I reached toward the ceremonial basin, the cool metal brushing against my fingertips. My hand hovered just above it—just above the hidden blade beneath the sacred water and flower petals—but I didn't draw it.
Not yet.
Not while there was still a sliver of silence.
I turned fully toward the Chief, lifting my veil with slow, deliberate fingers and letting it fall back from my face. Gasps rippled through the crowd, as if seeing my eyes unveiled somehow made everything real.
The Chief's expression cracked, ever so slightly, as he stared at me—no longer a bride, but a weapon cloaked in silk.
My voice rang out clearly, steady as stone.
"This doesn't have to end in blood. But if you stay—if you keep pushing forward—you won't leave this hall alive."
"You've already lost the people's trust. And now, you're losing the future."
The Chief's jaw clenched. "You dare threaten me in the middle of a sacred binding?"
"I'm not threatening you," I said calmly. "I'm warning you."
"Take your people. Leave. Before this turns to ash."
The crowd held its breath. Some looked to him. Others looked to me.
He didn't move.
But behind the guards, I saw Kai. His eyes hadn't left me once. Not since I stepped into that hall.
And now, as the veil fell away, I saw something else flicker across his face—shock, awe… and something else.
Pain.
He looked at me—not as a bride, but as something else entirely. Something impossible to name.
"Anna…" he said under his breath, half-shaken. "Even now—you wear that dress like it's armor."
I met his eyes across the firelit hall, my expression softening only for him.
"Because that's what it is."
"This dress was never for surrender."
He exhaled shakily, something between a laugh and disbelief. "You're terrifying in white."
I almost smiled.
Then I turned back to the Chief, my fingers finally curling around the hilt beneath the surface.
"Last chance."
The Chief's eyes burned with insult. His voice thundered across the hall, trying to reclaim control.
"You think you can walk into my hall, wearing my colors, beneath the blessing of my priest—and dictate terms?"
He took a bold step forward, towering over me, his voice a low growl now meant only for me.
"You were born from broken timelines and desperation. You are not a queen. You are a pawn with fire in her hands and no kingdom left to burn."
I didn't flinch.
Not even when his hand moved as if to grab my arm, to assert dominion.
He made the mistake of thinking this was a ceremony.
"You've made your choice," I said quietly. "Now I'll make mine."
My hand plunged into the basin.
Water and petals splashed to the marble floor as my fingers wrapped around the cold, spirit-forged hilt of the hidden blade.
Gasps tore through the crowd as I drew it free—gleaming, alive, pulsing with power and light that seared through the air like a tear in time.
I spun.
In one smooth motion, I slashed downward—not at the Chief, but at the golden sash around my waist.
The wedding dress fell away, silk and lies pooling at my feet, revealing my true armor beneath: leather, rune-etched steel, and the markings of Anaria glowing faintly across my skin.
The guards staggered back.
The Chief's eyes widened—not in fear. In rage.
But it was already too late.
I raised the blade, the feather-light balance perfect in my grip.
"You wanted to bind me," I said coldly, voice rising. "But you don't get to own the storm."
Behind me, I heard Kai's voice rise again—sharp and proud and unshaken:
"Now that's the Anna I know."
The Chief roared, drawing his ceremonial sword.
The spell of silence was shattered.
The hall erupted.
The Chief, wounded and panting, still stood—barely. My blade hovered inches from his throat.
Kai's hand gently wrapped around my wrist, firm but pleading. His voice, steady and low, broke through the storm inside me.
"Anna… don't. Let them see what future you're fighting for."
Our eyes met.
My breath caught, heart racing. The fire in me still burned—but I understood.
I slowly lowered the blade.
Then I turned to face the stunned crowd—nobles, guards, civilians, servants, all frozen in the aftermath of battle. Eyes wide. Hearts pounding.
I stepped forward, voice clear, unwavering.
"There will be no war today."
"No more forced vows. No more blood for power. But there will be a choice."
I looked across the room—faces once loyal to him now uncertain. Searching.
"You must choose who leads you. Not out of fear, and not from tradition—but from your will. The people's will."
"You've followed men like him because you were told to. Because it was easier to obey than question. But that time is over."
I gestured toward the broken ceremonial altar, the shattered symbols of control and manipulation.
"You can rebuild. You can lead yourselves. Or you can keep living under someone else's heel."
My voice dropped slightly, but the strength behind it did not.
"This kingdom will rise again—but only if it learns to stand for something better than conquest."
Silence followed.
Then—a slow, uncertain clap.
And then another.
Until voices rose.
Until the guards stepped back from the Chief.
Until, finally, they chose.
The sound of the people filled the chamber—not with chants, not with bloodthirst, but with a quiet resolve. The kind that came from waking up after years of being asleep under fear.
The Chief, still on his knees, looked around in disbelief as one by one, his own guards stepped back. No one moved to help him. No one lifted a blade in his name.
I approached him, blade still lowered, but my eyes locked on his.
"You ruled with fear," I said quietly. "And in the end, fear turned its back on you."
He snarled, still defiant. "You think this will last? That they won't turn on you next, little queen of broken time?"
