Chapter 78

Smoke curled above the battlefield as the echoes of steel and screams faded into a hollow silence. Dawnspire’s fields, once kissed by dawn’s glow, now lay drenched in crimson. Bodies—friend and foe alike—were strewn across the grass, silent reminders of the price of ambition.

Serenya Vale stood amid the ruin, her sword heavy in her grip, her armor streaked with grime and blood. The battle had been fought, but victory was far from certain. Her army still held ground, yet Thalric’s reinforcements had carved deep wounds in their ranks. What should have been triumph felt instead like a pyrrhic survival.

Kaelen Draven appeared beside her, shadows coiling faintly from his armor as though unwilling to fade with the morning light. His face bore no wound, but his eyes… his eyes were shadowed with something darker than exhaustion.

“You nearly died today.” His words were not gentle, but raw, edged with something she could not name.

Serenya forced her voice steady. “So did we all.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightened, but he said no more. Around them, soldiers dragged the wounded to makeshift tents, while Darian Crestfall barked orders to fortify their position. His armor was dented, his face lined with exhaustion, but his spirit remained unbroken.

“Serenya,” Darian called, striding toward her. “We must move the survivors inside Dawnspire. The field is lost—we can’t risk another ambush out here.”

She nodded, though hesitation gripped her. Dawnspire was both a haven and a trap. If Thalric regrouped, its gates would become their cage.

Before she could answer, a familiar voice cut through the din.

“Eloria Thorne requests audience.”

The words turned every head. The rival princess stood at the edge of the field, flanked by her personal guard. She was unscathed, her silver armor polished as though untouched by war. Her beauty was as sharp as her ambition, her presence carrying the weight of someone who had lost nothing, yet claimed everything.

“You fight well,” Eloria said, her gaze flicking from Serenya to Kaelen with a hint of mockery. “But strength alone does not win kingdoms. Strategy does. And I hold what you do not.”

Serenya tightened her grip on her sword. “And what is that?”

Eloria’s smile curved like a blade. “The loyalty of those still chained.”

At her signal, soldiers dragged forth prisoners—Serenya’s own men, captured when the lines broke. Shackles bound their wrists, their faces pale with fear. Among them was Isolde Mirean, the healer who had tended Serenya’s army through every wound and plague. Blood stained her dress, but her eyes held steady defiance.

“Release them,” Serenya demanded, her voice cutting the air.

Eloria tilted her head. “Why should I? They are my leverage now. Unless, of course, you would rather see them freed…” She let the pause linger like a knife. “…in exchange for your retreat.”

A murmur spread among the soldiers. Kaelen stepped forward, hand on his blade, but Serenya raised her arm to stop him. Rage burned in her chest, but so did fear.

“You speak of chains,” Serenya said, her voice low but steady. “But you are bound by them as much as they are. Shackled by your hunger for power. Shackled by your father’s legacy. You think yourself free, Eloria, but you are not.”

Eloria’s eyes narrowed, the smirk slipping. For a fleeting second, something vulnerable flickered across her face. But it was gone as swiftly as it came.

“You speak as though you know me,” Eloria hissed. “You don’t. And you won’t live long enough to learn.”

The tension crackled like lightning. But before swords could be drawn, Maelis Rowan appeared from the shadows, her staff glowing faintly with runes of old. Her presence stilled the air, as though the battlefield itself bowed to her wisdom.

“Enough,” Maelis’s voice rang clear, sharp as thunder. “You play with chains that bind more than men, Eloria. Chains older than crowns. Older than this war.”

Eloria scoffed, but unease flickered in her eyes. “Old riddles. That’s all you ever offer.”

Maelis’s gaze swept over Serenya, Kaelen, and Eloria alike. “The chains are breaking. Bound powers stir, and when they are unbound, none of you will control what follows.”

The ground trembled beneath their feet, as though the seer’s words carried the weight of truth. Soldiers glanced around, unease rippling through both camps.

“Eloria,” Maelis said, her tone softer now, “if you walk further down this path, you will not rule it. It will rule you.”

For the first time, Eloria faltered. Her jaw tightened, her grip on her sword uncertain. Then she turned sharply, signaling her guards.

“Take them,” she commanded, dragging the prisoners back with her. “We will speak again when the crown itself is within reach.”

As her forces withdrew, silence fell heavy on the battlefield. Serenya felt the sting of helplessness, the ache of chains not yet broken.

Isolde’s pale face lingered in her mind—her friend, her healer, her ally—dragged into darkness because Serenya had not been strong enough to stop it.

Kaelen’s voice broke her thoughts. “You cannot fight both Thalric and Eloria. Not as you are. Something must change.”

Darian approached, his sword resting against his shoulder, his voice grim. “He’s right. Our men are weary. Supplies dwindle. And now Eloria holds our people hostage.”

Serenya’s chest tightened. Every path seemed lined with ruin. Yet Maelis’s words rang in her ears. The chains are breaking.

“What chains?” Serenya asked quietly, turning to the seer.

Maelis’s eyes glimmered, as though she looked not at Serenya but through her. “The ones around your heart. The ones around his soul.” She inclined her head toward Kaelen. “The ones that bind kingdoms to curses, heirs to shadows, and lovers to fates they dare not claim.”

Kaelen stiffened, his gaze shadowed. Serenya felt the air between them thrum with unspoken truth, chains invisible but palpable.

“Then we will break them,” Serenya whispered, her voice steadying into resolve.

Maelis smiled faintly, though sorrow touched her eyes. “Breaking chains always comes at a cost.”

As the sun bled lower on the horizon, Serenya looked to the fortress of Dawnspire, its towers still standing though darkened by war. Within its walls lay safety for a night, perhaps two. Beyond it lay betrayal, battle, and an uncertain destiny.

But in her heart, a new fire flickered. The chains would not hold forever. And when they broke—when the truth unbound itself—everything would change.