The smoke was everywhere now.
It coiled through the corridors like a living thing, crawling along the ceilings, whispering through cracks in the marble. The once-bright halls of Evandelle had become a maze of shadows — twisted by flame and grief.
Zelene could barely see. The air scorched her lungs, every breath raw. Her nightgown was streaked with soot and blood, her hair clinging damp against her face. She stumbled forward, sword in hand, eyes wild.
"Elara!"
Her voice cracked against the thunder of destruction.
"Elara, answer me!"
No reply. Only the echo — distant, distorted, swallowed by the fire's roar.
Behind her, Caelan followed, limping slightly, his blade dragging faintly against the stone. His usually sharp, composed face was streaked with ash, his dark hair matted to his brow. But his eyes — gods, his eyes were alive with fury and fear.
"Zelene—" he coughed, clutching his side. "What happened? Where are Father and Mother?"
She froze.
The question hit her harder than the smoke.
Her lips parted, but no words came — just the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She turned to face him slowly, her expression hollow, her throat tight.
"They're gone," she whispered.
Caelan blinked — disbelief flickering across his soot-streaked face. "What do you mean, gone?"
Her hands trembled around the sword's hilt. "Mother's gone… Father—he tried to fight, he—he told me to run—"
Her voice broke, the rest splintering into air.
And just like that, the fire didn't seem as loud anymore.
Caelan's face went still.
Then — without a word — he reached for her, pulling her into him.
Zelene stood stiff at first, frozen in shock, before her hands clutched at his shirt like she was drowning. He held her tighter — shaking, gasping against her hair.
"I wasn't there," he whispered harshly. "I wasn't there to protect them—"
"It's not—" her voice trembled. "It's not your fault."
But even as she said it, she felt her stomach twist.
Is this my fault?
The thought slipped in like a blade between ribs.
If she hadn't insisted on coming back home — if she had just stayed at Dravenhart — maybe her parents would still be alive. Maybe none of this would've happened.
She could almost hear Kael's voice in her head — quiet, steady, warning her.
"You shouldn't return to the capital yet. Not now."
But she hadn't listened. She wanted to see her family, to breathe the air of home again.
And now… all that air was fire.
She pressed her trembling hand against her lips, stifling a sob. The guilt wrapped around her heart until it hurt to breathe.
Caelan's voice cut through the haze, low and urgent. "We need to move. We can't stay here."
"Elara," Zelene gasped. "We have to find her—she's still here, Cael!"
He nodded sharply, gripping his sword tighter. "She was in the west wing. The balcony room. Come on—!"
They ran — through corridors that once glowed with sunlight and laughter, now filled with burning drapes and shattered glass.
Each step echoed over the fallen bodies of guards and servants who had sworn loyalty to their house.
When they reached the west wing, the smoke was thicker — the ceiling groaning above them, the walls cracking with heat.
Zelene coughed, shielding her mouth with her sleeve. "Elara!"
And then — faintly — a voice. Small. Weak.
"Zelene!"
Zelene's heart leapt. "Elara!"
Through the haze, she saw her — their little sister — trapped beneath a fallen beam near the balcony, her white nightdress torn and stained with blood. Her silver hair glowed faintly in the firelight, her hand reaching out.
"Caelan!" Zelene screamed, rushing forward.
"Careful!" he shouted, pushing debris aside. "The structure's collapsing!"
Zelene dropped to her knees beside Elara. "Elara, look at me—stay with me, alright? We're going to get you out."
Elara tried to smile, but it faltered. "You came home…"
Her voice was so soft, so fragile that Zelene's heart split in two.
"Of course I did," Zelene whispered, brushing the soot from her cheek. "You'll be alright, I promise—"
Caelan wedged his sword under the beam, straining to lift it. His teeth gritted, muscles trembling. "It's too heavy—"
"Then I'll help you!" Zelene dropped her sword and pressed beside him, both pushing, their shoulders shaking. The wood groaned, the sound splintering through the smoke. Inch by inch, the beam lifted.
"Go!" Caelan barked.
Zelene grabbed Elara's hand, pulling her free. "Got her!"
But the moment they dragged her out, the ceiling above them cracked — a sound sharp as thunder.
Zelene's head snapped upward.
"Caelan—!"
The balcony caved in.
The world became fire and falling glass.
Something struck her shoulder — a shard, a beam — she couldn't tell.
She fell hard, her body rolling against the floor, her lungs burning. Her ears rang; her vision swam.
When she forced her eyes open, she saw Caelan — pinned beneath the rubble — his arm still outstretched toward her.
"Cael!" she screamed, crawling toward him. "Cael, no—!"
He coughed, blood on his lips, but his gaze met hers — sharp, fierce, protective to the end.
"Take her," he rasped, eyes darting to Elara, who was barely conscious. "Zelene—listen—take her and run."
"No! I'm not leaving you—"
"Run!" he shouted, his voice breaking through the roar of flames. "Don't make Father's death for nothing!"
The smoke thickened. The air crackled. The fire closed in around them, hungry and merciless.
Zelene's tears blurred the world as she wrapped her arm around Elara's trembling body.
She looked back one last time — at Caelan, trapped beneath the flames, eyes steady, unyielding — before she turned and ran.
Her heart shattered with every step.
Behind her, the west wing collapsed.
And in that moment — amid the ruin of Evandelle, the ashes of her home — Zelene realized something would never return.
Not her family.
Not her innocence.
Not the light she'd once carried in her heart.
Only fire.
And the echo of her father's voice, fading into smoke.
"Run."