My heart pounded in my throat as we staggered together through the trees. The smoke from the barn, reduced to splinters, still rose like an open wound against the sky. We hadn’t won. We had barely survived.

  Caelia leaned on my shoulder, her breathing heavy. Velka pressed on as best she could, her right arm hanging stiff after Caelia had brutally reset it moments earlier in the chaos. Neyra carried her broken arm against her chest, strapped tight in a makeshift sling torn from her own cloak. And I could hardly breathe, each inhale burning through my chest like hot iron.

  We were a miserable sight: battered, exhausted, bleeding. But together.

  —Not here —Caelia growled, lifting the transmitter slightly—. If we call for extraction at this point, we won’t get out alive. We move five hundred meters east, to the clearing. We signal there.

  No one argued. The forest welcomed us with an uncanny silence as we trudged forward in a tight line. Every crunch of snow under our boots sounded like an invisible enemy waiting to strike.

  Halfway through the march, Neyra broke. The pain and the concussion ripped tears from her eyes, tears she couldn’t hold back. Her voice cracked as she muttered over and over: —I’m sorry… I’m sorry…

  Caelia stopped, gripped her good shoulder firmly, and spoke low: —Hold on a little longer. We’re almost there.

  The gesture was dry, almost harsh, but it was enough. Neyra drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to keep moving.

  We reached the clearing and collapsed among frost-covered rocks. While Caelia set up the extraction signal, I glanced at her bloodstained hands and, in a clumsy attempt to lighten the tension, blurted out:

  —Hey, Caelia… what about your bionic hand? Where did it go? With all those hits, you should have one by now.

  She raised an eyebrow, barely. Without a word, she peeled off her right glove. Underneath wasn’t flesh, but a dark, polished prosthetic, its metallic lines so fine they mimicked natural movement. She flexed it calmly, the subtle whirr of servomotors blending with the wind.

  —It’s always been here —she replied flatly—. No one notices, unless I want them to.

  I swallowed hard, silent. I had never realized. Not once.

  The moment broke when Neyra, tears still streaking her cheeks, announced: —Secure channel open. Beacons activated. Extraction window: two minutes.

  We held our breath. Through the blizzard, the low silhouette of a Seravenn tactical transport emerged: a matte-armored VTOL, wrapped in a crackling arcane shield.

  The side door slammed open. A soldier with an opaque visor leaned halfway out.

  —Hurry! We’ve got three minutes before the anti-air locks us!

  We stumbled inside, shoving each other up the ramp. The interior reeked of kerosene and cold metal. We threw ourselves into the seats and slammed the hatch shut. Velka collapsed next to me, gasping; her hand sought mine, and for a moment our eyes met: fear, exhaustion, and that desperate determination that kept us standing.

  The engine roared and the craft bit into the air violently, skidding over the treetops. Alarms shrieked in the distance. Patrol lights lanced like needles through the forest, and a heavy thud rattled against the armor. The shield crackled; a jolt slammed us to the floor. I felt Caelia cling to my arm, and Velka shoved me down to cover us.

  —They’ve got a lock on us! —Neyra cried, pressed to the narrow viewport.

  —Not if we break out of the corridor now! —the pilot snarled.

  The hull shuddered as if the air itself had turned to stone. Outside, muffled detonations thundered—not only those we had left behind, but the ones closing in to cut our throats. Every tremor lit the pain in my chest like molten iron.

  An orange streak swept across the window: a lance of energy scraping our shield. Another jolt threw us against the harnesses; Velka cried out as her freshly reset shoulder struck hard.

  —Hold on! —the door gunner shouted.

  The hum changed pitch. Something in the VTOL’s belly whined with a metallic scream.

  —Secondary engine’s hit —the pilot barked—. We’re losing lift. Forced descent outside the LZ.

  —Not now… —I muttered through clenched teeth, clutching Caelia—. Not after everything.

  The craft tilted. The world swung oblique, black and white. Through the slit in the viewport, I saw a snowbound valley below. Tranquil. Deadly.

  —Brace!

  The impact was brutal. The air was ripped from my lungs. We bounced once, twice, skidding across the snow before finally screeching to a halt. One second of utter silence—then the hiss of cooling metal, the groan of the fuselage.

  The transformation that had sustained me until then guttered out like a candle under water. My armor dissolved; the cold bit in with fangs. Pain wrenched a strangled cry from me.

  —Are you… all right? —the door soldier managed to ask.

  I turned toward him. Blood streamed down his forehead and side; both hands pressed against his abdomen. He trembled, pale.

  —Don’t move —I told him, but he shook his head.

  —No… no time… —he rasped—. Pilot… copilot… gone. Two kilometers… safe point… follow the beacons… go…

  He coughed. Snow turned red beneath him. His eyes clouded in a final exhale.

