There is a moment before war—
quieter than prayer, heavier than grief.
It is not peace. It is the breath a kingdom holds when it knows it may never exhale again.
That was the air in Maravelle as dawn broke blood-orange over its walls.
Eira stood on the highest balcony, the wind pulling her long white cloak like wings.
She had remembered everything.
And everything hurt.
Kael joined her in silence. His armor was a patchwork of old scars and new silver.
He touched her hand—no permission needed now. Not anymore.
"They're coming," he said.
"I know," she replied.
And she didn't flinch.
---
The Storm Approaches
The bells tolled just after the sixth hour.
Not for mourning.
For warning.
Elowen's army crested the horizon like a tide of shadows, cloaked in bone and smoke.
War beasts moved among them—metal-plated hounds with ember eyes, siege spiders the size of carriages, and the Raven Mages, cloaks alive with fluttering feathers made from souls.
Maravelle's people gathered at the gates.
Old soldiers.
Young witches.
Mothers with magic in their veins and fire in their eyes.
Naima stood at their head, staff lit with ancient runes.
And above them all, the banners unfurled:
The House of Wynter.
Alive again.
---
The Crowning
The Hall of Embers hadn't hosted a coronation in over a hundred years.
But this wasn't a coronation of ceremony.
It was a coronation of necessity.
Naima held the crown—obsidian shaped like rising flame, kissed with gold.
"Are you ready to wear what your mother died protecting?" she asked.
Eira nodded once.
"I'm ready to be what she never had the chance to be."
She knelt.
The crown touched her brow.
The room brightened—not from light, but from heat.
A hush fell.
Even the fire bowed.
---
Kael's Command
While Eira became Queen, Kael stood before the army in the courtyard.
He wore no crown.
But no one questioned who they would follow.
His voice carried like thunder down the stone paths of the city.
"This is not a battle for glory," he shouted. "It's a battle for memory. For family. For every story they tried to erase."
Swords clashed together. Shields pounded the earth.
He raised his blade.
"We fight with the Queen. We fight for the fire!"
The gates began to open.
And the storm fell upon them.
---
Clash of Flame and Bone
The first wave hit like a hammer.
Elowen's creatures poured into the streets, shrieking in unnatural voices.
Magic collided with metal.
Fire roared down alleys.
Eira stood at the heart of it all, her hands alive with sunfire, her eyes aglow with memories made weapon.
Beside her, Kael fought like a man with something to live for.
They moved as one.
Back-to-back.
Strike, shield, burn, parry.
Every heartbeat matched.
Every scream was answered.
---
The Betrayer
Deep in the chaos, Naima faced a horror of her own.
From the enemy ranks stepped a figure she hadn't seen in a decade.
"Cassian."
He bowed mockingly, still wearing the old sigil of Maravelle.
"You left me in that pit," he hissed. "Now I've brought the darkness home."
Naima's eyes narrowed.
"You were my student."
He sneered. "And you were weak."
Lightning cracked between them.
One strike from her staff.
One parry from his blade.
And the alley lit with ancestral fury.
---
The Turn of the Tide
Just when hope began to fray, a howl split the sky.
The rebels from the outer forests arrived—those Eira once healed with her flame. They came roaring through the city, battle cries lifted like hymns.
And at their head rode the Wyrmhounds—ancient guardians Eira had freed from their cursed slumber.
The ground shook.
The fire grew.
And Elowen's army… began to falter.
---
A Kiss Before the End
Eira found Kael amid the ash and ruin, blood on his jaw, hair wild, eyes still burning.
She grabbed his face. "If we don't survive this—"
He cut her off with a kiss. Deep. Desperate. Devout.
"If we don't survive," he whispered, "I'll find you in the next life."
She smiled, eyes brimming.
"I'll light a fire so bright, the gods will bring you back."
They turned together.
And charged into the blaze.