Chapter 5:The Beginning of peace _ or it’s End

The night after the first clash, the fortress of Ral-Zarek still breathed fire. The stones smoldered, carrying the scent of ash and blood. From the battlements, wounded men groaned on their pallets, children huddled close to their mothers, and warriors sharpened their blades in silence, waiting for the dawn.

But Daphne could not sleep.

She stood at her balcony, her hands clutching the cold rail, watching the horizon glow with dying embers. Her heart was torn as cleanly as the battlefield had been. Songhai’s blood ran through her veins. Yet in her chest burned the fire of her husband, the Horned King.

She whispered into the wind, “If this war continues, neither will survive.”

The thought struck like a blade through her ribs. She turned from the window and walked with steady steps. She had already made her decision.

The Farewell

At first light, the fortress stirred. Daphne emerged from the stables astride a white stallion, her golden hair braided with the black cord of warriors. Her cloak trailed like a banner as she urged the horse forward.

But before she could reach the gates, a strong hand seized the reins.

Zerach stood there, blood still streaking his armor, his golden eyes dark with worry. His horn caught the morning sun, casting a sharp glint across his face.

“Where do you go, my dove?” His voice was low, raw, as though he already knew the answer.

Her heart ached at the sight of him—her king, her husband, the man who had once been her captor and was now her fire. She drew a breath and steadied her voice.

“To Songhai,” she said. “If they will not yield to your fire, they will yield to my voice. I am their daughter, Zerach. I will make them listen.”

His jaw tightened. The hand that gripped the reins trembled with fury. “It is dangerous. They will see you as a pawn. As a hostage. Do you think they will show you mercy?”

She leaned forward, pressing her brow against his. “Then let them,” she whispered. “If peace can be won, I will win it. For them. For you. For us.”

For a long time, he said nothing. The fortress around them seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a slow exhale, he released the reins. His hand lingered over hers, unwilling to let go.

“Go, then,” he said at last, voice hoarse. “But come back to me, Daphne. If I lose you, I will burn the world to ash.”

The Return to Songhai

The road to Songhai was long, lined with the ruins of war. Daphne rode in silence, the hoofbeats of her stallion echoing through abandoned villages. People peered from their windows as she passed—the lost princess, alive, riding home from the land of monsters.

When she entered the capital, the streets fell silent. Soldiers lowered their weapons, unsure if they beheld a prisoner or a queen. Mothers wept openly, and whispers chased her path: The princess has returned.

In the great hall, her father sat on his throne, weary from battle, a crown that seemed too heavy on his brow. The moment his eyes fell upon her, he staggered to his feet.

“Daphne…” His voice broke. “My child.”

He stumbled down the steps, arms outstretched. His hands clutched her shoulders, trembling as though she were a ghost. His tears fell freely, unashamed.

But Daphne stepped back. Her voice was calm, yet it carried through the marble chamber. “Father, I have not come to stay. I have come to speak.”

Gasps rippled across the court. Ministers and generals leaned forward, whispering fiercely among themselves.

“Eight years ago,” Daphne began, “you feared Ral-Zarek. You called them monsters. You gave me as bride to their king so that our people would be spared. But I have lived among them, Father. And I tell you now—they are no monsters.”

Her voice grew stronger, her words ringing against the stone.

“They are flesh and blood, heart and hope—just as we are. I have seen their children with wings, their mothers with horns, their fathers who only wish to live in peace. They are hunted, chained, slaughtered…only because they are different. Yet they endure.

And their king…” She faltered for a moment, her heart squeezing, then lifted her chin. “Their king is my husband. He is my fire. And I love him.”

The court erupted in whispers. Some voices hissed traitor, others cried blasphemy. Her father paled, but she raised her hand for silence.

“I fought beside him. I bled with him. I saw his people suffer, and I saw him fight not only for vengeance, but for a future. Father, I beg you—end this war. Swear that no blade of Songhai will rise against them again. If you do not, Zerach will bring this kingdom to ash. But if you do…then perhaps, at last, peace can live.”