  —No… —Velka whispered, her voice breaking.

  Caelia raised her head from against my shoulder, pale as ash.

  —We move. Now.

  I swallowed hard. Every step I forced felt like tearing open my chest again. I looked at the soldier. We couldn’t do anything more. We just had to keep going. Just had to reach it.

  Velka squeezed my hand; with her other she clutched her battered shoulder.

  —Come on, Lyss.

  —Yes —Neyra whispered, adjusting her sling—. We’ll survive. No matter what it takes.

  We stepped out of the wrecked hull. The snow bit into our bones. Every step hurt. Every breath was knives.

  But we kept moving.

  The sky was gray—almost as gray as our resolve. The dried blood on my clothes reminded me of everything we had left behind. My friends were with me, and though I felt broken, their warmth pushed me to take another step.

  Just two more kilometers. Just one last effort. And then, at last, we could rest. Even if only for a moment.

  Every step was agony.

  The snow felt like a frozen ocean swallowing me whole. Caelia barely held on to my shoulders; her body collapsed again and again, her legs refusing to obey.

  —I’m sorry… —she murmured, her voice fading—. I can’t… I can’t go on.

  —Don’t say that —I whispered, my own voice trembling to a thread. My arms burned, my legs screamed, but I carried her as best I could, feeling her breath grow weaker against my neck.

  Velka walked ahead of us, her right hand pressed to the shoulder Caelia had reset by force. Each time she tried to channel magic, I saw her fall to her knees, trembling, her eyes clouded. Neyra staggered beside me, her broken arm bound in a sling, her gaze fixed on the endless white beneath her feet.

  —This… —Neyra said, her voice ragged—. This can’t be real. It’s only… only two kilometers.

  —They feel… eternal —I answered, my throat so dry it hurt.

  The cold devoured us. Our magical transformations had long since faded, consumed by exhaustion. Each gust of wind was a dagger on bare skin. My heart throbbed with painful rhythm, every beat an explosion of fire in my ribs and back. The adrenaline that had carried us this far was gone. All that remained was bone, flesh, and mortal fatigue.

  And then I saw it.

  The beacon.

  Blinking faintly in the distance, like a tiny lighthouse. But every step toward it felt like sinking deeper into a frozen lake.

  My legs buckled. I nearly fell with Caelia on my back, but I refused to drop her. I clenched my teeth, a silent scream tearing at my chest. Frustration filled me, the rage of feeling so fragile… and then the scar on my abdomen burned.

  A stabbing pain ripped through me. I shoved my hand into the mark and, gasping, tore it open once more. My flesh yielded as if it hated me for remembering, and from it emerged the sword: Blood of the Crown. There was no blood, but a hollow tore through me, as though a piece of my soul had been ripped away.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I held it as a staff, the blade vibrating with my contained fury. Just a spark of wrath. Just enough to keep me standing.

  Velka turned, panting, a crooked smile on her lips.

  —What? Are you turning into a goddess statue now?

  —Velka… —Neyra muttered, her voice a thread—. If all you can think about are jokes…

  She collapsed at her side, trembling, but with a faint glimmer of humor in her eyes.

  —What? Would you rather I start reciting tragic poetry? —Velka forced a laugh, though it sounded more like a sob.

  I smiled too, barely, a gesture that cost me the last of my strength.

  At last, we arrived.

  The beacon flashed before us. I let Caelia slide off my back, her arms clinging to me until the final moment.

  We could not take another step. We stood still, the snow biting into our bones, utterly spent.

  The hum of the transport reached us like a whisper, drifting through the blizzard. I glanced at Velka, who lifted an eyebrow faintly.

  —Think they’ll take us somewhere with decent beds this time? —she murmured, a weary smile on her face.

  —Shut up… —I breathed, laughing without strength—. Just… don’t talk anymore, please.

  The transport landed a few meters away. Seravenn soldiers ran toward us, their voices urgent, cutting through the snow. We barely reacted. We just stood there, still, knowing we had made it.

  Velka let her head fall on my shoulder. Neyra leaned her forehead against Velka’s. Caelia, between us, breathed raggedly, half-unconscious. When one of the soldiers supported her, she managed to open her eyes just enough to speak:

  —Transmit… coordinates to high command… —she murmured, her voice broken—. Immediate bombardment. Wipe out what’s left of Project Aurora.

  The soldier nodded, understanding the weight of it, and relayed the order through the static of his comms.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Just a moment of peace. Just a breath.

  We had survived.

  But in my chest, the pain throbbed like a cruel reminder: the price of that sword was still being claimed. And Klara’s promise still echoed, a frozen whisper threading through the blizzard.

  Smoke still rose from the place where Project Aurora had once stood.

