"For how long do I have to stand in here?"

  Elduin's voice cracked through the heat. Sweat carved rivers down his face as the basin of flames roared around him, tongues of fire licking at the air. He stood at their centre like a sacrifice bound to a pyre.

  Syrena remained at the yard's edge, arms folded beneath her scarlet cloak. Her gaze fixed on Alyona, who knelt in the far corner with both hands raised. The girl's focus never wavered from the metal armour propped on the wooden rack. Sweat beaded along her temple, catching the morning light.

  "For as long as you cannot find cold within those flames," Syrena said. "For as long as you cannot reach out and take what you need."

  She turned her head toward Elduin, who struggled to grasp her meaning through the rippling heat. "You have perfected drawing cold from nature these past years, but weakness in battle means death. What would you do when warmth surrounds you on all sides? No winds. No moss on stone. No moisture beneath your feet."

  Elduin faced her through the shimmer. "Is that even possible?"

  Syrena's attention drifted to the center of the yard where Norman and Kharis traded blows, steel ringing against steel. A rare smile broke out on Norman's features. She smiled as well. "Everything is possible. There are voids where air cannot reach. Lands where snow burns like fire."

  She watched Kharis raise his shield to catch Norman's descending blade, the impact sending him back a step. "You and Kharis lack my sacred blood to strengthen yours as Alyona bears it." Her gaze shifted to the red-haired girl, whose trembling hands finally dropped. Alyona moved to the castle wall and sank down, burying her face in her palms. "But that makes your potential no weaker. Thought, you need nature to provide what your magic requires. For her, warmth lives in her blood alone. Even if nature abandons her, she would still have herself."

  He turned back to the flames and closed his eyes. "Don't think you could feed me that blood of yours by making mine seem weak.” A smile pulled at his lips. “My mother would not forgive me if I could not feel cold in harsh conditions when her elven blood flows through my veins."

  "Prove it then.” Syrena's mouth curved. “Prove your elven blood makes you closer to nature than her borrowed power."

  She crossed the packed ground where Norman now demonstrated sword forms to Kharis, who laughed with boyish excitement. Norman's eyes met hers. He offered a small smile before returning to his instruction. Beyond them, the fortress walls rose like cliffs of hewn stone, and there stood the Devil's Gate itself. Massive. Ancient. Runes carved deep into greenish-black metal that had tasted centuries and refused to speak of them.

  Syrena reached Alyona and sat beside her. The silver anklet chimed softly against stone. The girl either had not heard or chose not to acknowledge the sound.

  Syrena watched Elduin, whose concentration had sharpened after their talk. "I know it feels as though everything has shattered. You cannot focus on anything when grief eats you from the inside.” She played with her ring unknowingly. “I have been there myself."

  "You would never know what I feel right now." Alyona's whisper barely carried.

  Syrena opens her mouth to reply, but she does not speak. Instead, she kept her hands on her rings. "You are right.” She looked at Elduin. “How can a monster like me know your pain?" She paused. "Look at him."

  Alyona raised her head, eyes bloodshot and raw after her transformation.

  "His mother is that elven woman in the dungeons."

  "What?" Alyona's voice pitched higher.

  "Yes." Syrena nodded once. “He was only fourteen when I first saw him in the dungeons with his mother.” She turned to face the girl fully. "He had spent a whole year with his mother in that place, but his spirit never broke… or it did, but never showed in front of his mother.”

  “He’s eighteen? Five years he spent here?”

  “Five years in this cage.” She nods. “Seeing his mother in that hell would boil anyone’s blood.” She pauses, weighing her words. “You think I use that as leverage to bend him to my will, correct?"

  Alyona managed a weak nod. "Y-Yes?"

  "His mother convinced him to follow me. Learn from me. She knew the world cares nothing for pride, only for survival and a peaceful future. She understood which handful controls true power and where that path leads for everyone."

  For moments, Alyona sat in silence. “What about him?” She asked, looking at Kharis. “He seems older than Elduin.”

  “I met him seven years ago. His parents sold him to a rogue sorcerer studying dark magic. He carries the essence of the Wind.” She looked at Norman, laughing at Kharis's clumsy stance. “He and Norman-“

  A sharp crack split the air, followed by Elduin's laughter. Both basins hissed and smoked as though someone had dumped buckets of water across burning coals. Elduin stood between them, grinning like a fool who had just won against fate. He turned and shouted across the yard. "See! I told you I would do it."

  Syrena rose, returning his smile. "What did you do?"

  He jabbed a finger at the extinguished flames. "You spoke of my weaknesses, so I found theirs instead. I drew moisture from the soil beneath and used it to drown the flames. Remove the weakness at its root."

  Irritation flickered across Syrena's features. "That's not what I—"

  Applause cut through her words like a blade through silk.

