The city did not sleep.
It tried—shutters closed, candles dimmed, doors barred—but sleep refused to come. The screams from the infirmaries bled through stone walls and narrow streets, carried by night air thick with smoke and lingering miasma. Even those untouched by madness lay awake, staring at ceilings, listening to sounds they would never forget.
Elowen Caelrith sat alone in the war chamber.
She had not removed her armour.
The steel plates rested heavy on her shoulders, damp with sweat that had long since gone cold. Blood—hers and not—darkened the joints and edges. She could feel it crusting as she moved, stiffening the armour into something closer to a shell.
Across her knees lay Caelrith's Legacy.
The great sword's weight grounded her, its familiar mass anchoring thoughts that threatened to spiral. The blade caught the candlelight faintly, the pale veins within the steel almost pulsing, as if the weapon itself remembered battles older than the kingdom.
Elowen stared at the stone floor.
She replayed the battle again and again.
The first charge.The moment the miasma thickened.The hesitation in her soldiers' eyes.
Her jaw tightened.
She had trained for war since childhood. Not in fantasy, not in theory—but in sweat and steel. She had bled beside these soldiers. Buried them. Promoted survivors. Learned their strengths and limits.
And still, hell had pushed them back.
The doors opened.
She did not look up.
She recognized the footsteps.
Measured. Careful. Old joints, disciplined posture.
Her uncle entered without escort.
Lord Scallab Caelrith closed the doors behind him, sealing out the distant noise. He did not speak immediately. He simply stood there, studying her, eyes sharp despite the lines carved into his face by time.
"You should rest," he said at last.
"I will," Elowen replied. "When the portals stop opening."
Scallab's mouth curved faintly—not quite a smile.
"You held the eastern line longer than any realm has," he said. "Even the Border Kings fell within hours."
She finally lifted her gaze.
"I lost ground," she said flatly. "Villages. Farmland. Lives."
"You saved the capital."
"For now."
Silence returned.
Scallab crossed the chamber slowly and took a seat opposite her, lowering himself with care. He folded his hands over his cane.
"The miasma is new," he said. "At least in this concentration."
Elowen nodded. "It attacks the mind before the body. Fear becomes memory. Memory becomes weapon."
"And you resisted it."
"Barely."
Scallab studied her for a long moment.
"Do you know what the court is saying?" he asked.
"I don't care."
"They say the princess stood at the rear during the retreat," he continued. "That she cut down anything that tried to follow. They say she never once turned her back."
Elowen said nothing.
"They say the army did not break because you didn't."
She closed her eyes briefly.
Praise tasted bitter tonight.
"If the portals open again tomorrow," she said, "we won't hold. The soldiers are exhausted. Some are still screaming. Others are afraid to close their eyes."
"They will open again," Scallab said calmly. "That is the nature of this war."
Her fingers tightened around the sword's hilt.
"Then tell me what you came to say."
Scallab exhaled slowly.
"There is a banner," he said. "One that has not fallen. One that has stood against portals and lived."
She opened her eyes.
"The Red Flags," she said quietly.
His brows rose slightly. "You've heard of them."
"Everyone has," she replied. "Stories. Rumours."
"Facts," Scallab corrected. "They have repelled three confirmed breaches. No city loss. No civilian slaughter."
Elowen frowned.
"No kingdom does that without cost."
"Exactly," he said. "They pay the cost willingly."
She shifted, the armour creaking softly.
"And what does that have to do with us?"
Scallab met her gaze directly now.
"Their leader is a man of influence. Power. Fear."
Elowen's jaw tightened.
"And unmarried," she said.
"Yes."
The word hung heavy between them.
"A marriage alliance," she said slowly. "Is that what this is?"
Scallab did not flinch.
"I would call it survival."
She rose abruptly, the great sword sliding from her knees to rest tip-down on the stone with a dull scrape.
"I did not fight on that field," she said, voice hard, "to be traded like land or gold."
"Neither did I suggest that," Scallab replied evenly.
"You implied it."
"I stated a possibility."
She turned away, pacing once across the chamber, armour clinking softly.
"I am not some ornament to be placed beside a stronger man."
"No," Scallab agreed. "You are a commander who understands war."
She stopped.
He continued, voice steady.
"Your parents are proud of you. The army follows you. The people believe in you. But belief does not stop hell. Steel does. Numbers do. Allies do."
She faced him again.
"And what would they expect in return?" she asked. "Submission?"
"Respect," Scallab said. "And unity."
She laughed once—sharp, humourless.
"Unity under whose banner?"
"Both," he replied. "If you are wise."
She studied him now, really studied him.
"You believe this man is worth it."
"I believe he is dangerous," Scallab said. "And that sometimes, danger is the only shield that holds."
Elowen looked down at the great sword.
Her family blade.
A symbol of authority, yes—but also burden.
"If I go," she said slowly, "it will not be as a bride begging protection."
Scallab inclined his head. "Of course not."
"I will go as commander," she continued. "As representative of the Far March. I will see this Red Flags Battalion with my own eyes."
"And if the rumours are true?"
Her grip tightened.
"Then we talk," she said. "As equals."
A long silence followed.
Then Scallab smiled faintly.
"That," he said, "is why your parents trust you."
She exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders just enough to breathe.
"Prepare the delegation," she said. "Small. Fast. Armed."
"Already done."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I had faith," Scallab said simply.
Elowen nodded once.
Outside the war chamber, the city groaned in its wounded sleep.
Beyond the walls, far across scorched fields and ruined villages, the sky shimmered faintly.
A red portal flickered at the horizon—unstable, watching, waiting.
And somewhere far away, beneath a different red—
Another banner stood.
Unmoved.