They were losing.
Seraph blocked. Parried. Stepped back. Her mother's blade came again. Precise. Inhuman. Programmed.
"Mom. *Please*."
No response. Just another strike that nearly took her head off.
Taren limped forward. Cane forgotten. One eye tracking movements he could barely follow anymore. "Isolde. It's us. Your *family*."
She pivoted. Kicked him in the ribs. He flew back. Hit rubble. Gasped.
"Dad!" Seraph lunged. Blocked her mother from finishing him.
Steel screamed against steel.
And Seraph realized: They couldn't win this.
Her mother was too fast. Too strong. Too *perfect*. Every movement optimized. Every strike calculated. The Church had taken a skilled fighter and turned her into a machine.
Ayọlá's blessing surged through Seraph. Golden light flaring from her blades. Divine strength flooding her limbs.
It wasn't enough.
Isolde fought like she had no limits. Because she didn't. Pain was just data. Exhaustion was irrelevant. The programming didn't allow hesitation.
Only execution.
Seraph's arm went numb from blocking. Her legs shook. Blood ran from a dozen small cuts.
Behind her, Taren struggled to stand. Ribs broken. Breathing labored. But still trying. Still reaching for the woman he'd loved for decades.
"Isolde. I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. *Fight it*."
For just a heartbeat, she hesitated.
A flicker in her empty eyes.
Then the programming reasserted. Crushed her will beneath commands carved into her nervous system.
She attacked.
Faster than before. Like hesitation had triggered a failsafe. A punishment.
Seraph barely blocked the first strike. The second caught her shoulder. Drew blood. The third came for her throat—
She rolled. Came up gasping.
Her mother stood over her. Blade raised. Crystalline growths spreading across her face catching firelight from the burning city. Empty eyes staring at nothing.
At *her daughter*.
And couldn't see her.
"Please," Seraph whispered. Broken. "I don't want to fight you."
Isolde's blade descended.
Taren tackled her. Despite broken ribs. Despite his age. Despite knowing it wouldn't work.
It didn't.
Isolde threw him off. He hit the fountain. Hard. Didn't get up.
"Dad!" Seraph scrambled toward him.
Isolde was faster.
She grabbed Seraph's hair. Yanked her back. Threw her to the ground.
Planted a boot on her chest.
Raised her blade with both hands.
Not a quick death. A *statement*. Cleaving her daughter in half from sternum to stomach.
Seraph's swords were out of reach. Her arms pinned. Her body exhausted.
She had nothing left.
Except one sword. Still gripped in her right hand. Barely.
She raised it. Blocked.
The blades met. Her mother's strength pressing down. Overwhelming. Inevitable.
The edge crept closer. Inch by inch.
Seraph's arms shook. "Mom. Mom, please. I know you're in there. *Fight*."
Something flickered in Isolde's eyes.
A crack in the programming. Small. Fragile.
But there.
Her mouth moved. Fighting to speak. Jaw locked by commands but *trying*.
"S—" A whisper. Barely audible. "—aph."
"Mom?"
Tears. Streaming down Isolde's face. Her body still pushing. Still trying to kill. But something inside *screaming*.
"K—kill... me."
The words broke something in Seraph's chest.
"What?"
"Please." Isolde's voice cracked. Fighting every syllable. "Can't... stop. Command... absolute. Will kill... you. Both. Please."
"No." Taren crawled forward. Blood on his lips. "No. There has to be another way."
"There... isn't." Isolde's blade pressed closer. Her body betraying her even as she begged. "Don't... let me... do this."
Seraph stared up at her mother. Saw the agony in her eyes. The war between will and programming.
And understood.
The only way to save her was to let her go.
"I can't," Seraph whispered.
"You... must." Isolde's tears fell onto Seraph's face. Warm. Real. Human. "End... this. End... *me*."
"Isolde—" Taren reached for her.
"I'm... sorry." Her voice broke completely. "So... sorry. Love... you. Both. Always."
Seraph's vision blurred. Not from exhaustion. From tears she couldn't stop.
She looked at her mother. Really looked.
Saw the woman who'd taught her to identify flowers. Who'd been proud when she disarmed her instructor. Who'd told her to be kind even when the world wasn't.
Saw the prisoner trapped in her own body. Screaming. Begging. Dying by inches.
And made her choice.
"I love you too."
She shifted her grip.
Let her mother's blade come closer.
Used the momentum.
Rolled. Twisted. Drove her sword up.
Through ivory armor. Between ribs. Into her mother's heart.
Isolde gasped.
The programming shattered.
Her body collapsed. Seraph caught her. Lowered her gently.
Taren was there instantly. Hands shaking. "No. No no no—"
"It's... okay." Isolde's voice was hers now. Weak. Fading. But *hers*. "It's over."
Her hand found Seraph's face. Warm. Trembling. Real.
"I'm sorry." Blood on her lips. "I was... a bad mother."
"No." Seraph gripped her hand. Desperate. "You weren't. You were perfect. You just—you wanted to survive. You were blinded by what you once had. That's human. That's *normal*."
