The chamber was still. The fire crackled faintly, shadows bending across the stone walls. Aurora sat propped against silken pillows, her skin pale, her white hair loose over her shoulders. A tray of untouched broth rested nearby.
Her maids had told her everything. How the trial ended. How Evelyn had fallen. How Virelda—of all people—had turned back to save her.
Aurora listened, lips parted, but her hands slowly clutched her belly. They hesitated, until one whispered the last thing. "The child… could not live, my lady. The healers tried—"
Her hands pressed harder to herself. No sound left her lips for a long time, only the trembling of her shoulders. When she finally bowed her head, tears slid free and darkened the sheets.
"So even that… was taken from me."
The maids knelt closer, weeping softly, but she only whispered, "I want to be left alone."
And when the door closed behind them, her sobs filled the chamber alone.
The days after were for recovery. Queen Ava became her shadow, always at her side, a calm voice reminding her to eat, to rest, to breathe. And Aldric—he almost never left the chamber at all.
One evening, he entered with a tray himself, not trusting the servants. She sat near the window, hair pale against the moonlight, but her eyes were still swollen. He set the tray down and went to her.
"You have not eaten," he said, gently.
"I am not hungry," Aurora whispered.
He lowered himself before her, taking her hands, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Listen to me. Do not grieve what is lost as though the world has ended. You are alive, Aurora. And while you live, you will yet conceive again. I swear it—you will bear children, and they will be mine. Our blood. Do you hear me?"
Her lips trembled. "You speak as though it is so simple. As though a child can be replaced like a jewel."
"Not replaced," he said firmly, tightening his grip. "But promised anew. What was stolen will be given back, greater than before. I will not allow sorrow to write your future."
She broke then, leaning into him, her forehead against his shoulder. He held her tightly, his lips pressing to her hair as if to seal his vow.
Time worked its quiet labor. Her strength returned in pieces—each walk to the garden, each laughter Ava coaxed out of her, each quiet evening where Aldric would sit by the fire and speak to her of matters of kingdom, only to turn and watch her more than the flames.
One night, long after the palace had gone still, Aurora stood alone at the window. The moon was pale, the air heavy with distant owls. She closed her eyes, lifted her hand, and whispered a word she had not dared since the beating. The air shifted, a candle at the far table flickered though no wind touched it.
Her lips parted. The glow stirred in her chest again. She smiled faintly, tears sliding free—her power had returned.
In the morning, with ink-stained fingers, she wrote slowly, her script unshaken though her heart was.
"To Queen Virelda—
Though chains bind you, you chose mercy where others chose cruelty. You returned for me when no hand was stretched out. I write with a heart both wounded and grateful. For this, I thank you—not as queen to queen, but as woman to woman, and as one who yet lives because of you. May your days in penance be lighter for this knowledge."
She sealed the letter with white wax. A maid carried it away.
Aurora remained by the window, her hand resting once more upon her belly. No child stirred there, but Aldric's words echoed still—not replaced, but promised anew.
-
The sky was torn in half that night.
Dark clouds, rolling like smoke, gathered above a wide barren plain where no grass had dared to grow for years. At the far end, shadows shifted, cloaks dragging across the dirt—black witches, their eyes burning red, their leader at the front with her staff planted in the ground like a throne of fire.
Opposite them, pale light shimmered. White witches appeared, robes glowing faintly under the dim moonlight, their leader Elisa standing in the middle, her long white hair flowing like frost. Beside her stood the Zyra, her face hidden but her voice steady.
The wind stilled.
The black witch leader smirked first, "Finally," she hissed, voice carrying across the barren land, "the day has come. The end of the white witches is here."
Elisa lifted her chin, eyes cold as winter ice, "How delusional," she said. "It is your shadow that ends tonight, not ours."
A chuckle rose from the black witch, "Elisa… you know you cannot overpower me."
"Why do we not wait," Elisa replied, her hand curling around her staff, "and see what comes of it."
"Oh yes," the black witch sneered. "I cannot wait to see your end. And after I have killed every last one of you—" she leaned forward, grinning wickedly— "is not King Aldric going to war soon? Oh, how glorious it will be when his head rolls in the battlefield. And when he falls, your precious Archon will be destroyed with him."
She threw her head back and laughed.
Zyra voice cut like a blade, "Archon cannot be destroyed."
The black witch's laughter deepened, shaking the air, "Ohh… you mean you do not know?" She stepped forward, her staff sparking fire. "Archon has lost her power. Did she not tell you?"
The white witches stirred uneasily, their glow flickering. Zyra quickly turned to Elisa.
"What does she mean?"
Elisa's face hardened, "Aurora blocked all portals to her. I cannot see through. I do not know if it is true… but even if she still holds her power, she has never stood with us. This fight—" her eyes swept over her witches "—this fight is ours to fight."
One of the white witches whispered, trembling, "But the black witches… they are powerful."
Elisa's glare burned sharper than fire, "Are you afraid?"
Zyra stepped forward, "Archon or not—we must win this fight."