  Lord Valar emerged from the shadow of the stable path, two knights trailing behind in dull red armour. Yellow lions snarled from their breastplates, paint worn at the edges. They carried their helmets tucked beneath their arms. Lord Valar strode forward with practised ease, every step measured.

  "Well done, little Elduin. I knew you possessed the same warmth as your mother." He glanced back at his knights and chuckled. "Well, in your case, cold?"

  Both knights snickered on cue like trained dogs.

  Elduin spun to face him, fists clenched white. "Don't even talk about my mother."

  Lord Valar's smile widened, showing teeth. "Talk? You can imagine what I have already done to her all these years. You were there, were you not? Right beside her when—"

  "Why are you here, Islar?” Syrena had already closed half the distance, her footsteps silent despite the anklet's chime. “I thought you would have departed by now."

  Lord Valar turned, his expression shifting from cunning to something almost pleasant. "I was about to. But then you filled my thoughts." He stepped closer. "And here I am, to bid you farewell before I leave."

  He raised his hand palm upward, waiting.

  She studied his amber eyes. They told her he would not leave without this gesture. She placed her hand in his, feeling the calluses from years of swordplay. "You should attend to Lynette rather than me. She is your wife."

  Lord Valar lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Wife? I have given her two healthy sons and a beautiful daughter. Her place remains beside me in the Red Palace. What more could she possibly want?"

  Syrena held his gaze. "When was the last time you asked how she was doing?"

  “That’s beneath me.” Lord Valar released her hand and laughed, the sound harsh as iron dragged across stone. "But those words sure sound strange from a woman such as you. It makes me wonder if the stories about the witch are just myths spun by madmen and fools."

  His gaze found Alyona, who immediately looked down at her feet. He turned to leave, cloak swirling behind him.

  "Have you considered my advice on the path you have chosen? You still have time to change everything." Syrena's voice carried steel beneath silk. "It will one day lead you to an end you never predicted."

  “You know I am a cautious man. I would never play a losing game. But yes, if there were a variable that would backstab me…” Lord Valar glanced over his shoulder, annoyance plain as daylight in his eyes. "Will you, Syrena? Will you turn your back on me?"

  Syrena stood silent for a moment. “I want to make it clear, whoever stood at the top means nothing to me.” She turns without looking back at him. “Either it’s you or the Golden Prince… or someone else.” She starts moving. “Just don’t lose yourself on that path. You would never be able to come back again.”

  “I would never.” He strode with a smile toward his wagon. His knights climbed in after him, armor clanking.

  Vathros and Gate Marshal Thorn stood near the stables as the wagon rolled forward, guards forming up front and rear like pieces on a game board. Thorn looked at Syrena and nodded before approaching one of the stable boys. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, slipped something into his palm with practised subtlety, then nodded once more at Syrena before departing with the wagon train.

  Vathros moved toward the training yard. Norman appeared at Syrena's side before she gave a subtle nod. He walked past Vathros toward the stable boy who had received Marshal Thorn's delivery, his movements casual as a man checking on horses.

  Vathros turned to watch Norman's path, but Syrena's voice pulled him back.

  "Vathros."

  He faced her, scarred features guarded.

  "What brings you here? I did not see Talborn and his apprentice. What was his name?"

  "Gareth, my lady. He and his men scout ahead until my master reaches Valar's territory."

  Syrena's smile held no warmth. "Yes, Gareth." She glanced at Alyona. "She told me how... manly he was."

  Vathros seemed to shrink, his shoulders drawing inward. "I... I would not ask forgiveness for what happened. It was necessary for—"

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "I know." Her interruption cut clean as a butcher's blade. "For obedience. For pride?"

  "It was my master's order."

  She gestured for Elduin and Kharis to approach. "You were skilled with swords, correct?"

  "Still am."

  She clapped her hands as the two young men joined them. "Wonderful!" She motioned toward the yard. "Will you please have a mock duel with my students? Fighting Norman repeatedly improves them a little, but the other men fear hurting them in my presence, even in duels. You, however, would not hesitate."

  Vathros studied Elduin and Kharis, measuring them with an old soldier's eyes. "I would gladly face them, but they might get hurt without their magic."

  "Pain builds men as they say." She looked at Alyona. "Bring the sword."

  Alyona nodded and retrieved a blade from where her bow rested against the wall. She walked toward them, gaze dropping as she neared Vathros. She stopped before Syrena, staring at the silver anklet as though it held answers. "H-Here."

  Syrena touched her chin, lifting it until their eyes met. "You have nothing to fear with me beside you."

  Tears formed in Alyona's eyes, threatening to spill.

  "Give it to him," Syrena whispered.

  Alyona's hand trembled as she approached Vathros. Her gaze flickered everywhere but his face. Vathros grinned as he took the weapon, his burned fingers closing around the hilt. He leaned close enough that only she could hear. "You think you have left the horrors behind, little lizard?"

