Princess zetulah viridian POV;
The ground muttered beneath us—low, guttural, like something old and angry was waking up under the dirt.
We didn't march. We moved like a blade being drawn. Purposeful. Quiet.
Ahead, Emberclaw's jagged ridges pierced the sky, dark teeth on the horizon. Still. Watching.
I rode beside Solric, his armor dull with soot, his silence louder than any war drum.
"We'll reach their border before nightfall," he muttered.
I kept my eyes forward. "Then we'll be ghosts in the dark."
A pause. His fingers twitched on the reins. "And if they see us coming?"
"Then they die screaming."
He didn't speak again. Good. I didn't have patience for men seeking comfort in words.
The air changed.
Sharp. Bitter. Smoke laced with something sour—burnt pitch or fear.
"You smell that?" I said, low.
Solric nodded. "They're burning something. Maybe a signal."
Or bait.
I reached for the hilt at my side. My palm itched. Not from nerves—never that. It was instinct. Battle pressing against my ribs like a scream wanting out.
---
(Kaelith POV)
Chains again. Cold ones this time. Laced with Azzuri magic that clung to the bones and whispered of frostbite beneath the skin.
They'd wrapped them like jewelry. Elegant. Deadly.
"You want me to kill him," I said. Voice flat.
Lord Serevan didn't blink. He didn't need to. His stillness was louder than violence.
"He's no longer your father. He's a blockade," Serevan said. "Remove it."
The laugh that clawed out of me was dry, cracked at the edges. "You're grooming assassins now?"
"We're activating consequences."
The chain pulsed—an ache that curled into my spine like rot. I flexed my fingers. Felt the tremor.
"He took everything," I said. "Stripped me down to ash."
"Then return the favor."
He stepped closer, offering the blade. Frost-edged. Silver pale. It hummed with the same wrongness that lived in me now.
I took it. Of course I did.
Not because I agreed. Because refusal wouldn't stop the bleed.
Because sometimes the only way to leave the fire was to set something else alight.
---
(Zetulah POV)
We entered the woods like thieves. Silent. Watching.
The fog wasn't natural. It slithered low, thick as old breath, wrapping around our ankles like it wanted to pull us under.
No birds. No wind. Just the quiet, too clean, too still.
A scout returned, eyes wide, voice hushed. "No movement. No patrols. Nothing."
Exactly the problem.
"Tighten the formation," I ordered. "No gaps."
He turned—
Snap.
The fog split like torn fabric. A blur. Then a sting.
Blood warmed my cheek. Not deep—but sharp. Fast.
"Down!" I shouted.
Arrows? No. Too close.
They dropped from the trees like shadows uncoiling. Light armor. Gold trim.
Not Emberclaw.
Moriba.
Of course. That slippery House never fought face to face. Always in smoke and silence.
Steel clashed beside me. A scream cut short. I moved on instinct—dropped, rolled, drove my blade into the thigh of the one nearest. Heard cartilage split.
He collapsed. I didn't wait to see if he got back up.
Solric was covered in blood—not all his. "They waited for us."
"Trap," I said, slicing another man across the gut. "They knew our route."
"We were too loud."
No. We were too predictable.
I took a deep breath. Metal. Mud. Blood in the air.
And behind it all, something colder. Calculation.
Emberclaw hadn't struck first. But they'd left the door open for someone who would.
---
(Kaelith POV)
The tunnel smelled the same—mildew and betrayal.
Stone walls brushed my shoulders as I moved, blade in hand. I should've felt fear. Instead, there was only that steady thrum in my chest. A drumbeat. A countdown.
The throne room opened like a wound.
Torchlight flickered. Shadows bled across marble.
Then—
"You came back dumber than I expected," said a voice.
Varnel.
Same stance. Same sneer. Captain of the guard. Loyal. To a corpse of an idea.
I didn't draw the blade. Not yet.
"You're still here," I said.
"Someone has to keep the rot breathing."
A pause.
He stepped forward. Sword drawn. "You won't touch him."
"I've already touched worse."
His eyes narrowed. "They sent you to finish it?"
"No one sends me anymore."
He lunged. Fast. I was faster. The blade moved like water—under his guard, hilt smashing ribs. He staggered. Gasped.
"You don't hesitate anymore," he breathed.
"No," I said. "I ran out of time."
I didn't wait for him to recover. I kept walking. Every step forward peeled another layer off my skin.
The deeper I went, the less of me there was left to lose.
—----
(Zetulah POV)
Smoke in the trees. Blood in the halls.
One of us had been baited. The other, uncaged.
And neither of us had struck the final blow.
Yet.
—-----------------------------------
Princess Zetulah Viridian POV
Blood dripped onto the white grass as if the earth itself were crying. I knelt down, watching the red spread across the plain. The battlefield was in cocomplete chaos, people yelling in anger and pain, and a cold wind that carried the smell of burning wood and fear.
House Moriba's warriors moved through the dark like living shadows. Their eyes shone a cold, harsh gold as they moved carefully, as if they had been waiting for us to slip. Every step they took seemed planned to make us fall apart.
"Hold the line!" Solric shouted, his voice rough with determination, trying to keep us from breaking. But his words were lost in the confusion as our ranks crumbled and our soldiers began to panic.
I fought with all my strength, cutting into an enemy with a fast, sure swing. The taste of blood filled my mouth, sharp against the cool air of the open grassy field. My heart pounded loudly in my ears as I fought on.
In a quiet moment between swings, I whispered, "There is a traitor in our ranks." I did not say this for blame, but because I knew the truth—someone had given our plan away. If we did not find this traitor soon, House Viridian would fall and be overrun.
