Sunlight cut through smoke and dust.
Banners lay shredded. Shards of the enemy glinted off flesh and broken armour.
The breeze kissed the flames of war, scattering ash across a field carved with craters.
Boulders lay split. Bolts splintered in the dirt.
Deeper within the forest, dozens of heavily armoured Gorgurs sprawled where they'd fallen—mutant creatures of war lay beside them, sliced apart.
At the centre of the carnage lay their master, the Shard Lord, headless beneath a crown of cracked shards and gold.
Auriel stood among the ruin. Smoke curled around her like mourning veils before she lifted from the ground, stardust coming off her.
Within a moment she shot up towards the sky.
…
"Guhh–"
"Healer!"
"Get those soldiers over to the east ward!"
Shouts rippled through rows of tents—the price of war, filling the Dawnish campsite.
Golden, metallic footsteps rang through the campsite as healers covered in blood hurried past.
The air stank of blood and scorched flesh.
Tents overflowed with the injured and the dying. Hands worked without stopping—binding, burning, casting.
Saving what could still be saved.
Through that chaos strode a lone figure, metal boots threaded along the blood-stained ground.
His once-lustrous armour was blackened by soot and dirt, each step leaving faint motes of light in his wake.
Sunveil soldiers—bruised, broken, yet unbowed—saluted as he passed.
He made for the observation camp, its perimeter ringed by command banners and half-collapsed wards.
At the central tent two Sword Sisters stepped out, saluted their commander, and moved on.
Eryndor reached for the flap, hesitating.
Before his hand found it, the canvas lifted from the other side.
"Myra."
"Eryndor…"
They found each other before the other could.
For a heartbeat they just stared—superior and subordinate.
"…May I enter?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Ah—yes! This is your tent, Commander."
Her voice stumbled, forgetting for a moment there was still a battlefield outside.
He stepped in.
Her armour lay in a corner, dented and blackened. Now, she only wore her uniform, her arm in a sling.
The Sword Sister healer was adept, but the damage she had received was immense. She could only rely on her body's healing factor to do the rest.
Her hair fell loose—dark chestnut against fair, bruised skin. Even through fatigue, her crystal-clear eyes caught him the same way they always had.
"You fought enough today, Commander," Myra said gently, reaching for a cup.
"Let me prepare a refreshment."
"Ah—"
She winced. The cup slipped from her fingers and clattered across the floor.
"Sorry… Commander, I haven't—"
She stopped as footsteps approached behind her.
Eryndor crouched, lifted the fallen cup, and set it back on the table.
The movement was quiet, almost reverent—the simple gesture from someone that knew pain too well.
"Myra…"
"Eryndor—Commander, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me."
She turned away, voice softer, a hint of disappointment beneath the discipline.
"W-we discussed this. We have to play our roles for the honour of the Dynasty."
Eryndor watched her in silence; uncertainty stirred in his chest.
Then he reached out and took her hand.
Myra glanced back, startled, as his fingers brushed her cheek.
"I-I thought I would lose you, Myra…" he said, as his hand started to tremble.
She was taken aback.
The ever-calm, unshakable Paragon was shaking.
"E-Eryndor… I thought you didn't—," she bit her lip.
"All those times you pushed me away…"
"Myra, I am sorry… I was trying to protect you, so much had happened. I couldn't watch you be hurt."
When they first met, they were Unbound and Blademaster.
Unequals.
There was a gap between them, it was big, but tolerable. Unbounds were beings that were no longer bound to their mortal chains. A Blademaster, a rank below, yet was still bound by theirs.
Then, in time, Eryndor rose to the rank of Paragon, becoming the fourth Knight of Dawn, giving his oaths to the king and vowing service to the throne.
He was immensely honoured to be able to serve his Dynasty.
But things changed.
The gap between them became immense, too hard to grasp. Myra could not come close, and from then on, distance grew where affection had been.
Years later, Myra ascended to an Unbound—one of the Chosen of Auriel, a Commander of her own Sword Sisters.
Over time, they would come to see each other more, they met again on battlefields and councils, congratulated one another, shared brief moments between wars.
But the gap never vanished. It only strained what they didn't say.