Her father trembled. He looked at her—not as the little girl he had once carried on his shoulders, but as a woman who stood before him like a queen.

At last, his lips parted. “Then so it shall be,” he whispered. “For you, my daughter, I will end this war. No blade of Songhai shall rise against Ral-Zarek again.”

When Daphne rode back through the gates of Ral-Zarek, the people erupted in cheers. They hailed her name, louder than the drums of war.

At the fortress gates, Zerach waited. His massive frame was tense, his golden eyes searching desperately until they found her.

She leapt from her horse and into his arms. “It is done,” she breathed. “There will be no war.”

He lifted her high, spinning her once before kissing her with a fierceness that silenced the fortress before it erupted in thunderous applause.

And so the Horned King and the Golden Dove had saved them all.

Months passed.

The fortress that once groaned under the weight of war began to change. The fires that had licked its walls were quenched, the scars of battle mended with stone and gold. Markets bloomed where blood had once spilled. Laughter echoed in courtyards where the cries of the wounded had haunted.

Daphne walked those streets often, her cloak trailing behind her as she listened to the voices of the people. The horned, the winged, the tailed—they bowed to her not as a stranger or outsider, but as queen.

Where Zerach’s fire commanded obedience, Daphne’s heart inspired loyalty. Together, they forged a balance stronger than steel.

At council, she tempered his wrath with reason. When he roared for vengeance, her steady hand on his arm reminded him of the peace they had bled to create. When she spoke, even his fiercest generals lowered their heads in respect.

It was said in those days that Zerach was the fortress’s fire, but Daphne was its light.

The Queen Beside the King

One evening, after a long day in council, Daphne found herself on the balcony overlooking the city. Lanterns flickered across the streets, casting the fortress in a golden glow.

Zerach came to her, his heavy footsteps softening as he drew close. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him.

“You look at them as though you’ve given them the stars,” he murmured.

Daphne smiled faintly. “No. I only showed them the truth—that they were never monsters.”

He studied her in silence for a moment, his golden eyes burning with something softer than flame. “They call you their heart, you know.”

“And you?” she asked, tilting her head toward him.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “They call me their fire.”

Her laugh was quiet but warm. “Then let fire and heart rule together.”

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Together,” he echoed, before kissing her—slow and fierce, the kind of kiss that promised kingdoms.

The Legacy of Peace

In the months that followed, their names became legend.

No walls divided the clans any longer. Schools rose where old prisons had stood, teaching the horned, the winged, the tailed, and even those few humans who dared remain—all as one people. Songs of the past, once hushed by grief, were sung again in the streets, mingling with new melodies of hope.

Daphne’s compassion reached those who had been forgotten—the widows of battle, the maimed warriors, the orphans of war. She gave them food, shelter, and dignity.

Zerach rebuilt the armies not for conquest but for protection, swearing that no enemy would ever again chain his people.

Together, their rule became a living vow: that fire and dove could stand side by side, stronger than either had ever been alone.

Moonlight

On a night when the moon bathed the fortress in silver, Daphne leaned against Zerach at the balcony, her head resting on his chest. Below them, the city shimmered with life, lanterns swaying in the breeze.

“Do you ever regret it?” she asked softly. “The battles? The blood? The road that brought us here?”

He turned her gently to face him. His golden eyes glowed as they met hers, fierce and tender all at once.

“Never,” he said. “Every scar, every fire, every loss led me to you. And you, Daphne, are worth kingdoms.”

Her throat tightened with emotion, but before she could answer, he kissed her. It was slow, deep, eternal—like the binding of two souls who had chosen each other against every odd.

The Fire and the Dove

So it was that the Horned King and the Golden Dove ruled—not as conqueror and captive, but as husband and wife.

Their names spread beyond Ral-Zarek and Songhai, carried in whispers and ballads, not as rulers of war, but as rulers of peace.

Yet peace is a fragile thing. In the shadows beyond their borders, unseen eyes watched, and whispers rose like smoke in the dark—whispers of envy, of betrayal, of war reborn.

For even the brightest fire casts a shadow.

And the story of the Horned King and the Golden Dove…was not yet finished.