The traitor was Mira.
The blind weaver of Southwatch. The one who gave her the golden thread. The one who spoke of legacy.
Now she stood in full black, her eyes open—sightless no longer—and burning with voidlight.
> "I gave you the thread to awaken your power," Mira said, her voice cold. "So the Crown could see where to strike."
Elira's blood turned to ice.
> "You used me."
> "You were never meant to lead them. Only lure them into the open."
Auren drew his sword. "Then this is where your lies end."
But Mira raised her hand—and the ground shattered again. Spell runes flared beneath their feet. A ward trap. Ancient. Hidden in the road. They were surrounded and bound.
From the cliffs, archers emerged. Voidsteel bolts rained down.
Elira summoned flame in both hands, shielding Auren and the front line, but it cost her—her breath came ragged, her limbs trembling.
> "Fall back!" she cried. "To the ridge! We can't fight them head-on!"
But retreat wasn't easy.
Already, the rebels were falling—scouts impaled, fire-weavers bound by cursed chains. One of her captains, Kael, was cut down trying to shield the younger fighters.
> "Hold the line!" Elira shouted, flame blazing outward. "Protect the wounded!"
Mira stepped forward, her voice booming.
> "Give up the throne, Flameborn. Your rebellion dies tonight."
But Elira didn't move. Her body burned with pain, but her eyes were fire.
> "Then I'll burn the path through your lies."
She raised her hands—and summoned every ounce of power the thread had awakened.
The flames burst upward, forming a wall between her people and the attackers. Not to destroy—just to shield.
"Run," she gasped. "Get them to safety, Auren. I'll hold them back."
> "I'm not leaving you!" he yelled.
> "You must. If I fall here, the fire goes on through you."
The flames twisted into a crown around her.
Auren's eyes glistened—but he obeyed.
He turned, rallying the survivors behind him.
And Elira stood alone—one girl, against an army.