  A bitter gray haze mingled with the snow, as if the earth itself could not decide whether to cleanse or to smother the disaster. Reconnaissance drones swept across the sky, transmitting real-time images of blackened ruins, while medical brigades tended to the wounded in nearby outposts. Across every communication channel, three names repeated with insistence: Klara, Ilse, Mareike. Schattenspeer had survived, and that truth alone echoed both as consolation and as warning.

  In a fortified conference hall, buried beneath kilometers of concrete and steel, Eiswacht’s high command was gathered. Stern faces, impeccable uniforms that barely concealed the rage and disbelief simmering beneath. Generals and ministers leaned over the table, a hologram of the ruined complex flickering in the air before them—collapsed towers, laboratories reduced to ash.

  —Unacceptable —one general said, his deep voice sharp with fury he did not bother to hide—. Years of work, of secrecy… undone by four magical girls?

  —Not just magical girls —another corrected, snapping his black gloves tight—. Demons, rather. No ordinary squad could have achieved this.

  An intelligence adviser, pale-faced, slid data across the tactical screen. —Confirmed: total destruction of the central module. Reconstruction is impossible without starting from zero.

  The silence that followed was a clenched fist. The air itself seemed too heavy to breathe.

  —And Schattenspeer? —a minister asked, his voice tight, as if fearing the answer.

  —Alive —replied the eldest general, his eyes hard as stone—. Evacuated, but wounded. The medical report is clear: they will need time. What was done to them… is not something they will easily forget.

  A murmur rose, closer to respect than criticism. No one in that chamber blamed Klara or her comrades. They had resisted to the very end, and all knew that without them, the catastrophe would have been absolute.

  —Then what shall we do now? —a younger officer asked, anxiety threading his words—. We cannot allow this humiliation to go unanswered.

  The elder general leaned forward, his hands pressing firmly on the table. —It will not go unanswered. —His voice was low, yet every word carried the weight of a nation—. This setback will not halt Eiswacht’s progress. If they have destroyed Project Aurora, we will build something stronger.

  Some ministers nodded. Others exchanged glances, measuring the meaning behind those words.

  —We have parallel lines of research —the intelligence adviser added in a near whisper—. Initiatives never presented to the council… for lack of necessity. Perhaps it is time to reactivate them.

  All eyes turned toward him. The idea, dangerous as it was, no longer sounded absurd.

  —The girls of Seravenn believe they have won —the general said, exhaling a sigh that barely softened his tone—. But the war has only begun.

  No one argued. In that chamber, losses were not mourned: they were converted into plans, into calculations, into vengeance.

  Outside, snow continued to fall, covering the scars of the land like a white shroud. But beneath that calm, in Eiswacht’s hidden corridors and laboratories, engineers were already awakening dormant terminals, resurrecting projects long buried.

  The name Lyssandra Velcrux passed through their reports, repeated as both threat and target. And while the blizzard erased the tracks of the present, the future of war was already taking shape in the shadows.

  Hours later...

  The evacuation helicopter descended within the walls of Seravenn’s base under a reverent silence. The soldiers, lined up on either side of the landing strip, did not cheer or raise their weapons; they simply watched, with the solemn respect reserved for the sacred.

  The doors opened, and the four goddesses were brought out one by one. Their uniforms were torn, their transformations long since undone by exhaustion; they looked like human girls, not divine figures. The Crown’s medical staff received them without a word, whispering only clipped orders as they carried them straight to the chamber of healing and special surveillance, far from any eyes not sworn to the Crown.

  Hours later, the Veils gathered in the fortress’s secret chamber. The room, built of dark stone and wood, was reinforced with arcane seals so that not a single word could slip beyond its walls. The fire from the lamps cast long shadows across the walls, and every breath seemed to carry the weight of a decree.

  Queen Sheraphine Vaeloria presided over the meeting with her usual unshakable dignity. At her side, Doctor Cirelle Thaynee recited the medical reports in a voice barely above a whisper:

  —Physically, they are wounded, but alive. Velka’s shoulder is barely stable; Neyra’s arm fractured; Caelia… on the verge of collapse. And Lyssandra… —she paused, lowering her gaze—. Her heart had stopped for sometime. But it returned. Clinically, it is impossible.

  A frozen silence swept across the table.

  Minister Sael Vynther folded her arms, eyes fixed on the hologram of the ruins. —Project Aurora has been destroyed. But with it, we have warned Eiswacht what our goddesses truly are: not merely soldiers, but living weapons. And there will be consequences.

  Commander Elore Stryvann rapped his knuckles against the table, his expression severe. —Schattenspeer remains active. Enemy troops are already reinforcing the border. We must double our patrols and prepare for retaliation.

