Serena
Sleep refused to come.
The sea's lullaby had followed my inland — the soft crash of memory and regret — but even that could not drown the noise in my head. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw lightning splitting through shadow, my brother's face vanishing into the smoke, Xaiden's silver eyes watching me with something like pity.
And so, long before dawn, I, Serena Hawton slipped from her chambers.
The corridors of Eryndale's royal keep were vast and silent, carved of obsidian stone that swallowed light. Tapestries of ancient battles lined the walls, their woven knights locked in endless conquest. The air was cold, smelling faintly of steel and lilacs — Xaiden's mother's doing, I remember. The woman had always insisted the scent of death should never reach the throne.
I pulled my cloak tighter, hood drawn low, and moved like a shadow through the halls. I wasn't supposed to leave. The Council had ordered every ruler to remain within the keep until the morrow's negotiations began. But I have never been one to obey when silence pressed too heavily on my chest.
The guards didn't notice me; they never did when I didn't want them to. The magic of storms had always bent to my will — subtle when I needed it to be. A flicker of wind here, a ripple of distraction there.
When I stepped into the streets of Eryndale, I expected darkness and fear — the remnants of a city still licking its wounds from war. Instead, I found laughter.
The plaza below the citadel was alive — lanterns strung between buildings like captured stars, music spilling from a dozen lutes and drums. The people of Eryndale were celebrating.
A harvest festival, if her memory served right.
Children ran barefoot through the cobblestone streets, chasing ribbons of light conjured by amateur mages. Women spun in circles, their skirts blooming like flowers. Men clapped and sang old songs that smelled of wine and longing. For a moment, Serena stood at the edge of it all, unseen. And for a moment, she forgot to hate this place.
A small boy nearly collided with me, his arms full of candied apples. He stopped short, blinking up at my shadowed face. "Sorry, miss!" he said breathlessly, and smiled before darting away again.
I watched him go, my throat tightening. He couldn't have been older than my brother had been when the war started. I walked further in, my boots quiet against the stone. Everywhere I looked, there was life — fragile, unknowing life. They didn't speak of borders or betrayals. They didn't whisper the names of the dead. They simply lived, as if the war had never stolen anything from them.
A woman pressed a lantern into her hand before she could refuse it.
"Light one for those you've lost," the woman said kindly, not recognizing the storm queen standing before her. "The sea will carry their names tonight."
I hesitated, staring at the fragile flame. Those I had lost. My father. My mother. My brother. My home.
And — though I will never say it aloud — the boy who had once shared my crown of storms.
When I placed the lantern into the fountain's water, it drifted gently away, joining hundreds of others that glowed like golden ghosts upon the surface. The reflection of all that light shimmered across my face — and for the first time in years, my expression softened.
"You shouldn't be here."
"you shouldn't be here either."
The voice came from the shadows — smooth, quiet, unmistakable.
I didn't have to turn to know. Xaiden.
He stepped into the lantern light, dark cloak brushing the cobblestones, eyes catching the glow like shards of moonlight. Around them, the townsfolk laughed, oblivious to the storm that had just walked into their midst.
"And yet here I am," I said evenly. Though heart beating rappidly
"Here to judge my people again?."
"Your people?"
"Your treachery doesn't changes the fact that I still have the rights of call the people mine."
"Do you?"
"Unlike you, I understand how they feel, I know what it feels to be left alone."
"How can you say, I don't?"
" Never thought you would."
"You're acting like i didn- " I stopped speaking, thinking it would be better, but three words slipped my lips" I hate you."
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he said nothing. The silence between them was heavier than any accusation. Finally, he looked past her, toward the sea of laughing faces.
"They celebrate because they must," he said quietly. "Because the alternative is remembering."
"And you let them forget?"
"I let them live."I studied him — the man I had once called enemy, once called something far more dangerous. He looked tired, equally devastating, but no less formidable.
"You still believe mercy is strength," I murmured.
"And you still believe vengeance is," he replied. Our eyes met — thunder and shadow, two storms that had never learned how not to collide.Then a child's laughter rose between us, a bright, unbroken sound that didn't belong to either world.
For the first time that night, I smiled — faintly, bitterly.
"They don't know what's coming," I said.
Xaiden's gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "No," he said. "And that's the only reason they can still dance."
I looked at the children again, at the lanterns drifting away like prayers. My hand trembled slightly at my side — not from fear, but from something far more cruel.
Hope.
Before Xaiden could speak again, I turned and melted back into the shadows.The lanterns burned behind me like stars she would never reach,
and the laughter of Eryndale followed me all the way back to my room, where sleep waited — silent, impossible, and full of ghosts.
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