  He walked past her onto the training ground, leaving her frozen.

  Syrena watched the girl tremble, tears falling freely now, heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She pulled Alyona into her arms and stroked her ember hair, fingers gentle. "You have to fight your fears. It is the only way you will be free of those horrors within your heart."

  Vathros reached the center and removed his midnight robes, revealing a linen shirt beneath. His right arm bore the same old burn scars as his face, flesh twisted and discoloured. Elduin and Kharis conferred briefly in low voices. Kharis clapped his shoulder, and Elduin moved to face Vathros while Kharis stepped aside. Elduin glanced once at Syrena, at Alyona, then his expression hardened into something sharp and determined, all trace of boyishness gone.

  Alyona's heartbeat began to steady beneath Syrena's palm. "Look at them," Syrena whispered into her hair. "Look at their flaws. You will have to fill in for them when they fall short."

  The first blade met the second with a ring that echoed off the walls.

  Alyona turned her head within Syrena's embrace. Elduin pressed forward with aggressive thrusts and wide slashes, forcing Vathros back step by step. His technique held power but lacked refinement.

  Vathros appeared calm despite the onslaught, feet sliding across the ground with practiced ease. He weathered the initial assault, reading Elduin's patterns like a scholar reading well-worn text. The boy fought with raw power but no cunning. After a dozen exchanges, Vathros caught Elduin's blade on his own and twisted, trying to disarm him. Elduin held firm and disengaged, circling.

  They met again, steel singing. Elduin launched a high slash. Vathros ducked beneath it and swept his boot through the loose dirt at the yard's edge. Sand sprayed into Elduin's face.

  "Bastard!" Elduin staggered back, blinking furiously, one hand rising to his eyes.

  Vathros closed in fast and hooked his blade behind Elduin's knee. The young man crashed down hard. Vathros's sword stopped a finger's width from his throat, the tip unwavering.

  "You cheated!" Elduin spat dirt from his mouth, fury bright in his amethyst eyes. "That was dishonorable!"

  Vathros lowered his blade slowly. "This was a battle. I would use any method to win, just as anyone with sense would."

  "But honor-"

  "Honor?" Vathros barked a laugh. "Honor gets you killed."

  Syrena's voice cut across the yard before Elduin could respond. "He speaks the truth."

  Elduin turned to her, betrayal plain on his features. His mentor was supposed to be on his side.

  "In battle, those who cling to honor are most likely to die first. Victory is victory, regardless of cost." She paused, letting the words sink in his mind. Elduin's head dropped. Syrena continued, voice softer now. "If you want honor, become strong enough that such tactics fall beneath you. Become so skilled that no trick can deceive you."

  Silence stretched between them. Elduin pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes.

  Before Kharis could step forward to take his turn, horns blared from the south watchtower. Three long notes that shivered through the air and turned blood cold.

  “Three?” Vathros spun toward the Devil's Gate. "What's all this about?"

  A voice carried across the fortress, raw with urgency and fear. "Rider on the bridge!"

  Vathros dropped the sword with a clang and nodded curtly at Syrena. "It seems we have a situation. Please excuse me."

  He strode down the path toward the southern gate, robes billowing behind him.

  Kharis and Elduin exchanged confused looks, then turned to Syrena for answers she did not yet have. Norman approached and pressed a small piece of parchment into her palm, his scarred fingers rough against hers. "From Marshal Thorn."

  The sound of groaning hinges filled the air as gates swung open beyond the buildings. Syrena unfolded the parchment and read the cramped script:

  The lion has turned his gaze toward the golden mine. His plans for the next owner of the mines are in motion. He has already sent the sadist bitch to survey the weather inside the mines.

  She released the parchment. It withered into ash like rotted paper before touching the ground, crumbling to nothing.

  "First, the expedition beyond the gates and now the Golden Capital." Her voice remained level, betraying nothing. "What does he think to accomplish from the Royal Prince?"

  "Should we warn them?" Norman asked quietly.

  She walked down the path toward the commotion near the gates, where a crowd was already gathering. "We cannot trust those who cannot even trust their own blood. Their peace was built upon lies and false history. It was bound to shatter eventually. Associating themselves with the name of Light will one day become the cause of their end."

  Norman said nothing. He knew when silence served better than words. The others followed as they reached the massive gates where no buildings stood within the cleared space. A crowd surrounded a young man with brown hair and hollow eyes. Eyes that had looked upon death and found it staring back with interest.

  Vathros knelt before him. Other men tried to calm the rider's trembling body, hands on his shoulders. Vathros raised a hand for silence. "Give him water." He turned to the crowd. "Find Master Jones immediately."

