By the fourth day, the roads widened and straightened, lined with half-buried stones carved with old kingdom seals. Forests gave way to wheat plains, distant watchtowers peeked over the hills, and rows of black banners fluttered faintly ahead—
We had reached the outer territories of the Kingdom of Cindral.
But peace didn't welcome us.
Smoke did.
We saw the first fire by midmorning—thin and rising behind the hills. Then came the sound.
Screams. Metal on stone. The sharp crack of magic against the earth.
"Hold," Perephone muttered, raising her arm to stop me. She crouched beside a worn trail marker, eyes narrowed.
Below us, just past the sloping ridge, a border outpost was under siege.
Flames danced across the rooftops. Men with mismatched armor and gang-marked blades tore through the houses. Villagers were either running or being dragged. Blood stained the stone well at the center of the square.
It wasn't war.It was butchery.
"Bandits?" I asked, voice low.
"Worse," Perephone muttered. "Organized. Probably mercs gone rogue."
"We need to help them—"
"We will."
She turned to me, face unreadable.
"We split. They've blocked both entry points. I'll take the left—cause a distraction. You go right, pull survivors to the north gate."
"Alone?"
"With Solviel."
I hesitated.
"You've fought spirits. You've trained for years. If you freeze now, you'll be choosing death—for them."
I didn't argue.
"Don't play hero. Just save who you can."
And then, she vanished—her form flickering like lightning before bounding into the smoke.
I took the east ridge path down, staying low.
My cloak caught ash in its folds. Screams rang out just ahead—a boy and his sister backed into a wooden fence, cornered by two laughing brutes.
"Solviel," I whispered. "Lend me your hand."
Golden light shimmered briefly across my palm. I leapt into motion.
The first man never saw me coming.
My lance cracked through his ribs, and I turned to sweep the second with a burst of radiant force—just enough to disarm, not kill. The children ran. I guided them behind the rubble of a broken cart and pressed a charm into their hands.
"North gate. Don't stop running."
They didn't question me.
I moved quickly, pulling more to safety—two elders from a burning home, a wounded guard from under collapsed stone. Every heartbeat dragged like thunder.
The enemy had numbers. They outmatched the villagers tenfold. But they weren't trained.
And I was no longer a girl clinging to peace.
From the far left, a flash of blue lightning split the air.I knew that was Perephone.
A blast of wind and screams followed. The sky darkened slightly.
She's drawing them away…
But I couldn't rely on her alone.
By the time I reached the town's edge, five buildings had collapsed. I counted at least thirty enemies still within the square, most sweeping the central streets for survivors.
My breath was shallow. My mana ran low.
But my feet didn't stop.
"For peace…" I whispered.
"And for the power to protect it."
Smoke clogged my lungs.
The clang of metal drowned every thought, but my body moved anyway—lance thrust, parry, pivot—trained muscle taking over where fear once lived.
Another bandit fell, groaning, light surging through his chest where I'd struck him clean through the ribs. I stepped back, sweat pouring, golden radiance burning along the silver shaft of my weapon.
Eight left. Then five.
They kept coming.
Blood splattered on the stone path. Not mine—but not all theirs, either.
"You'll have to kill eventually," Perephone had once said.
"I won't kill someone who can't fight back," I'd said.
They were still fighting.
But I was breaking.
Then I felt it.
A sudden shift—like the weight of the air twisted into something vile and hungry.
From the town square, a large shadow stepped forward.
He wore piecemeal armor dyed red with dried blood, a mask of bone covering half his face. A talisman of teeth dangled from his belt, and his massive broadsword dragged against the ground with a hiss.
Behind him, he shoved a wounded townsman aside like a rag doll—and grabbed something small.
A child.
One of the boys I'd saved earlier. Barely ten.
"You fight well," the man growled, voice like gravel. "But let's see if you bleed just the same."
He pressed a dagger into the boy's arm, and the scream tore through the sky.
I froze.
The child dropped to his knees, blood gushing.
"No!"
My body surged forward.
Solviel reacted first. Light flared around my arms as I launched myself like a spear.
The gang leader swung hard, his blade colliding with my lance in a crack that shattered the flagstones beneath us. I pushed off, flipping back and bracing again.
"You're a soft one," he sneered. "Too righteous to end it."
He was strong—slower than Perephone, but stronger by sheer mass. Each strike forced me to dodge, not block. I circled, lashing out with radiant bursts, slicing his shoulder, his thigh, his ribs.
