On the Imperial ship an hour before Luminaria got shot…

  The Admiral was not happy.

  The Royal Navy still lingered, their sails a wall of stubborn defiance against the horizon. He’d ordered a warning shot earlier, one of the big ones, meant to shake them into retreat. It hadn’t worked.

  They hadn’t flinched.

  They’re not even supposed to be here, he thought bitterly, his jaw tight. This river doesn’t belong to them. This blockade isn’t theirs to break… Although, to be honest, nor is the river ours.

  Yet here they were, sitting pretty in their ships, turning his command into a spectacle.

  He drummed thick fingers against the carved railing of his command deck, the salt?bitten wood creaking under his touch.

  His eyes slid toward the Baron.

  The man hadn’t offered his name, only his patron’s gold, dripping with Count Itzel’s contempt for the Kingdom. The message had been clear enough: get rid of the Rimebreak fleet. Scare them off. Make them disappear.

  But the Admiral wasn’t in the habit of risking Imperial ships for an unsanctioned war. Not for some overreaching Count with too much money and not enough subtlety.

  Then came the boat.

  A lone one, gliding toward them through the choppy current like a ghost.

  He touched his beard, a nervous habit he’d never managed to kill, and gestured toward his first mate. “Report.”

  “Still the same, sir!” the mate called, voice clipped, knuckles white on the railing as he squinted through his spyglass. “Four people aboard. Three melee, one mage. They’re armed, but… they don’t look like they’ll pose a serious threat.”

  “Kill them.”

  The words didn’t come from him.

  Every head on deck swiveled toward the Baron, his shadow long in the evening sun as he stepped forward, draped in black velvet that made him look more carrion bird than noble. “Show them the Imperial Navy does not tolerate upstart kingdoms ignoring a blockade!”

  “Baron…” The Admiral began, a warning threaded through it.

  But the Baron closed the distance between them, each step deliberate, boots striking the deck like drumbeats. He raised a single finger, leveling it at the Admiral as if that gesture alone could overrule his command.

  “We’ll raise the amount,” the Baron said. “Enough gold for three new ships. Fully armed. What do you risk? Nothing.” His gaze locked onto the Admiral’s with expectation.

  The Admiral’s chest tightened.

  Three new ships. He could almost feel the weight of them in his hands, new hulls, crews that didn’t mutter about late pay. Ever since the rebellion had drained the coffers, the Imperial capital had been slow to refill his purse, leaving him to chase pirates with worn crews and patched sails.

  But not kingdoms.

  Never kingdoms.

  “I need it in a binding agreement,” he said after a long silence, each word carefully measured. “Sealed by you.”

  The Baron’s expression soured, his brows pulling together in fury. “That will take precious time… half an hour at least!”

  “No agreement,” the Admiral replied, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “no shots.”

  For a moment, the deck held its breath.

  Then the Baron scoffed, turning on his heel with a swirl of velvet, and stormed toward the lower deck, his boots thundering against the planks until his shadow disappeared below.

  The Admiral exhaled slowly, the tension in his jaw aching. He glanced back at the distant Rimebreak fleet, their ships holding position like a line of teeth against the horizon.

  If this goes wrong, he thought, it won’t be my name the Capital curses.

  Baron actually delivered the gold. Admiral couldn’t believe it, but with this in hands, he could be the proper force empire needed.

  If he needed to crush a small boat of a new Kingdom, killing four people? Low price to pay.

  “One standard barrage spell,” Admiral barked an order.

  “Admiral?” first mate was sruprised. “Standard barrage spell against a small boat?”

  “We take no chances. Orders!” Admiral barked again.

  “Yes, Admiral!” his first mate yelled and belayed orders.

  His crew was efficient as always and soon one spell tore ward the boat. “Sorry,” Admiral breathed as the spell crushed the boat. But, wait… It didn’t!

  —

  BANG.

  The world split with a single, thunderous crack; one of the Imperial ships had fired on them. It was one of the siege spells that had an insane mana cost and cooldown.

  Luminaria could only slowly turn her head toward the incoming projectile. It was coming fast, howling across the waves.

  But not fast enough.

  Llama moved. Not the clumsy shuffle of some shield?bearer scrambling to intercept, but a precise adjustment, as though the entire maneuver had been rehearsed a thousand times in his mind. He was always prepared. His boots planted into the planks with a dull thud, shield raised, posture set.

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  And then his new skill bloomed into life.

  The impact struck—crackling heat, and raw force—but his stance didn’t falter. The shield drank in the spell’s fury and turned it aside in one smooth sweep. The projectile ricocheted off the enchanted metal, spinning wide, then dissipated into a hissing plume as it met the sea, vanishing into a mist that smelled faintly of iron and scorched saltwater.

  Only then did Llama allow himself a rare, genuine smile. “Spellbreaker,” he rumbled, almost reverently, “is an amazing skill.”

  She couldn’t look away. Not for a second. That was the problem. That ridiculous, square?jawed calm. That grin, brief as it was like sunlight breaking through a storm. It drew her in.

  Luminaria forced herself to breathe, to blink, to redirect her gaze toward the lead Imperial ship. It loomed over the horizon, black?hulled. She couldn’t make out the faces on its deck; too far, too much haze; but in her mind, she imagined them watching, smug in their assumed superiority.

  The two players who’d been rowing had stopped, oars hovering uncertainly over the water. She catalogued her options, forcing her thoughts into order.

  First: retreat, rejoin Lucy, and commit to her reckless ramming plan.

  Second: press forward, banking on their restraint, and on no one firing another spell while Llama’s skill was on cooldown, which would take at least an hour.

  Third: War diplomacy. Pure, audacious, dangerous diplomacy.

  When she laid them out like that, she saw the truth: there were no other actual choices. And she’d been given permission to use the Heart.

