The world was quiet before dawn.
The kind of silence that came before thunder, before war, before everything changed.
Evelyn stood on a ridge overlooking the valley, the wind whipping her cloak as she adjusted the strap of her rifle. Below, the royal convoy moved slowly through the narrow pass — soldiers on horseback, wagons of weapons and gold, the banner of the crown fluttering faintly in the early light.
Edward's voice came softly beside her. "Once the signal is given, we strike the front and rear together. No mercy — they would show us none."
Evelyn nodded. Her heartbeat was steady, though her palms were cold.
She glanced at him — not as a prince, not as a commander, but as the man who had shared her storms and silences alike.
"Promise me you'll stay alive," she whispered.
He smiled, faint and real. "Only if you promise the same."
As the first sliver of sunlight broke over the mountains, a hawk's cry split the sky.
The signal.
From the cliffs, Rowan's archers loosed a volley of flaming arrows. The valley erupted in fire. Horses reared, soldiers shouted, chaos bloomed.
Evelyn leapt from her position, rolling behind a fallen cart as bullets whined past her. She returned fire — precise, unhesitating.
Edward rode down from the ridge with the vanguard, his sword flashing in the smoke.
The two forces collided like storm and stone.
Through the confusion, Evelyn saw a banner fall — the royal crest burning in the dirt. She felt a wild surge of triumph… until she heard the unmistakable sound of horns.
Reinforcements.
From the east, a second column of royal troops emerged — far more than they'd expected.
Rowan cursed. "They knew! The plan's compromised!"
Edward's voice rang out, cutting through the noise: "Fall back to the western ridge! Protect the wounded!"
But as Evelyn turned, she saw him surrounded — cut off from the retreat by a wave of soldiers.
Without hesitation, she ran back toward him.
She fought through smoke and blood, the world narrowing to the sight of him — fighting with ferocious grace, every strike a statement of defiance.
"Evelyn, go!" he shouted.
"Not without you!"
They met in the chaos, back to back, blades flashing, breath ragged. For a moment, they were unstoppable — a rhythm born of trust, of something deeper than fear.
Then a shot rang out.
Edward staggered, a crimson bloom spreading beneath his armor.
Evelyn caught him as he fell to one knee, her voice breaking. "No— Edward!"
He gripped her hand, eyes fierce even through the pain. "You have to finish this. Lead them. For both of us."
She shook her head, tears blurring the smoke. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can." He smiled weakly. "You always could."
Before she could answer, Rowan's men reached them, dragging her away as the valley burned behind them.
By the time the sun rose, the battlefield was silent.
The smoke hung low, curling over broken banners and the bodies of the fallen.
Evelyn stood among the survivors, her face streaked with ash and tears.
Somewhere behind her, the sea wind carried the faint scent of fire and loss.
She whispered, "This isn't the end, Edward. Not yet."
And with that, she turned toward the mountains — toward war, destiny, and the promise she refused to break.