The corridors were freezing. My feet slapping against the cold marble, the sound echoing too loud for midnight. My lungs burned, breath tearing in and out as I ran. The silk of my nightgown tangled around my legs, hair wild, eyes stinging.
The light still burned outside — a red pillar clawing into the sky, painting the night in blood.
"Eloria," I choked. "That's Eloria—"
I wasn't thinking. couldn't. Just one simple and stupid thought came {Daddy, I can't lose him. Not again.}
Daddy was out there. I just knew it. Something inside me couldn't stay quiet, and it hurt—like the pain wasn't new-or-fresh, but re-opened
"Lady Iris!"
Guards shouted from behind. Their boots thundered.
"Stop her!" someone yelled.
I wasn't stopping. I couldn't even hear properly over the pounding of my heart. I had to get to the gates. My hands flared before I realized it—light, wild and black-veined—bursting from my palms. The nearest guards froze mid-step, their swords clattering as bodies locked like a puppet on strings.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" I tried to– do something.
But my Influence was already loose. It poured out of me like smoke, twisting around the others, hurling them aside. The air warped. Walls cracked.
Then the world snapped.
A sphere of shimmering with translucent light formed around me, humming like glass about to break. I slammed against it, hard.
"Let me go!" My voice cracked. "Daddy's not okay—he needs my help—you have to—!" I charged against it.
The Archmage stepped forward—young, calm, her blue hair glowing faintly in the sphere's light. "I'd suggest you calm down, before you hurt yourself,"
"LET ME GO!" I screamed again, hitting until my palms burned,
"Listen to me young lady" She said,
I didn't care to listen, "You have to let me go!, I can't leave him!, stop..." still hitting, until all I could do was collapse against the magic, shaking. The tears wouldn't stop. I pressed my forehead to the cool surface, whispering, "Please…"
From beyond the sphere, the Dowager's voice cut through the chaos. "Oh Dear Enia!," she exclaimed.
"Should I put her to sleep?" the Archmage asked.
"Yes," the Dowager said, her tone soft but trembling. "That'll be best."
"Your Highness?" Raymond appeared beside her, face pale, eyes flicking between the sphere and the fading tower of light outside. "Any word from scarlet?"
"It just happened," she said. "Give them time."
Her gaze flicked toward the glow—her composure cracking, if only for a second. "If that's actually Sylvester," she muttered, voice low and sharp, "I'm going to kill him myself."
Before anyone could speak, another shout tore through the hall.
"Iris!"
Theo.
He came charging in, still in his sleepwear, eyes glowing that brilliant green. Worried. Gia and Mia were right behind him, Rosie trying—failing—to keep up.
"Get back here, all of you!" Rosie shouted.
Theo skidded to a stop when he saw me—when his gaze met mine. His own Influence surged, the air thickened with heat.
"Let her go!" he yelled, hands flaring. Fire licked up his arms, curling around him like living things.
"Theo!" I screamed, voice breaking.
The Archmage turned, casting in a blink. A sphere flared around him too—
—and shattered just as fast.
She staggered, shocked. "Impossible…"
Theo's flames burned emerald, the marble beneath his feet cracking under the pressure. He charged towards the Archmage. She moved quickly, summoning shackles of light that coiled around his wrists and ankles.
He fought them. He actually—fought them. The magic hissed and sizzled, the chains glowing red-hot, fracturing.
"What are you doing?!" the Archmage barked, struggling to hold her ground. "You're going to kill yourself!"
Theo wasn't listening, he was lost in the rage. A small boy flashed in my mind—a memory—he was drowning.
"Theo!" I called again, pressing my hands to the sphere. "Theo, I'm okay! I'm fine!"
He froze, panting—eyes wild.
"I need you to calm down, okay?" My throat hurt. I forced a smile, broken—with wet lashes, but steady. "Please."
That word stopped him cold. His flames guttered, shrinking to embers. The chains held.
He trembled. "You… you're crying."
"I know." My voice cracked again. "But I'm fine. You're fine."
Silence filled the corridor—broken only by the distant hum of dying magic, the wind whispering through shattered glass.
And outside… the red light faded.
.><><><.
Hours passes, but the sun hadn't come up.
Maybe it hadn't been that long, but I was paying attention anyway.
The outside still looked bruised—half-night, half-light—silence had finally settled over the annex. No more shouting. No magic hum in the air. Just quiet.
We stayed like that for hours. It felt that way at least.
Gia and Mia curled up beside me, asleep with their heads pressed to my shoulder. Theo was draped across my lap, clutching my sleeve like he thought I was going to disappear.
I... Couldn't sleep. My eyes burned, even blinking hurt, but every time I did blink—the light burned again—tearing through the western sky like a bleeding wound.
The Dowager sat in the armchair across from us. Hands folded neatly, if only she could hold the world together with those hands. Raymond sat next to us, a dark silhouette against the faint glow filtering through the curtains. Rosie had gone out a few minutes ago to prepare some food for us—i think.
Then—
The air bent. twisted on it's self.
A shimmer, like heat above a flame, split open in the middle of the room. light and shadow. I straightened immediately, my hand tightening on Theo.
Two figures stepped out of –nothing.
A man and a girl. Both dressed in black, trimmed with crimson—the black didn't reflect light, it ate it.
Neither the Dowager or Raymond even flinch. "Levi." She said,
He bowed, one hand over his chest. The girl followed a beat later, less graceful, her braid swinging over one shoulder.
"What's the report?"
"It's a bloodbath," Levi said flatly. "We lost hundreds."
Raymond's voice cracked the stillness. "That many?"
"No civilians, though," the girl added lightly. "Unless you were to count the armed farmers."
