- - -
The capital gates loomed in the distance, stone giants crowned with the banners of the House of Velenor. Wind tugged at the rebellion's worn flags, lifting them like a last breath. The city should have been silent. But the stillness—it wasn't natural.
Laraine's steps slowed. Her hand brushed the hilt of her sword.
Beside her, Cleo scanned the treeline. "Something's wrong."
"No birds," Laraine murmured. "No movement. It's too quiet."
Vienna came to a halt a few steps ahead, her arm instinctively moving to shield Millis. "The air smells like oil."
Millis's eyes widened. "Wait… oil and—"
Then it snapped into place. All at once.
A smell she hadn't noticed: pitch. The strange pattern of the dirt. The silence, the gates, the lack of sentries.
It was never unguarded. Never.
Laraine's breath caught.
"We've been led here," she whispered. "It's a trap—"
From the shadows—movement.
Figures peeled away from trees and stone like living nightmares. Soldiers in black armor, faces masked, blades gleaming red in the rising sun.
And then—
Slit.
A scream choked off as a rebel soldier dropped, gurgling.
Slit. Slit.
Another. Then another. All at once, shadows surged from both flanks, slitting throats with brutal, silent efficiency.
"AMBUSH!" Cleo bellowed, drawing her sword.
"GET DOWN!" Vienna tackled Millis, dragging her behind a cart as arrows whistled from above.
Laraine turned to shout—but the sky was already on fire.
Arrows rained down, their tips wrapped in pitch and flames, hissing through the air like the wrath of gods.
One hit a man square in the chest. His screams tore through the night as he fell, burning.
Laraine's body moved on instinct, sword drawn as she ducked behind an overturned wagon, dragging a bleeding soldier to safety.
Her breath came ragged. This wasn't war—it was slaughter.
"They were waiting for us!" she shouted to Cleo across the chaos.
"We were herded like cattle!" Cleo responded, slicing through a soldier lunging at her side. "It's Adana! She planned this!"
Laraine's eyes found Vienna through the smoke—smeared in blood, eyes furious and wide, holding Millis close like a lifeline.
Then her eyes found the flames, spreading fast.
And all Laraine could think was: She knew we'd come. She wanted me here. To watch them die.
To break her.
But not yet.
Not today.
The chaos was deafening now—shouts, screams, the hiss of fire. The scent of burning flesh choked the air.
"Hold the line!" Laraine roared above the cacophony, slashing through a soldier trying to cut down a fallen rebel. "Don't let them scatter you!"
But the enemy kept coming—faceless, merciless. The flames lit their blades like molten metal. All around her, comrades fell.
Laraine's eyes locked on Vienna, still crouched beside a shaken Millis, shielding her as arrows rained.
She charged toward them, blade dripping crimson. "Vienna!"
Vienna looked up, blood streaking her cheek, her expression unreadable beneath the flicker of firelight.
"Take her!" Laraine shouted, grabbing Millis's trembling shoulders. "Get her out. Now."
Vienna's brows furrowed. "What?"
"Now," Laraine growled, eyes sharp. "I need you to protect her. If anything happens to her, I'll never—"
She cut herself off. The words tasted too raw.
Vienna nodded slowly, then reached for Millis, pulling her up and away from the battlefield. "I'll keep her safe," she said, quiet and sure.
Millis reached out, gripping Laraine's wrist. "You'll come back, right?"
Laraine met her gaze. "I'll burn down this kingdom if I have to."
A tear slipped down Millis's cheek—but she let go.
Laraine turned back toward the battle, sword raised.
"Cleo!" she shouted.
Cleo appeared from the smoke like vengeance itself, slicing through two soldiers. "About damn time."
"We take the wall!" Laraine bellowed. "Push west—we break their flank and light the pitch stores. Make this place burn!"
A rebel nearby raised his sword. "For Laraine!"
"For the exiled!"
"For the fallen!"
They surged forward.
Laraine led them, her blade singing in firelight, her cloak billowing like a banner. Every strike was rage, every scream was purpose.
And behind her, Vienna vanished into the trees—taking Millis and Laraine's last tether to softness with her.
But there was no room for softness now.
Only fury.
Only war.
- - -
The room was bathed in eerie light.
Shimmering above the crystal basin, the battlefield unfolded like a living painting—flames licking the sky, arrows raining from above, screams swallowed by the night wind. The surface of the water rippled with every death, showing Laraine cleaving through enemy lines like a storm given flesh.
Adana stood motionless before it, hands folded neatly behind her back, face expressionless. Only the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her pleasure.
"She took the bait," she murmured. "And she fights so beautifully when cornered."
The door creaked open behind her. Two pairs of boots echoed across the marble floor.
"Mother?" Xander's voice rang with hesitation.
Adana didn't turn. "You should be asleep."
"We saw the fires," Levi said sharply. "From the balcony."
Silence stretched. The battlefield crackled in the basin—flames illuminating Laraine's figure as she led a desperate counterattack.
Then Levi's voice, low and furious: "You ambushed her."
"She's a threat to the throne," Adana replied, cool and level. "To your future. I did what had to be done."
"She was our sister." Xander's voice broke.
"She is," Levi hissed. "You didn't even give her a choice."
"She made her choice when she drew her blade against the throne," Adana said quietly, turning now, her eyes gleaming like obsidian. "And you will understand one day what it means to be a ruler. Mercy is a luxury. I chose strength."
Xander's fists clenched at his sides. "Strength isn't tricking someone into an ambush. It's not watching her burn while you stand here untouched."
Levi's voice was trembling now. "And what about Vienna? You used her too."
Adana's jaw tightened. "I protected her. I did the best I could."
The crystal rippled again—Serelith now appearing in the scrying basin, a shadow in the firelit chaos. She moved like a phantom behind the smoke, twin daggers in hand, eyes locked on Laraine.
Xander saw her. "Serelith… she's there too?"
"Of course." Adana's voice turned soft, almost motherly. "She's the end. If fire doesn't finish the rebellion, the dagger will."
There was a long pause. The twins said nothing.
Then Xander whispered, "What kind of ruler are you?"
Adana's smile was thin, cold. "The kind who survives."
She turned back to the basin.
But behind her, the silence that lingered was not agreement.
It was the sound of love unraveling.
And below, in the embers of war, Serelith crept closer—her blade catching the firelight, her gaze locked on Laraine's unprotected back.
- - -