The wind that swept through the ruins smelled of ash and betrayal.
Lyra stood at the edge of the Hollow's new camp, her cloak snapping behind her like a shadow trying to flee.
"They're not just scouts?" she asked Kaia again, voice steady even though her hands trembled.
Kaia shook her head. "No. This is a formal strike unit. Royal colors. Red and silver banners. Trained soldiers."
"Nightshade House?" Torin asked from behind.
"No. Worse," Lyra said. "The High Council."
Everyone fell silent.
Even the fire seemed to pause.
---
They gathered in the war room—a circular stone chamber lit by hanging lanterns and marked maps.
Riven pointed at a charcoal sketch of the valley.
"They're approaching from the eastern ridge," he said. "No subtlety. They want to be seen."
"They want her to surrender," Kaia added, nodding toward Lyra. "And they think we'll hand her over to save ourselves."
Torin let out a short, humorless laugh. "Then they don't know who we are."
Lyra looked around the table. Faces that once flinched at the thought of battle now stared back with steady resolve.
"You don't have to protect me," she said quietly.
Torin leaned forward. "We're not protecting you. We're fighting with you."
---
By mid-afternoon, the ruins were alive with preparation.
Stone walls were reinforced with ancient doors and metal scraps. Hidden archers lined the perimeter. Trap lines were double-checked. The youngest fighters were stationed deep inside the catacombs for safety.
Lyra stood at the highest ledge, looking out at the setting sun.
Soon, the Council's army would appear. Trained. Armed. Loyal to laws that called her a traitor.
And she would fight them.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she had to.
---
As dusk bled into night, a familiar voice cut through the cold:
"Lyra of House Vexen. Daughter of Seraphina. You are ordered to return under full custody of the High Vampire Council."
Lyra stepped into view.
A man on horseback stared up at her. Dressed in red robes lined with obsidian threads, his eyes glowed faintly.
"General Orien," she said bitterly.
Her mother's war dog.
"You don't belong here," he said. "This place is beneath you."
"I'm where I'm needed."
His face darkened. "You've bonded with the wolf, haven't you?"
She didn't answer.
"You have three hours," he said. "Then we breach the Hollow and burn it to dust."
---
Back inside, tension crackled like lightning in a glass jar.
"They want to rattle you," Torin said. "Make you afraid enough to surrender."
"I'm not afraid," Lyra replied. "I'm angry."
Kaia raised a brow. "That's new."
"Good," Torin added. "Anger keeps the blade steady."
But Riven was less confident. "We're outnumbered. We'll never match them in force. We need leverage."
Lyra turned. "Then we find it."
---
Two hours later, Kaia returned with news.
"There's a tunnel—half-collapsed, but still passable. Leads behind the eastern ridge. We can flank them."
Torin grinned. "Let's give them a surprise."
Riven added, "And if we time it right, Lyra can face Orien directly. Take out the leader, destabilize their line."
"Then that's the plan," Lyra said.
For the first time, she didn't feel like she was taking orders.
She felt like a leader.
---
At midnight, the Hollow erupted into fire and fury.
Torin's wolves struck first—slipping through shadows, taking down soldiers in the dark.
Screams rose. Commands were shouted. The Council's line turned chaotic.
Then Lyra stepped into the clearing.
Red eyes locked on her.
General Orien raised his hand. "You could've had the throne."
She unsheathed her blade. "I'd rather have freedom."
He lunged.
So did she.
---
Their swords clashed with thunderous force.
Orien was faster than she remembered, and brutal.
"You've weakened," he sneered. "Tainted by that mutt's blood."
"No," she said. "I've changed."
He slashed. She dodged. The ground beneath them cracked.
Then she saw it—an opening.
She feinted left, spun, and drove her blade through his side.
He staggered.
Blood spilled down his armor.
"You... would kill your own kin?" he whispered.
"You already did," she replied.
And she let him fall.
---
The Council's soldiers hesitated.
Without their general, their line broke.
Wolves and vampires from the Hollow surged forward.
Within minutes, the ridge was theirs.
---
Back at camp, Lyra walked among the wounded. She healed what she could, helped where she couldn't.
No one called her "princess" anymore.
They called her commander.
Later, Torin found her by the riverbed, cleaning her blade.
"You didn't hesitate," he said.
"He deserved it."
He nodded.
"You've changed."
She looked at him.
"So have you."
They stood in silence.
Then he asked, "What now?"
"We grow," she said. "We prepare."
"For what?"
She turned to face the horizon.
"For war."
---
In the days that followed, the Hollow swelled.
More defectors arrived—vampires tired of Council rule, werewolves sick of ancient laws.
And Lyra welcomed them all.
She and Torin created a code. A shared law. Respect. Protection. Unity.
They built an army, one soul at a time.
Every night, Lyra stood beneath the mural.
The light grew brighter.
The prophecy clearer.
A bond forged in pain. A war ended in fire.
She didn't know what was coming.
But she would be ready.
---