A sharp snort burst from the black witch. "Why waste time with your speeches? I cannot wait to have you all killed."
"You wish," Elisa shot back, raising her staff.
The ground cracked. The war began.
Fire collided with snow, thunder split the sky, lightning crashed as power met power. White light streaked against black flame, witches shrieking, spells ripping the earth apart. Snowstorms lashed against blazing fireballs, freezing and melting in the same breath.
Bodies fell. Screams rang. Both sides withered, white and black alike crumpling under the weight of destruction.
At the center, Elisa and the black witch leader clashed, every strike shaking the plain. Magic flung them backward, slammed them into the dirt, dragged them to their knees only to rise again.
Then—the black witch conjured a blade out of flame, her hand steady as death.
With a single slash— shhhkk—Elisa's white hair split, strands scattering in the wind like snow.
Elisa screamed, collapsing to the ground.
"Noooo!"
Zyra tried to reach her, but a black witch barred her way, striking her back with burning force.
The black witch leader stood over Elisa, laughter echoing like thunder.
"I searched, Elisa. I learned your secret. Your hair… your power. And now—" she raised her fiery blade "—you are nothing. Time for you to die."
Elisa shrieked, weak hands clutching her head. The blade rose higher, ready to strike—
Then came the wind.
A sudden hush. A violent gust. And in the middle of it, like light breaking through a storm, Aurora appeared. Her hair blazed white in the night. Her eyes glowed like blue fire.
With a snap of her fingers, the black witch leader was hurled backward as if the storm itself had chosen her as prey. She crashed against a jagged rock—its sharp edge piercing through. Her scream ended in silence.
Another snap.
The black witches who had crushed the white witches dropped all at once—breathless, lifeless, scattered on the barren earth.
The battlefield stilled.
Only Aurora stood, her breath heavy, her power undeniable.
She rushed to Elisa, dropping to her knees, lifting her weak body into her arms.
"Mother… I should have come sooner," Aurora whispered, her voice breaking.
Elisa coughed, blood at her lips, but she smiled faintly.
"I never thought you would come." Her eyes softened, filling with something close to regret. "I was never a mother to you, Aurora. I wanted your power… not you. And perhaps… this is my punishment."
She reached, trembling, touching her daughter's hair.
"Forgive me… and protect your hair. It carries your life."
Her eyes closed. Her breath faded. She was gone.
Aurora's scream tore through the night.
"Nooooooo!."
Around her, the battlefield lay littered with corpses—black and white witches alike, their era ended in a single night.
The age of witches was gone.
-
The air in Aldric's chamber shifted. A shimmer of light, a faint sound, and suddenly she was there—Aurora—her figure trembling in the middle of the chamber, her face swollen and raw from tears.
For a heartbeat, Aldric stood frozen, his hand halfway to the table. Then his expression shattered into worry.
He rushed to her, voice breaking as it left him.
"Aurora… what happened? You have only just healed—where were you coming from?"
She did not answer. Her lips trembled, but all that came was a sob. She fell against him, and Aldric's arms wrapped her at once, pulling her against his chest.
The words tore out of her between cries.
"She is dead… my mother is dead. It is my fault!"
Aldric's body stiffened, his eyes widening. Yet he said nothing. His hand only stroked her hair, the other patting her back in slow, steady rhythm.
Aurora clutched at him as though he were the only solid thing in a crumbling world.
"I should have been good to her—I should have embraced her when I first met her, not turn away. I should have been there earlier, I should have been there…" Her voice cracked. "…but now she is gone. She died in my arms, Aldric, She looked at me, and all I saw was regret… and I—I—" Her breath hitched as she buried her face deeper into his chest.
Her sobs shook against him. He pressed her tighter, His own heart thundered, but silence was stronger than any speech, he pressed his lips to her temple.
Her mind reeled. The years of chains in Elareth. The lashes. The hunger. The sting of whip. The nights when she believed she was nothing. Then Velmora—the strange, unexpected light. And then she remembered the cottage—her mother's face, so uncannily like her own, and the bitterness that rose in her when she discovered that woman had lived all along. She remembered her anger: Why had she never come? Why had she only spoken of power?the bitterness, the questions never answered. And finally, the final breath, the weight of her mother's head going still in her arms.
"I lost her," Aurora whispered, her voice broken, "and I cannot bear it."
Aldric lowered his head until his lips brushed her damp hair. His voice was a vow.
"Then bear it with me. You will not carry pain alone—not while I live. No curse, no shadow, no grief will take you from me."
She wept until exhaustion dulled her sobs, her body slumping weakly against him. Carefully, he lifted her, laid her upon the bed, and drew the cover over her. When her hand caught his wrist, weak and desperate, her eyes pleading through the tears, she whispered— "Do not leave me."
His hand closed over hers, firm and unyielding. "Never."
She slipped into sleep still holding him, her face streaked but softening in slumber.
Aldric sat beside her, watching, his jaw tightening against the ache of her grief. One hand smoothed a strand of hair from her brow, and his eyes darkened with silent promise.
"No harm would ever touch you again—not while I drew breath."