The silence after battle was always the loudest.
Ash drifted like snow across the ruined village, clinging to broken beams and the armor of the fallen. The once-proud banners of Solareth's scouts now lay trampled in blood and soot. Serenya's ears rang, her body trembling with exhaustion, yet her grip on her sword refused to loosen.
She forced herself to look—not at the dead monsters, whose forms were already dissolving into smoke, but at the bodies of her men. Good men. Men who had sworn to her crown, who had believed in her enough to ride north into the unknown. Now they lay silent, their lifeblood soaking into cursed soil.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to weep, to scream, to curse the gods. But she stood tall instead. A princess could not break, not here.
Lyra moved among the survivors, her bow slung over her shoulder, her steps heavy. She stopped by Serenya's side, her face pale beneath the smears of soot. "We lost half of them."
The words hit harder than any blade. Serenya nodded stiffly, her knuckles white around her sword hilt.
Kaelen stood apart from them, his sword still buried in the earth where he had driven it after the beast fell. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his brow. The mark of the Sun-Seal on his forearm still glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. But his eyes…
His eyes were haunted.
Serenya crossed the distance between them. "Kaelen."
He didn't look up at first. Only when she touched his arm did he raise his gaze.
"I nearly lost it," he admitted in a low, raw voice. "The whispers were louder than ever. They promised me power enough to end it in one stroke. For a moment, I wanted it."
Serenya tightened her grip on his arm. "But you didn't. You held on. You fought beside me, not the Veil."
Kaelen shook his head. "At what cost? If not for you—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Serenya, I don't know how much longer I can resist them."
For a heartbeat, fear prickled her. But she pushed it down, forcing her voice to steady. "Then we will find a way to silence them. Together."
The word hung between them—together. More than a promise. A bond neither had spoken aloud but both had begun to feel, even here among death and ash.
The survivors gathered what little remained. The fallen were laid to rest in hastily dug graves, their weapons buried with them. Lyra whispered the old words of Solareth's rites, her voice breaking only once.
Serenya knelt by each grave, pressing her hand to the earth. She whispered their names, even if she only knew them from Kaelen's introductions days before. She would not allow them to be forgotten as faceless soldiers.
When at last the last mound of soil was patted down, Kaelen spoke.
"We cannot stay here. Another rift could open, and we don't have the numbers left to face it."
Serenya stood, her cloak heavy with ash. "Then we return to the citadel. The council will see what we've seen. They will have to act."
Lyra muttered under her breath, "Or they'll bury it like they bury everything that doesn't fit their plans."
But there was no other choice.
The ride south was somber. No songs, no laughter, no hope. Each hoofbeat against the road sounded like a funeral drum. Serenya rode at the head, Kaelen ever at her side. The weight of command pressed heavier than any crown she had ever worn in ceremony.
At dusk, they made camp in a clearing. The fire was small, its warmth barely reaching them. The scouts sat silent, staring into flames as if answers might appear within them.
Serenya tried to eat but found no appetite. Her mind replayed the battle in endless loops—the monster's roar, the scouts' cries, Kaelen's voice calling them to hold the line.
She realized, with a start, that she feared closing her eyes. Afraid that if she slept, she would hear the Veil's whispers too.
She rose and stepped away from the fire. The forest loomed dark, but she welcomed the solitude. Or thought she did, until Kaelen's quiet footsteps followed her.
"You shouldn't be alone," he said.
She gave a humorless laugh. "I'm never alone, Kaelen. Every shadow in this kingdom seems eager to keep me company."
He came to stand beside her, his expression unreadable in the half-light. "And yet you still walk forward. That is strength."
She turned to face him fully. "Strength is a mask, Kaelen. One I wear because I must. But every time I put it on, I wonder how much of myself I lose beneath it."
For once, he did not try to reassure her. He simply stood, his presence steady, his silence a kind of answer. And strangely, that gave her more comfort than any words could have.
They returned to the citadel three days later.
The golden towers of Solareth gleamed as if untouched by the horrors of the world beyond its walls. Merchants haggled in the markets, children played in the courtyards, nobles strutted in silks. To Serenya, it felt obscene. How could life here continue unchanged while villages burned to ash?
The council convened the moment she returned. Malrik was already waiting, his smug smile a dagger aimed straight at her resolve.
"You return, Highness," he said smoothly, bowing low. "And with fewer men than you left with, I see. I pray your journey was not in vain."
Serenya's temper flared. She slammed a bundle onto the council table—the scorched, half-shattered helmet of a fallen scout, still bearing the mark of Veil corruption. The metal was twisted unnaturally, as though melted by shadow itself.
"Tell me this is not proof," she demanded, her voice ringing across the chamber. "Tell me this was crafted by mortal hands. Tell me the ashes of my people are not real!"
The chamber fell silent. Even Malrik's smirk faltered.
Kaelen stepped forward, his voice iron. "We fought the rift. We bled for this proof. Ignore it, and you condemn every man, woman, and child beyond these walls."
Murmurs rippled among the councilors. Some looked shaken, others calculating. Malrik recovered first, his eyes narrowing.
"Tragic, yes," he said, "but perhaps exaggerated. A single corrupted helm is not cause to rally the kingdom. War demands more than stories and ash."
"War?" Serenya snapped. "This is not war, Malrik—it is survival. The Veil does not bargain, does not parley. It consumes. Will you wait until it devours your estates as well?"
A few councilors nodded uneasily. Others avoided her gaze. The chamber was fractured, like the kingdom itself.
Her father, the King, sat silent on his throne, his face pale, his breaths shallow. He said nothing. And that silence was louder than Malrik's words.
Serenya's fury boiled. If the council would not act, then she would.
As the session adjourned in chaos, Kaelen caught her arm. "What will you do?"
She looked at him, her jaw set. "What I must. If the council buries its head in gold and silk, then I will rally those who still have fire in their hearts. I will not wait for Solareth to burn."
Kaelen studied her, then nodded once. "Then I stand with you."
That night, Serenya stood alone on her balcony, gazing out at the sleeping city. The moon cast pale light across the rooftops, silvering the spires. Somewhere beyond the horizon, rifts yawned open, swallowing villages whole. Somewhere, the Veil whispered to Kaelen, waiting for his falter.
And here she stood, caught between crown and heart, between duty and prophecy.
Her mark tingled faintly beneath her sleeve, echoing the pulse of Kaelen's Seal. Two fates bound together, whether the world was ready or not.
She whispered into the night, a vow carried on the wind.
"If they will not fight for this kingdom, then I will. With or without their blessing."
And in the silence, it felt as though the stars themselves listened.