…
Outside, shouts erupted—metal struck earth, then silence, as if the whole campsite had dropped to its knees.
Inside the tent, they remained in their own small world.
Myra's hand tightened around his.
"Eryndor… we shouldn't—what if someone—"
The canvas flap whipped open. Light poured through.
A silhouette stepped in—radiant, composed.
Auriel Dawnstar.
She just stood there, staring at the two intertwined.
Both parties stared at each other.
Then they ripped away from each other and knelt to their Princess and Supreme Commander.
Auriel finally stepped forward, glancing at them both.
"How are you, my friend?" Her voice was gentle as she laid a hand on Myra's shoulder.
"I will recover in a few days, Princess." Myra looked up.
"That is good. Come, stand. And Myra—call me Auriel."
"Yes… Auriel." She hesitated, then rose.
They had grown together in Dawn's courts, but rank and birthright had always stood between them.
Auriel's smile softened the distance.
"It's good to see you again."
Her gaze shifted to Eryndor.
"Eryndor."
"Yes, my Princess."
"You performed poorly as Commander. You hesitated to act. You lost the Light-Engine. And your mind…" Her eyes flicked toward Myra. "… was elsewhere."
Her tone cut like glass—official, not cruel.
"As one of the Knights of Dawn, you cannot afford distractions."
Myra turned slightly, lowering her head.
Eryndor's jaw tightened, emotion knotted beneath the discipline.
"I am sorry, Princess. I have failed you and the Dynasty."
Silence. Then a quiet sigh.
Auriel glanced down as the bracelet on her wrist pulsed with shard-light—a message from the King's Royal Messenger.
What does Father want now…
"I think that will do for formalities." She turned for the entrance. "Come, walk with me."
The two remaining just looked at each other, puzzled.
Auriel stood beneath the clearing sky, starlight still glimmering through the waning smoke.
Once the two followed her outside, she faced them, eyes gentler now.
"I'm happy for you, Myra. You've found your star. I know how difficult that journey is."
She took Myra's hands in her own.
"Eh… Auriel?" Myra blinked, confused.
Auriel smiled, looking to Eryndor.
"As Princess of Dawn, I give you my blessing."
She placed Myra's hand into Eryndor's, then laid hers atop them both.
"By decree of the First Star, I wish you eternal happiness."
Stardust spiralled around them.
"May the stars shine on the two that stand beneath their radiance."
A band of star-light gleamed around each of their ring fingers.
"May they give you good fortune in your new lives together, as one."
Auriel stepped back, took a breath, and smiled.
"Now I must take my leave. Goodbye, Eryndor and Myra Sunveil." She smiled as she lifted up in the air, shooting into the sky.
Within a heartbeat, she was gone.
The two stood stunned, hands still joined.
"Did she just… wed us?" Eryndor's composure crumbled into bewildered innocence.
Myra's lips curved into a mischievous grin.
"Eryndor ~"
He turned as she slipped her arm through his.
"We have time before the army marches. Let us enjoy our honeymoon while we can."
"Wai—"
Before he could protest, she pulled him back into the tent.
The canvas closed, the ties drew tight.
They had a lot of time to make up for.
…
High above the battlefield, Auriel drifted through the clouds, cloak trailing light behind her.
She pressed a hand over her face.
Ahh… why did I have to walk in on them?
Her cheeks warmed. "Kya—that was so embarrassing!"
She spun once in the air, red as sunrise.
"It was just like one of my romance novels… A stoic commander, the wounded knight, and then fate throws me right into the scene!"
The Princess of Dawn—slayer of horrors, heir to radiance—squealed into the wind.
"Kyaaa~!"
For a few blissful seconds, she let the fantasy run wild in her head: rose petals, candlelight, and dramatic declarations echoing through the halls of Dawn.
I wonder…
She sighed
…When will I find my destined star
"Compose yourself, Auriel," she muttered, clearing her thoughts.
The wind shifted. Clouds broke open to reveal a vast plateau crowned in firelight.
At its summit blazed a city of mirrored towers and gilded domes.
Mesa Crown.
The land of the Radiant City.
Heliandor.
Auriel steadied herself and descended toward home.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——