  Ambassador Myra Haldenn, behind her silver mask, said nothing. Instead, her voice-bearer spoke with solemnity: —The Crown must recognize the sacrifice of the goddesses… and protect them as they deserve. What they achieved today is a triumph, but also a warning for caution.

  Then High Instructor Venesse Aerla asked to speak. Her voice trembled at first, but soon grew grave, laden with deep sorrow.

  —Do not forget what we saw —she said, pressing her hands against the table—. When they were brought off the helicopter… they looked like breathing corpses. I saw in their eyes the void from which they had returned.

  She stopped, swallowing hard.

  —They are daughters of our land —she continued, her gaze sweeping across each of the others—. But they are also children. Children who still dream, who still weep. If we demand everything from them, we must give something in return: a refuge, a place where they can remember that they are still human.

  Venesse drew a long breath, and the hardness in her face cracked, just enough to show what she tried to hide.

  —I do not know if they will ever fully come back. But at least… we must try.

  The silence that followed was not disapproval, but discomfort. Sael avoided her eyes, Elore clenched his fists with impatience, and Myra’s voice-bearer bowed his head in respect. Venesse, however, let herself be seen vulnerable, as if she had spoken not as a Veil, but as a mother.

  Then the Queen raised her hand, and the air in the chamber tightened at once.

  Queen Sheraphine let the silence linger a few moments longer in the chamber. Her eyes swept over each of the Veils, weighing their expressions as though she could read in them the very pulse of Seravenn. At last, she spoke with the calm that always commanded stillness:

  —They have accomplished the impossible. They must be rewarded, not only as soldiers, but as daughters of this nation.

  A faint murmur of approval rippled through the room. But then the Queen lowered her gaze to the stone table. For an instant, it seemed as though she debated with herself.

  To whom could I entrust this?

  Sael — too cold.

  Elore — too rigid.

  Myra — too bound to outside interests.

  Venesse… too close to the girls’ hearts.

  One by one, she dismissed them all.

  With a gentle motion of her hand, she ended the session. —Rest. Seravenn has much to thank them for.

  The Veils rose in order, bowing their heads in respect. The hall was left in shadow, the firelight flickering across the lamps.

  Sheraphine withdrew down a hidden passage to her private chambers. There, behind a carved wooden door, stretched her personal collection: shelves laden with leather-bound tomes, forgotten scrolls, relics draped in centuries of dust. Her silk-gloved fingers traced the spines with reverent familiarity.

  She sought something in particular. A memory in the dark.

  At last she found it: a heavy tome, bound in faded red leather. When she opened it, the pages cracked as though they had waited centuries for her touch. Among the engravings emerged a figure: a woman sketched in crimson lines, wielding a sword of red and black. Her eyes seemed to gleam still through the page.

  The Queen paused. In silence, she confirmed what she had feared.

  —Blood Crown… —she whispered, like a forgotten prayer.

  A sudden cough seized her. She covered her lips with a handkerchief, and when she pulled it away, a thick, dark fluid stained the cloth. She studied it for a few seconds with unbroken composure, though a flicker of concern glinted deep in her eyes.

  She quickly dismissed it. Folding the handkerchief, she tucked it away as though nothing had happened.

  Closing the tome, she held it against her chest for a moment. The lamp’s flame caught on the engraved sword upon its cover, as if the fire itself recognized an old enemy.

  The Queen drew a slow breath, her composure restored. Outside, snow continued to fall over Seravenn, unaware of the secret that had just awakened within those walls.

  Sheraphine lingered a few moments longer in her private study, the tome closed upon the desk. Her fingers slid across the red leather cover as if she could still feel the echo of the sword drawn within.

  Then, almost without thinking, she raised her hand. A spark of energy shimmered in the air and, before her, a small translucent shield formed for only a few seconds. Its faint light touched her face, and in her eyes flared a mixture of surprise and certainty.

  —The experiment… it is working —she murmured to herself.

  The barrier dissolved in silence, as though it had never existed. Yet the Queen remained still a moment longer, absorbing what she had just witnessed.

  She set the tome back in its place and left the study through a shadowed corridor. Her steps carried her to a simple door, so unlike the solemn grandeur of the palace. There, in the quiet dimness, her daughter slept.

  Altheara breathed peacefully, tangled in white sheets, her face still marked by the innocence of youth. The Queen drew closer, sitting softly at the edge of the bed. With gentle hands she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and caressed it tenderly, as if to imprint upon her skin a silent vow.

  —I will have the power… to keep protecting them —she whispered, barely audible, a promise meant only for the walls to hear.

  She leaned down and kissed her daughter’s brow. Outside, snow fell ceaselessly, covering the city in a white shroud. Within, the Queen held on to the stillness of that moment, even as she knew, deep within, that the price for such power was only beginning to be claimed.