He didn't stop.
"Saviors don't hesitate!" he roared, charging forward.
He feinted—and reached for the child again.
The boy whimpered, half-conscious.
And something inside me snapped.
"Solviel—permission," I whispered.
"Granted."
Time seemed to slow.
I drove forward with every ounce of power in me—no restraint, no mercy.
My lance pierced clean through his chest.
He staggered back.
For a moment, he looked surprised.
Then he fell.
Dead.
Blood seeped into the cracked stones.
The child's arm bled—but he was alive.
I dropped to my knees beside him, cradling his head, my hands glowing faint with healing magic.
But my own hands—
They were shaking.
They wouldn't stop shaking.
A quiet clap echoed behind me.
I turned—and saw Perephone, standing at the edge of the square.
She had watched the whole thing.
Her arms were crossed. Her face unreadable.
She didn't say a word.
Not until I looked at her with tears in my eyes and whispered,
"I didn't want to—"
"I know."
Then, softer:
"But you did.
The fires were out by morning.
Smoke still curled from the edges of homes. Ash danced across the square like ghostly snow. Villagers worked quietly, dragging broken beams, tending to the wounded, and wrapping the fallen in threadbare cloth.
I sat by the well, staring into the water, hands still stained red despite the washing.
The child I saved—his name was Aven—was resting, arm wrapped tightly. He would live.
I should have felt proud.
But I didn't.
"You held back," Perephone said beside me. "Until you couldn't."
I didn't reply.
"That's not failure, Luna. That's humanity."
"I still killed him."
"Yes."
The word landed like a stone.
"He was a monster—"
"Even monsters bleed."
Perephone didn't offer comfort.
Not because she lacked it—But because she knew I wouldn't accept it.
Instead, she placed her hand gently on my shoulder and stood.
"Help bury the dead. Then we move."
She walked away, boots crunching over soot and gravel.
The villagers built a pyre just outside the gates.
There were thirteen bodies wrapped in linen, some missing limbs, others unrecognizable. I helped stack the wood. A boy handed me a torch.
"You saved us," he whispered.
I wanted to say no, I didn't. I wanted to scream. But I simply nodded.
The flames rose.
Some cried. Most watched in silence.
And for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be worshipped by strangers.
Not as a saint.
But as a weapon.
That night, I didn't eat.
I sat by the edge of the village wall, watching the stars rise over the hills. My lance rested beside me, polished clean, but I could still see his eyes—wide with pain and confusion—as I struck.
Solviel's voice echoed gently in my thoughts.
"You protected life."
"But I ended one."
"Both can be true."
I closed my eyes.
Sleep came slow, and dreamless.
But when morning arrived, I stood taller.
Not because I was ready.
But because I had to be.
I looked up to the skies.
They were clear again. Pale blue, touched with drifting white. The kind of sky that promised peace to the average soul.
But not to me.
Who knows… beneath this seemingly ordinary sky lies a bloody fate for others.
Maybe the sky watched. Maybe it didn't.Maybe it was just… there.
Unchanged. Indifferent.
Like time.
A hand pressed softly against my head—gentle, grounding.
It was Perephone.
Her eyes were set on the road ahead, not on me. But her presence, her stillness, said enough.
"Say your goodbyes," she murmured. "We're nearly there."
I turned to the villagers one last time.
Some stood in silence. Others gave small bows. Aven, the boy I saved, tried to raise his bandaged arm and winced. I gave him a small smile.
"Live well," I whispered to him.
He nodded.
There were no grand send-offs. No holy hymns.
Only tired gratitude.
And the soft wind brushing across scorched earth.
The road bent upward into hills again. And beyond the ridge, as the horizon crested, I saw it—
The capital of Cindral.
Sprawling stonework. Gleaming towers. Banners fluttering with noble crests. The white marble walls stretched impossibly high, lined with gold-stitched sigils and watchtowers shaped like spears. Roads webbed out like veins into the outlands.
At its center, nestled against the heart of the city, was a crystalline dome that shimmered even beneath cloud cover.
"That's the Hall of Concord," Perephone said, following my gaze. "The oldest part of the capital. Where oaths are made, and broken."
"And the academy?"
"Just behind it. You'll see the spires soon. They reach higher than most temples."
We kept walking.
The silence wasn't heavy. Just real.
The road was new again. Not yet stained.
But I could feel it under my boots—the weight of choices already made.
One foot in the city of crowns.
The other still stained in ash.