalton had been a stain to erase.

Later, Dalton came for her. She didn't even recognize herself. Everything was in chaos.

She pressed her hand to her temple, the pain between her brows unbearable. The Soul Commanding Badge within her stirred, as if agitated.

In her memories, she saw herself helping Mt. Lunther suppress Dalton. Had she really raised her hand against him? She must have been insane.

But it had happened.

Wynter stared at her palm. What had she been thinking? What was she thinking after it all? Was she truly capable of doing such a thing?

Wynter knew something was wrong. She looked up at Ailithir. "I…"

"They say one with a demonic manifestation is destined for betrayal," Ailithir said calmly. "I've heard those words since you were a child. But I never believed them, and neither did your seniors. Someone targeted you… because I failed to protect you."

Her throat tightened. How was this his failure? It was her fault. She had been too young, too reckless, and too offensive to those in power. So, they'd exploited her horoscope and bloodline to control her.

When she finally broke free, she had slaughtered the sect leaders across the land. But it was already too late. Her seniors were gone, and Dalton had been sealed under Velmoria.

She had gone to find him, but no matter how much she searched, she couldn't reunite his spiritual form.

She carried countless resentments—so many that she no longer knew how to break free. She'd asked herself over and over if it was wrong for her to have challenged the sects.

If not for her, Mt. Nyxvarn wouldn't have been destroyed.

That question had haunted her endlessly.

She had slaughtered sect after sect. Even in the underworld, guards and unborn souls avoided her.

She had searched for years, beneath the earth and across every realm—through the bridge to hell, the underworld—but all feared her.

He couldn't bear to let her go. And neither could she—not these memories.

If she walked away now, Mt. Nyxvarn would truly be gone. Ailithir would no longer sit there, stroking her head and speaking so gently. They would disappear and never return.

She was born of royal blood, yes, but abandoned by the court. Though noble, her demonic manifestation made her a disgrace.

The sects had never truly accepted her. They called her a princess but treated her as a burden.

Only Ailithir took her in, raised her on the mountain, and taught her everything—one word at a time.

As for her mother, she was different from Marie. Here, she had no value to offer, so she wasn't worth a second glance. To the royal family, she was an inconvenient presence.

But to her, Mt. Nyxvarn had always been home.

And now… how could she face the moment this illusion shattered? They only existed in her obsession.

Her voice wavered. "As for the sects… I'll handle them. Like you said, I've matured. I've learned to manipulate hearts now."

Ailithir sighed, deep and sorrowful. "Wynter, you've always learned too quickly. You should know formations can't alter the past, especially the formation master's."

He didn't want her trapped here forever for him.

"Return to where you belong. Someone's waiting."