Lyra and Shawn rode hard through the night, their horses' hooves a relentless rhythm against the dirt path. Hours blurred together in a focused, silent pursuit. Shawn, riding ahead, suddenly pulled his horse to a halt, raising a hand.
"Tracks," he murmured, his eyes scanning the ground. "Fresh. Looks like three, maybe four riders."
Lyra dismounted, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The exhaustion of the ride was forgotten, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.
They followed the tracks on foot, moving with the quiet stealth of seasoned warriors, until they saw them—a small fire burning in a clearing ahead, its flickering light illuminating six figures.
Selene was there, her hands still bound. Standing over her were Four Valerian soldiers, scouts, their armor glinting faintly in the firelight. The six person, Lyra realized with a cold fury, was the captor—the man who had been a patient in her own medical tent.
"Lyra, we're outnumbered," Shawn whispered, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.
"I know," Lyra replied.
"We need backup," Shawn pressed, his voice tight.
Lyra knew they couldn't risk it. The fewer people who knew, the better. She had to keep this situation under wraps.
"You're not afraid, Shawn?" she teased, a cold glint in her eyes.
"I'm not afraid, but I'm not crazy either," he shot back.
"We can take them," she said, her voice lacing with confidence. She started to stand, but Shawn quickly pulled her back down.
"But what if we can't convince them?" he whispered urgently.
"Then, we end them," Lyra replied, her voice low and final.
She stepped into the clearing, her presence a sudden, sharp intrusion into the quiet night. "Lower your weapons," she commanded, her voice ringing with the authority of a general. "That girl and her captor are my property."
The Valerian soldiers instantly went on high alert. One of them, likely the leader, grinned. "Well, well, it's the General of Oakhart." He turned to Selene's captor. "I suppose your tale holds some truth."
"What are you talking about?" Lyra's tone was calm, but her eyes were cold.
"Your presence here," the soldier said, his gaze flicking from her to Selene. "It speaks of her importance."
"Of course, she's important. She's one of our healers," Lyra lied, her voice perfectly even.
The Valerian soldiers laughed, but their bravado was short-lived. One of them, with a scar on his cheek, pointed a sword at the captor. "He told us her real worth. A healer with magic, he said. A witch."
Shawn's eyes widened at the new information. He glanced at Lyra, who met his gaze without a flicker of emotion, a mask of hardened stone.
"We all know mages and witches are no more," Lyra said, then her voice became harsher. "If you don't give her back, you'll regret this."
The soldier's grin was sharp and dangerous. "She is no longer your property, General. She belongs to our captain now and to the Kingdom of Valeria"
The captor, seeing a new opportunity, nodded frantically. "She can bring people back from the dead! You've got to believe me!"
Lyra's eyes narrowed, her hand instinctively going for her sword. The kidnapper's desperate gambit had changed everything. This wasn't a simple rescue anymore. The Valerians knew what they had. A tense standoff began, with Lyra and Shawn facing three seasoned soldiers who now held a priceless asset.
Shawn's eyes widened, his hand gripping his sword. "Healer? Healed the dead?!" The words echoed his own internal monologue, the shock a physical jolt.
Lyra's gaze, however, turned to ice. There would be no negotiation, no clever words to fix this. Her secret was out, and the price on Selene's head had just skyrocketed. The Valerians' smiles faded as they saw the change in her eyes—the predatory gleam of a cornered general.
With a speed that belied her weary stance, Lyra drew her sword. The steel sang a low note as it cleared the scabbard, and she moved. She didn't charge, she flowed, a blur of calculated aggression. The first soldier, caught off guard by her sudden attack, barely had time to raise his shield before Lyra's blade slammed into it. The clang was a sharp punctuation mark in the silent clearing. With a twist of her wrist and a fluid, practiced motion, she disarmed him, sending his weapon spinning into the darkness.
Simultaneously, Shawn engaged the second soldier, his own movements a brutal, efficient dance of steel. The years of fighting side-by-side with Lyra showed in their seamless coordination.
The third Valerian, the one who had spoken, was a veteran. He dodged Lyra's feint and lunged for Selene, his eyes fixed on the prize. Lyra saw his move and let out a roar of pure fury, a sound that was more animal than human. She spun, her sword a silver arc in the firelight, and intercepted his attack with a sharp, ringing clash.
Steel met steel again and again, sparks flying into the night. Lyra fought with a desperate, ruthless energy, not like a general but like a guardian protecting something precious. She fought not for the kingdom, not for glory, but for the girl who was the reason for this desperate battle. The kidnapper, seeing the fight turn, backed away nervously, his eyes darting between the chaos and the escape route.
Lyra's initial feint was not a move to disarm, but a declaration. Her eyes, cold as a winter battlefield, told the veteran soldier there would be no prisoners tonight. The secret had been spoken aloud, and her only recourse was to silence all who had heard it. She engaged him with a fury that was both calculated and desperate.
Steel sang, and sparks flew as Lyra met his every thrust and parry. The veteran was skilled, his movements solid and practiced, but Lyra fought with the reckless abandon of a cornered predator. He managed to slash her forearm, a sharp line of pain blooming into a dark stain on her sleeve. She grunted but did not retreat, instead using the momentum of his blade to spin and drive her own sword low.
The man dodged, but Lyra was already on the offensive again, her strikes a relentless storm. She fought with the memory of Selene's innocence, the weight of her own secret, and the fear of what a kingdom would do to a "witch." This was not just a battle for her life; it was for Selene's.
As the veteran stumbled back, shocked by her ferocity, Lyra saw her opening. She lunged, her blade finding its mark with a sickening thud. He fell, a choked gasp escaping his lips as his eyes glazed over, now as empty as the night sky.
The clearing fell silent, the only sound the heavy, ragged breaths of Lyra and Shawn, who had similarly dispatched their own opponents. Blood stained the dirt, and the campfire cast long, dancing shadows over the bodies of the Valerian soldiers. Lyra's gaze, still sharp and dangerous, turned from the fallen enemies to the only remaining figure who knew the truth: the captor. He stood frozen, his eyes wide with a terror that had nothing to do with the war, and everything to do with the General now walking towards him.
Lyra's cold, merciless gaze fell upon the captor. He stammered, "No... I-" but the words died in his throat. The General moved with a chilling efficiency, her sword a blur of motion. The man crumpled to the ground, a single, final blow silencing him and the secret he carried forever.
Shawn, seeing the grim task complete, turned his attention to Selene. He quickly unbound her hands, his touch gentle. She was in a daze, her eyes wide as she stared at the bodies of the fallen soldiers and the lingering blood on Lyra's blade.
But her shock was momentary. Her gaze landed on Lyra's forearm, where a long, deep cut bled freely. All fear vanished, replaced by an urgent, powerful focus. Without hesitation, she closed the distance. Her hands reached out, ready to touch the wound, ready to heal.