  Someone pressed a waterskin to the young man's lips. The moment liquid touched his mouth, he seized the man's hand and drank like someone who had wandered the wasteland for days without reprieve. Water spilled down his chin.

  Vathros studied him with sharp eyes. "You are Reeve, correct? Squire of Ser Haimmond."

  The young man managed a nod between gulps. "Y-Yes."

  "Where is everyone? We received word that you reached the great road and even found natives. Where are Master Peres and Master Dune? They were responsible for routes, maps, water and food reserves in the wastelands."

  He trembled at the questions. Memory flooded back unbidden. Hands grasping his master's throat, squeezing until bone cracked. A sword striking his neck as blood poured down, steaming in the cold air. His companions screaming as that man butchered them one by one with methodical precision. Both Masters dragged away in chains while Reeve alone was spared. So you can bring news, the voice had said, almost gently. And the beast that followed him afterwards, watching from above like death given wings and scales.

  Vathros gripped both his shoulders hard enough to bruise. The young man said nothing, only shook like a leaf in storm winds. "Tell me what happened to them!"

  The squire looked broken, a vessel with cracks spreading through it. "Dead." He trembled harder. "E-Everyone... dead. The Masters were... captured by him. He... executed my master before my eyes. He..."

  His body shook as he recalled blood-red eyes staring down at him without mercy or malice. Just a cold assessment. Leave while I still allow you. My beast will watch over you if you try to wander from the path.

  He looked up at the sky with sudden intensity. Everyone followed his gaze. They saw nothing but clouds drifting across the pale blue. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. Many thought him mad, broken by his journey. Everyone but one.

  Syrena.

  She studied his eyes, recognising the particular horror that came from above with wings and savagery and ancient hunger. She had seen men wear that same expression as she played with them, testing their limits.

  Vathros followed the squire's gaze upward, then shook him again, harder. "What are you looking for in the sky?"

  After a heartbeat that stretched like hours, his lips moved. Syrena's lips moved at the same time, two voices speaking different tones but the same word.

  "Dragon."

  Everyone froze. Some tried to speak it again but their voices failed, catching in their throats.

  Alyona stood beside Syrena and watched her smile. A cold smile that held no joy, only recognition. Syrena stepped forward and knelt before the young squire, her scarlet cloak pooling around her. She placed both hands on his cheeks, but his gaze remained fixed above, searching the empty sky. Still hearing those words echo in his skull. My beast will watch over you.

  "Recall everything you remember." Syrena's voice demanded attention like a blade pressed to skin. "Who did this? Does he bear a crest of seven serpents, or a bloodied raven?"

  He mumbled, barely coherent, words tumbling over each other. "S-Serpents. They wore serpent crests. But he... everyone bowed to him... even the men with serpents..."

  "Who was it?” Syrena's grip tightened on his head, fingers digging into his temples. “Did you hear his name? What does he look like?"

  The squire did not answer. His eyes remained fixed on the sky, watching for shadows. Syrena's jaw clenched, teeth grinding. She forced his gaze down from the sky toward her, toward her own eyes that burned like rubies set in snow.

  "Look at me—"

  The moment their eyes met, recognition and terror exploded across his face. He felt the same fear, the same cold assessment. He jerked away from her hands as though she had burned him with hot iron. He scrambled backwards on hands and knees, voice rising to a scream that echoed off the walls. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

  Syrena froze, taken aback. Even Vathros stared at the trembling boy as though he had seen ghosts walking among the living, reaching out with pale hands.

  Syrena reached for him again, movements slow and deliberate. "I..."

  He kept shouting, gaze locked on her scarlet eyes like a drowning man watching the surface recede. "DON'T COME PLEASE. PLEASE SPARE ME."

  Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through wheat before harvest. Eyes turned to Syrena as though she had cast some dark spell to break his mind, to steal his sanity.

  She tried again, keeping her voice gentle as falling snow. "I will not hurt you."

  "YOUR EYES... HE HAD..." His words dissolved into incoherence as fear consumed him, swallowed him whole. Vathros reached for him, but the boy only repeated one phrase like a prayer or a curse, over and over. He is watching. He is watching. He is watching.

  Syrena stood slowly, movements mechanical. She did not hear Vathros calling after her. Did not hear Norman's worried tone. Did not feel Alyona reaching for her sleeve with trembling fingers. She walked back toward the castle, back to her tower, back to her chambers where she could think without eyes upon her.

  Only one thought filled her mind, sharp as a blade between her ribs, twisting.

  Only her flesh and blood would have eyes like hers. Only one boy had been born with them.

  For the one whom she has become what she is today. For the one whom she chose violence so that he could live in a world with peace. For him, she never returned. But did it turn out right? Is there peace in her lands? Is there peace anywhere in this world?

  Many questions filled her mind that had no answers. The only way to find what has become of her people, her lands, her boy… the only way was for her to return.

  Zyran…