"I... abandoned you."
"You were taken from us." Seraph's voice broke. "That's not the same thing."
Isolde smiled. Sad. Grateful. Dying.
Her other hand found Taren's. "Forgive... me. I tore... our family... apart."
"There's nothing to forgive." Taren's face was wet. His voice shattered. "Just stay. Please. We'll find a way—"
"No." She squeezed both their hands. "This... is mercy. Finally... free."
Her breathing slowed.
"I love... you." She looked at Seraph. "So... proud. You're... extraordinary."
Seraph remembered those words. From childhood. From gardens and training yards and moments when her mother had been alive.
"I love you too."
Isolde's eyes drifted to Taren. "Take... care of... her."
"I will."
"And... yourself."
"Isolde—"
"It's... okay." She smiled. One last time. "I'm... with you. Both. Always."
Her hand went slack.
Her eyes closed.
And Seraph's mother—warrior, wife, prisoner—died peacefully.
Holding the hands of the family she'd betrayed.
And the family that had never stopped loving her.
Taren made a sound. Not a word. Just grief rendered audible. He pulled Isolde's body close. Held her. Rocking slightly. Like he could bring her back through sheer refusal to let go.
Seraph sat frozen. Covered in her mother's blood. Sword still in her hand.
She'd killed her.
Saved her.
Both.
Neither.
Footsteps. Behind them.
Ilias and Torrin emerged from the smoke. Moving carefully. Respectfully.
Ilias saw the scene. His face crumpled.
"Seraph—"
She stood. Mechanically. Let her sword fall. Walked away from her father. From her mother's body.
Toward Ilias.
He opened his arms. Tried to embrace her.
She collapsed into him. Not gracefully. Just—fell. Caught herself against his chest.
And cried.
Not quiet tears. Not restrained grief. Just raw, broken sobs that shook her entire body.
Ilias held her. Said nothing. What could he say? What words existed for this?
He just held her.
Let her break.
Behind them, Torrin stood silently. One hand on Taren's shoulder. Giving the old man space to mourn.
The city burned around them.
The war raged on.
But in this small corner of hell, there was just a family. Shattered. Grieving. Human.
Seraph pulled back eventually. Not far. Just enough to breathe.
Her eyes were red. Swollen. Empty.
When she spoke, her voice was flat. Cold. Dead.
"I'm going to kill them."
Ilias frowned. "What?"
"The Valencrest family." She looked at him. Through him. "They gave her to the Church. Let them experiment. Turn her into a weapon. My mother's *family*." She laughed. Broken. Bitter. "They did this."
"Seraph—"
"I'm going to kill every single one of them." Her voice didn't rise. Didn't shake. Just stated fact. "For what they did to her. To us. I'm going to burn them down. Every branch. Every name. Until there's nothing left."
"Seraph, you're in shock—"
"I'm *clear*." She stepped back. Met his eyes. "For the first time in my life, I'm completely clear. They took my mother. Twice. First when they gave her to the Church. Then when she died in my arms. And I'm going to make them pay."
She turned to walk away.
Stopped.
Just before disappearing into the smoke.
Turned back.
Walked to Ilias with purpose. Grabbed his face with both hands—rough, desperate, certain.
And kissed him.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. Just raw need and finality compressed into one moment.
Ilias froze. Then kissed her back. Holding her like she might vanish if he let go.
She pulled away first. Their foreheads pressed together. Her eyes wet but focused.
"I love you," she whispered. "I need you to know that. In case I don't come back from this."
"Then I'm coming with you." His voice was firm. Absolute.
"No." She touched his face. Memorizing it. "This is mine. My family. My blood. Let me have it."
"Seraph—"
"Please." Her voice cracked. "Let me do this. For her. For me. I need to do this."
He stared at her. Saw the determination. The brokenness. The love and rage tangled together.
Finally nodded. "Come back."
"I'll try." She kissed him again. Quick. Final. "I love you."
"I love you too."
She stepped back. Picked up her swords. And walked into the burning city without looking back.
Ilias watched her go. Every instinct screaming to follow. To protect her. To stop her from becoming something she'd regret.
But he didn't move.
Because she'd asked him not to. And he loved her enough to let her choose her own path. Even if it led to darkness.
Torrin's hand on his shoulder. "That was the right choice."
"Was it?"
"She needs this. Needs to decide who she becomes after grief. If you take that from her, she'll resent you. Or herself. Or both."
"And if she doesn't come back?"
"Then you'll mourn. But at least you let her be free."
Taren still held his wife. Whispering to her. Apologies. Promises. Things that didn't matter anymore but had to be said anyway.
Ilias looked at the destruction. The bodies. The broken families.
This was war.
Not the clean version. Not heroes and villains with clear lines.
Just people. Losing everything. And deciding what to burn in response.
He gripped his staff tighter.
Felt the place where Seraph's lips had touched his. Still warm.
And wondered how many more would die before it ended.