The Dowager's head turned toward her, slowly. That was all it took for the girl to shrink an inch and mumble, "my apologies, your grace."
I stared at them, my nerves were knacking for some reason. They weren't knights. Their magic—colder than most.
{Probably a shadow for the palace, most monarchs have it.}
"And the Dukes?" the Dowager asked. "Any losses?"
Levi paused. "No deaths. Many injuries, some severe."
Something skipped inside me. "Severe..?" {He's alive.}
I didn't realize I said the first word out-loud, til Levi's eyes flicked to me immediately. Sharp. Measuring–suspicious.
"She's a friend's daughter," said the Dowager, calmly. "Duke Hampton's."
Levi's expression eased, though not by much. He looked between me and Theo, and his tone softened when he spoke again.
"The boy does look like him."
I instinctively pulled Theo closer, shielding him.
Levi stopped a few paces away. "My condolences for your Mother." he said."Your father however alive. Is unconscious—but he'll live."
" Levi!" The Dowager countered before he could continue.
" What?," he turned to the Dowager "she at least should know, as eldest." then back to me. "Don't you agree, Hampton girl?"
Something inside me broke and mended all at once. My throat went tight. "Th—thank you."
Raymond's voice cut through the quiet. "Continue your report, Sir Levi."
The Dowager gave him a pointed side glance—half warning, half weary—but Levi nodded anyway.
"Isela can finish it."
He turned to the girl. "Proceed."
The girl opened a small journal, voice even but detached. "Eastern wall held. Southern flank collapsed. Runeblood captains withdrew before dawn. No sign of their beastlord..Our mages are stabilizing the barrier lines. It'll take weeks to clear the wreckage."
Her words blurred. My mind was already elsewhere. Father was alive, unconscious—but still. My chest released...and I was breathing—weightless again.
.><><><.
Last night—Eloria
The smell of iron hung thick in the air—blood, metal, smoke.
Eloria burned.
The green valley that once hummed with life in the sun, was now swallowed in darkness—and smelled of blood. Shattered gem-lamps sparked along the ridge—like dying stars. Soldiers screamed beneath the clash spellfire and steel.
"Hold the line!," Duke Sylvester roared. His sword cleaved through a Runeblood soldier, chartreuse light bursting from the edge as veins blackened with corruption.
Above, a serpent Runeblood screeched—half-man, all-scales—spitting venom that melted through shields. Mages raised barriers—one collapsed, burned out of his influence, bleeding from nose and ears.
"Get him out! Push forward!" Sylvester shouted.
They did—and died for it.
The enemy captains stood calm, smirking, their devil marks glowed like hot-coal.
"Eloria has softened over the years, I'm very disappointed." One said dryly–distasteful.
" You humble your house's honor boy." Another laughed–smug.
Sylvester's jaw tightened. "Honor's not yours to speak of."
He struck first. Zerlious swinging behind him, Lightning flared, then fire, then smoke, Runeblood bodies dropped—but they just keep coming. His soldiers were falling fast, choking the air with death. A witch screamed as her hands burned of ambient influence.
Something inside him cracked. —desperate.
He tore off his glove, blood slick on his palm.
"My lord—what are you thinking?" Zerlious shouted.
"Better me than Eloria."
He cut his hand and pressed it to the sigil on his chestplate, whispering a spell. In seconds—Blood-veins flared up his throat.
"forge," he said finally.
The world screamed.
A crimson-red—pulse-light ripped through the valley, the ground shook. Every shard. Every weapon answered his call.
He was the storm now—veins molten, blade blazing like a furnace.
Each swing shattered armor, crushed bone, diminish taunting smiles.
Runeblood spells fizzled against his light. Fear replaced arrogance. He moved faster than they could retreat.
"Stand your ground fools!, he's but one—" one yelled.
Sylvester's reply was a wordless clean–strike right through his neck. Ending him.
Time blurred in the dark. When silence finally fell, Sylvester was on his knees, veins pulsing like a second-dying heart. He looked toward the horizon of fallen men–runeblood alike.
"Release," he breathed. Finally.
He collapsed into the dirt. Eloria still stood—for now.
The winds halted. Crows too. Silence and stillness swallowed the space. Crimson dust drifted down the heavens where the light had split open.
"...My lord?" a soldier rasped, stumbling forward. Zerlious knelt, trembling. He turned the Duke over.
"He's alive!" He exclaimed—almost. Almost near tears.
The survivors broke—laughing, crying, praying in the ashes. None cheered. They just wept, knowing they'd witnessed a miracle.
Zerlious called, "Dev–"
"Right here," a witch cuts him off, tears glinting as she rushed towards them. "How is he?."
"You're asking me, I'm not the healer." Zerlious countered.
" Good for nothing brute" she hisses, then brings out a stash-purse, she pours some ash onto her palm—rubs them together. Then presses her hands on Sylvester's breast-plate, humming softly. A humble silver-glow pulsed under her palms.
"His influence's definitely taken a hit, but... he'll be okay."
Zerlious breaths relived.
"He'll be okay!" One soldier yelled out, and they all finally roared!.
Deviella scoffed under tears "Men. Stupid, especially this one."
They all gathered around Sylvester like priests before a fading god. His vein still glowing–faintly, proof he hadn't burnt out.
A young knight wiped his face. "Do we tell the capital?"
The captain nodded. "A little too late for that." He looked up at the rended sky.
As they carried the wounded, and double-checked the bodies for life, a single gem-lamp flickered to life—faint, defiant.
And high above the ruins, the last echo of Sylvester's spell lingered in the wind—
—a low, fading hum, like the dying breath of a god.