Sixteen years.
That was how long Davina had carried the weight of her father's death, and how long she had studied every shadow, every whisper of the world her mother carved and bled through.
Now she stood tall at the balcony of the estate, black leather gloves hugging her fists, her eyes burning with the twin flares of Gina's steel and Houna's cunning. The city below was a battlefield, though most of its dwellers didn't know it yet. To them, she was a prodigy—the polished daughter of a lost icon. But within the underworld, her name had become thunder.
Davina Lansing.
The girl with two bloodlines.
The heir of war.
Her brother—barely sixteen—trained with the guards in the courtyard. The son Dave never lived to meet. Fierce, sharp-eyed, the boy carried his father's smile but none of his softness. He had grown under Gina's instruction, but it was Davina he looked to now, as though she were both sister and general.
Tonight, Davina gathered them all in the war room. The maps stretched across the table, red markers stabbing the territories claimed by Richard Lansing and the remnants of Elara's forces.
She spoke without faltering. "We will cut them out one by one. Not in rage, but with precision. Every name that bled my father will be struck out. Richard will not die quickly—he will watch his empire rot before we take his crown."
Her voice was lower now, almost ritualistic.
"Elara. Richard. Every lieutenant who sold their loyalty for blood money. They are the names on my list."
She closed her eyes, letting the vow sear into her. "I will not stop. Not until their world burns as mine once did."
The boy looked at her then, his voice steady. "And if it kills us?"
Davina met his gaze, a thin smile pulling at her lips. "Then we'll die like father never could—fighting."
The table fell into silence. Only the rain against the windows answered her words.
In the corner, Gina watched silently, her hand resting on the swell of her younger child—Dave's last gift to her, now almost grown. Pride and dread warred in her chest. She saw Dave in Davina's conviction, but she also saw herself—the ruthless steel, the refusal to bend.
And though Gina had always fought her battles with strategy, Davina carried a fire that refused to wait.
That night, before retreating to her quarters, Davina lingered in the training yard. She raised her blade, whispered her father's name, and swung until her arms burned, until her lungs threatened to collapse.
Her father had told her once in a dream—love will rule the world.
But tonight, love was not enough.
Only vengeance would.