  Her lips curved.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said as she crossed to Llama, her steps steady and measured despite the boat’s subtle sway. She placed one small, gloved hand on his shoulder, letting her touch be both reassurance and declaration. Her braid shifted with the wind as she tilted her head toward him. “I’m going to show them that the Rimebreak Kingdom will not be intimidated.”

  Llama’s shield remained fixed on the enemy fleet, but he turned his neck just enough to meet her eyes. “Of course,” he said. Then, with that infuriating, endearing edge of humor only he could get away with: “Be careful. But knowing you, you’ll look fabulous.”

  The decision had already been made. Retreat was for cowards. Negotiation was for later. This… this was art. Luminaria inhaled once, tasting the salt?bitten air.

  Then she moved.

  One incantation, one twist of the wrist, and her levitation spell seized her body with invisible hands. She surged upward until the boat was no more than a dot beneath her, the cries of her guildmates muffled by the wind. Another gesture, faster this time, and her trajectory shifted.

  Forward.

  The spell hurled her like a spear cast by Charlie in the battle, lightning gathering by the spell along her form as she tore across the distance. The sea below blurred into streaks of color, foam and shadow melding into one. Her hair whipped free of its braid, her robes snapping like banners in a hurricane.

  Half a mile vanished in a blink.

  Then she stabilized, arms raised, the storm at her fingertips obeying like a tamed beast. She hovered two miles out from the blockade, the Imperial ships now close enough that she could make out their insignias, their crew frozen mid?motion, staring at the impossible woman who dared approach them alone.

  Perfect. Let them watch.

  Luminaria extended one hand, and the Heart of the Tempest slid from her inventory into her palm. The gem thrummed in recognition, alive with raw lightning, a living storm confined in crystal. It pulsed against her skin, frantic, eager, like a caged predator sensing open air.

  “Your turn,” she whispered. “Let’s show them Crown of the Tempest.”

  She began to cast.

  Runes unfolded around her, first one, then another, delicate threads of light forming into precise geometric sigils. She had practiced them for days, over and over, until the patterns felt as natural as breathing. Nothing else was acceptable.

  But now… now it wasn’t practice. Now they burned into existence, bright enough to scar the world.

  The Heart of the Tempest responded, its glow dimming with every glyph she drew, its power siphoned into her work. The air crackled.

  Above, the pristine blue sky blackened as if ashamed of its earlier calm. Clouds gathered with impossible speed, swirling in a spiraling vortex. The wind howled, as if the world itself recoiled from what she was doing. Lightning began to dance between the clouds, first playful, then violent, uneven streaks of white?hot fury that illuminated the blockade in stark flashes.

  Then the sea joined the chorus. Bolts stabbed downward, striking water with concussive force, steam erupting in plumes like the ocean itself was boiling alive. The taste of ozone flooded her tongue, metallic and electric. She was at the eye of the storm. No… not the eye.

  The storm itself.

  She felt their fear before she saw it. The Imperial fleet stirred. On one of the side vessels, spellcasters scrambled to form their counter. Not a shield, which would be useless to be honest, but a counterattack. The air warped, the temperature spiking. A siege?fire spell big enough to obliterate a ship.

  It reached her in seconds, a churning ball of molten death.

  She didn’t move.

  The lightning did.

  It didn’t strike once. It enveloped the fire, devouring it mid?air in a crackling sphere of white?blue energy. The spell shrieked as it was unravelled, fizzing uselessly into the clouds.

  All their power, their rage, their defiance… turned to nothing.

  Luminaria smiled.

  They shouldn’t have targeted her.

  Because now she had a target.

  Another rune. Another. Another. The Heart dimmed further, its glow now a faint ember, but the storm only grew wilder, more unstable. The runes pulsed like heartbeats, each one feeding the tempest, weaving it tighter, louder, until the air screamed with it.

  This was no mere display and they would learn what it meant to provoke her Kingdom. She was now part of it and she would defend it with all her power. “Enemies of the Rimebreak shall tremble,” she declared over the storm for the camera.

  She raised both hands, her fingers trembling with the strain of channeling that much raw energy. Lightning surged to her, through her, around her, until her entire form was lost in the radiant blur. She could feel it searing her, testing her will, begging for release.

  She gave it one.

  The runes collapsed inward. The Heart of the Tempest gave its last spark.

  And the heavens fell.

  The lightning struck with a sound that wasn’t thunder but something else… a sound of breaking worlds.

  It speared through the offending Imperial ship, splitting its hull in one clean, surgical slash before shattering it outright. Wood and iron ruptured like wet parchment. The vessel screamed as it cracked in half, flames and smoke exploding outward before the sea claimed it with a final hiss.

  With her robes snapping like banners in a hurricane, Luminaria invoked the storm again.

  The spell seized her, first a surge, then a violent thrust, as her body became little more than a streak of living lightning.

  The world blurred into a smear of gray and blue as she tore through the storm?laden sky, every cast of the propulsion spell burning chunks of her mana regenration like kindling thrown into a bonfire. She would suffer for days, and it was painful, unsustainable… but utterly worth it.

  She needed this entrance.

  She collided with the lead Imperial ship not as a mortal might, but as a storm does, abrupt, impossible to ignore. And yet, when she landed, it was with perfect grace: boots kissing the deck softly, the wooden planks creaking under her slight weight as if bowing to her arrival.

  Her robes billowed around her in a theatrical sweep, still charged with static. Stray arcs of electricity crawled along her staff, whispering of what she could unleash with a thought.

  She raised her chin, unshaken by the sudden hush of the crew who had moments ago been readying another spell. Every eye turned to her: some wide with fear, some narrowing with anger.

  “In the name of the Rimebreak Kingdom,” she declared, her voice carrying over the storm, “I demand your surrender.”