For one brief second, the noise of the battle fell to a low, heavy hum. I looked around and noticed our archers had disappeared from their posts. A chill ran through me that was colder than any winter night.
I felt the wind shift; it told me that night was coming and with it, more hard truths.
As the sound of clashing swords faded, I could still hear Solric's command echoing in my mind. It pulled me away from the mess of battle and into a desperate need to find the truth behind our betrayal.
---
(Kaelith's POV)
I stepped into the quiet, heavy silence of the throne room. My boots made clear sounds on the dark, hard floor. In the middle of the room, on a golden throne, sat King Ragnis Emberclaw—my father and the man who had caused so much pain. His face was set and cold, a reminder of everything I hated.
"Did you really think you could come into my kingdom and kill me, boy?" His voice cut through the silence like broken glass. Every word hit me hard, reminding me of the man I once looked up to but now despised.
Standing at the foot of his throne, I could feel the cursed burn of the Azzuri chain on my arms—a constant, sharp pain. This burden had been forced upon me long ago and now weighed down on my very soul.
"I never came here to talk, old man," I said sharply, my voice tight with anger and sorrow.
I pulled out my sword—a blade that seemed to glow with black fire. The flames danced along the edge, their heat challenging the cold around us. My defiance became something real and bright in the dark room.
Slowly, Ragnis rose from his throne. Every move he made was calm and proud, as if he was savoring his last moments. "Then let's end this farce, traitor," he said with a sneer, convinced of his own power.
Everything began to move slowly. My heart beat loudly as I looked at the man who had taken everything from me. my happiness, my mom.
As the sound of his challenge faded into the still, cold air of the throne room, I moved forward. The black fire of my sword lit my path as I prepared to say goodbye to a cruel, old world.
The first blow came quickly—a burst of flame aimed straight at my head. I barely managed to block it, and the hit sent a jolt through my whole body. In that split second, I moved on pure instinct—a desperate dance shaped by years of kept anger and heartache.
"Is this all the Black Flame can do?" sneered Ragnis, his voice rough as he mocked me amid the noise of our clashing weapons.
I did not answer. Instead, I pushed forward. I feinted low and swung high, all my anger and regret fueling each blow. Sparks flew as our swords met. It was fire against darkness—a clash of what we had been and what I hoped to become.
This duel was not just about skill. It was about our history, our hatred, and our fate. "You are nothing without me," he spat, his words dripping with the need to control.
"Then I will become something new," I shot back, my voice raw with determination. Every strike and every block was a cry against the past. In one heartbeat, as our swords clashed, I saw a small moment of weakness in his stance—a brief crack that I could not ignore.
In that moment of vulnerability, as our weapons clanged and the fire dimmed for just a second, I felt the world shift. It promised me that this fight would change everything, even as another betrayal waited quietly in the wings.
---
(Zetulah's POV)
Back on the blood-stained grass, the fighting continued, and House Moriba pressed in on us without mercy. Every swing of my sword was driven by the need to survive, mixed with the pain of realizing how deep the betrayal went. Every breath I took tasted of blood and bitterness.
Then, without warning, I felt something cold and hard at my back. A dagger pressed against my skin. I froze, shock running through me like a jolt of electricity that stopped all thought. The world around me narrowed to that single, sharp pain.
A soft voice reached my ear. "I never wanted it to come to this, Princess."
My breath caught. Slowly, I turned, all my senses alert. In the weak light, I saw a pair of golden eyes—eyes I had once trusted. Now, they were filled with guilt and fear. That moment of betrayal hit me harder than any blow.
"You," I managed to say, the word full of disbelief and anger.
He trembled. The dagger stayed in place as he stuttered, "I thought it would save lives."
"You led them to us," I spat, every word bitter and heavy with the taste of betrayal and blood.
For what felt like forever, the chaos around me slowed and turned quiet. The sting of the dagger and the weight of broken trust pressed down on me, almost too much to bear.
As that shock deepened into a familiar ache along my back, the noise of battle faded into the background. I clung to the determination that I would find a way to turn this treachery into strength, even as the war raged on.
---
(Kaelith's POV)
I stood over him—over King Ragnis Emberclaw—whose strong frame now crumpled to his knees. In the silent, cold throne room, he lay broken, a remnant of a brutal past. His shattered sword lay at his side, pieces scattered like memories of an old era. Blood slowly oozed from his lips, each drop a reminder of the lives he had destroyed.
"Do it," he rasped, his final words a mix of challenge and surrender—a final dare from a dying man.
I looked at my father, tears coming down my eye. For one long, painful second, the weight of his legacy pressed down on me. The Black Flame burned along my arm—a constant reminder of the pain and duty I carried. Every beat of my heart reminded me of the many lives ruined by his rule.
I lifted my sword again. In that moment, time stretched out as I stared into his eyes—once filled with fierce ambition, now dim with the slow fade of power. Every harsh memory rushed through me.
With years of bottled pain and anger, I drove my blade forward. The black flame roared as my sword pierced through his armor, his flesh, and into the heart of the man who had caused so much suffering.
I watched quietly as the fire on my sword died down, leaving only a cold darkness where my father's fire once burned. The silence after his fall was heavy and absolute. I lowered my gaze, the memory of his dying look weighing on me like a great burden.
King Ragnis was dead. I had ended the life of the man who had stolen my past. Yet, even as I stood among the spilled blood and shattered hopes, I felt a new, dark force stirring far away. The relentless roar of battle continued as House Moriba moved in, and somewhere in the shadows, a traitor still waited, ready to strike another blow.
Our fate wasn't just written in blood—it was a crimson oath. War would come now, hungry and unyielding. It'd gnaw through shields, souls, and sunrises until nothing remained but scorched silence.