I shook my head.
"I don't want to rule them."
"They'll rule themselves."
"And you'll live to see it—exiled. Powerless. Exactly what you feared most."
The Chief's mouth twitched, as if ready to strike out with one final curse… but Kai stepped forward then, standing at my side.
His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of fire.
"You won't threaten her again. Or anyone. You're done."
Then he turned to me.
"You could have ended him. But you didn't."
I nodded once. "Not because I couldn't. But because he needs to live with the weight of what he lost more than I need revenge."
I motioned to the guards, who, unsure but understanding, moved to restrain the Chief.
He didn't fight.
He didn't speak.
The fire had left him—not quenched, but devoured by everything he built crumbling in front of him.
They dragged him away through the same path I'd once walked down as a bride. A different kind of ceremony now.
One of endings.
And then, silence again.
Kai stood with me in the center of the ruined hall, our breathing finally slowing.
My eyes turned to him. His to me.
I searched his face. "You came through time for me."
His voice was soft. "You never stopped fighting for them. How could I stop fighting for you?"
I looked down at my torn dress, the blade still warm in my hand.
"So… what now?"
Kai stepped closer. "Now?"
He looked around the hall, then back at me.
"Now we figure out what peace actually looks like."
The feather's light encircled me, wrapping around my limbs like a soft wind woven from starlight. I stood still—not out of fear, but reverence—as something ancient and beautiful began to awaken around me.
The remnants of my torn battle garments shimmered and dissolved into golden motes, drifting upward like sparks before fading into the ether.
In their place, a gown of breathtaking elegance and divine craftsmanship began to take shape.
The fabric formed from the air itself—liquid gold, glowing faintly with ethereal magic, poured down my frame in graceful, layered ripples. It hugged my waist with a high corseted bodice embroidered in celestial thread, shimmering like a sky woven with constellations.
The neckline dipped into a delicate heart-shape, edged with silver and crystal filigree that caught the firelight with every breath I took. Rhinestones—tiny, perfectly-cut, prism-like stones—were embedded like stars across the bodice and sleeves, trailing in clusters down to the hem like a falling constellation.
Flowing out from my hips, the gown's skirt fanned into long, layered panels of semi-sheer chiffon, drifting behind me like wings with every movement. Interwoven threads of rose-gold flickered through the folds, moving like whispers of the spirits themselves. Etched faintly into the lower hem, glyphs of ancient languages and symbols of peace and power glowed and faded in rhythmic pulses.
Around my shoulders, a translucent cape bloomed—light as mist, clasped at the collarbone with a brooch shaped like a phoenix rising from a flame, carved of rose quartz and bound with silver.
Then came my hair.
A gust of sacred wind lifted it, as the pink strands deepened into a more vibrant, almost incandescent hue—rosé-gold at the roots fading into starlit pink at the tips, flowing past my hips in smooth, silken waves. Small flecks of spirit-light floated through it like petals in spring wind.
As the transformation settled, golden sandals wrapped around my calves in a graceful spiral, adorned with feathers and crystal bands that glinted with every step I took.
I looked down at myself.
No longer a soldier.
No longer a prisoner of fate.
I had become something more—a bridge between power and mercy, future and flame.
And the people knew it.
The great ceremonial doors groaned open, casting light across the palace steps. The crowd outside, gathered in fear and confusion, stirred at the sound.
I stepped through.
Golden rays from the late sun pierced the drifting clouds above, catching the rhinestones and enchanted thread in my gown and igniting it in a cascade of shimmering light. The flowing cape moved behind me like a spirit on the wind.
Gasps rippled across the square. Some people fell to their knees, others clasped their hands to their chests, blinking against the brilliance.
But I did not speak as a ruler above them.
I stepped down—onto their level.
My sandals touched the stone with soft grace, and the crowd instinctively parted. Families. Fighters. Children. Elders. Some still bore the crest of the Chief, others the tatters of rebellion.
All of them stared as the feather from the spirits floated down beside me, glowing faintly—then crumbled into stardust the moment it reached the ground.
I raised my voice. Not loud, but steady. Full of weight.
"The battle is over."
"But I did not win it alone. We won it—because we stopped being afraid."
The silence deepened. No one dared interrupt.
"The man who ruled you in fear has fallen. But I will not rise in his place. That cycle ends now."
I turned, slowly, looking at every face.
"No more kings. No more chains. No more false peace built on obedience."
"You will choose who leads. You will choose how to live. And whatever rises from the ruins of this hall—it will be yours to build, not mine to control."
A soft murmur swept the crowd—uncertain, awed.
A young girl stepped forward, clutching a broken pendant—likely from the time of the old regime. Her voice was small.
"Will you… still help us?"
I smiled.
"I will stand beside you. Not above you."
"Because we are stronger together than anyone who ever tried to rule alone."
Cheers began—soft at first, like a trembling heartbeat returning to life.
Then louder.
Then unstoppable.
The square filled with a rising roar of hope, rebirth, and thunderous applause—not demanded, but given.
And above it all, Kai stood just behind me at the top of the stairs, watching with a small smile and something rare in his eyes:
Pride.