I ran without seeing, without air, with my throat burning as if I were swallowing glass. I turned a corner and slammed my shoulder against a column; the impact tore a grunt from me and left a buzzing ache down my arm. I kept going. My foot caught on a loose cobblestone, and I fell to my knees, the stone scraping my skin; my palms smacked against the ground and split into two red lines that throbbed with my heartbeat. I got back up badly, staggering. The world stretched and shrank as if someone were tightening and loosening a diaphragm over my eyes.
The night air bit at my face. The lamplights elongated into streaks, and for a second I swore the corridor between buildings stretched farther than it should. I blinked and it snapped back, but the dizziness lingered. —No —I told myself, and said it aloud too, a cracked whisper—. No. No, no, no.
Flash. The crimson flare.
Flash. The drop of blood sliding down his arm.
Flash. His voice: —I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to drag air into my lungs. The metallic taste filled my mouth; I didn’t know if it was blood or fear. I looked down and saw a faint, dangerously familiar tremor: red filaments flickering beneath the skin of my fingers, like veins wanting to ignite. I clenched them tight until my knuckles went white.
—Breathe —I heard myself say, but the word broke into a sob.
The magic buzzed, dipped, then surged again: a live wire inside my chest. I pressed my back against a damp wall to hold it in. I counted. One, two, three… My ribs ached as if something were pounding from inside to get out. I forced myself upright and started moving again. I didn’t want to run into anyone. I didn’t want another look, another voice asking if I was all right. I wasn’t. And if anyone touched me then, I didn’t know what I would do.
I sped through an alley that reeked of wet stone and ash. The wind blew my jacket open and bit into the fresh cuts on my palms. Each step was a gunshot against the ground. Each heartbeat shoved the nausea higher. I leaned on a railing to keep from falling, and the cold metal sent a shiver straight to my teeth.
Flash. —I won’t leave you.
Flash. My own scream bouncing off the walls.
Flash. The blade I never meant.
I swallowed bile. Kept moving. At some point, the city’s layout became familiar again: a stone arch, the narrow bridge, the stairway climbing toward the academy grounds. In the distance, the towers glowed with that light that looked like both watch and refuge. My legs trembled at the sight; not from relief, from fear. I didn’t know what I was going to say. I didn’t know how I would look my sisters in the eye and confess I hurt him.
I climbed the steps almost on all fours, dragging my hand along the wall so I wouldn’t fall again. The magic shivered less now; the red threads in my fingers flickered out in bursts, like a coal stubbornly refusing to die. When I reached the top, I was gasping again. I leaned on the side door, my forehead pressed to the cold wood.
—Just go in —I whispered, and the word broke—. Go in.
I pushed. The academy breathed on the other side. I didn’t. Not yet. But I took the first step.
My steps echoed clumsy and uneven down the empty hallway. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I had to keep moving. The air burned in my lungs.
And then I saw her.
Velka was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that crooked smile of hers always ready to mock everything… until her eyes met mine. Her expression changed instantly, and something between fear and tenderness flickered in her gray gaze.
—Lyss…? —her voice reached me like an echo through the chaos—. What happened to you?
I didn’t have the strength to answer. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I barely managed to stay upright. The world tilted to one side and I collapsed, literally, into her arms.
—Hey, hey… it’s alright, you’re here, you’re home now —she whispered, holding me tightly.
Her warmth held me when my legs gave out. She smelled of sweat, of training, of life… and that contrast with my guilt hurt even more.
I don’t remember the way clearly. Only her steady hand on my back, her quick breathing against my hair, and the way she carried me as if I were more fragile than I had ever allowed myself to be.
When we reached the dormitory, I saw Caelia and Neyra look up at the same time. The fear in their faces made me feel even worse.
—What happened? —Neyra asked, rushing toward me.
—Is she hurt? —said Caelia, already ready to act.
Velka shook her head. She settled me carefully onto the bed, as if I might break. I curled into myself, trembling, until the tears broke free. I cried. I cried like never before. As if everything I had held back since awakening this anger was cutting through me all at once.
They didn’t ask anything. They didn’t press me. They just… stayed. They surrounded me. They embraced me. They held me.
Time passed. Long. Or at least it felt that way.
My sobs slowly faded, leaving only the damp echo in my throat. The three of them stayed there, surrounding me like a wall that kept me from collapsing completely.
When I finally managed to speak, it was barely a broken whisper:
— I hurt… Silas.
All three tensed at once.
— What? Did he do something to you? —Velka straightened up, serious, ready to fight an invisible enemy.
— No… it was me —I shook my head hard, each word tearing the air from my lungs—. I got angry… over something stupid. He only wanted to help me… he didn’t even defend himself. He just… reached out his hand.
The memory cut through me like a knife, and tears returned to my eyes.
— And I… I hurt him. Just a scratch, but… I did it. And then… I ran. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t… live with what I had done.
Velka held my face between her hands, forcing me to look at her. Her expression was a mixture of firmness and tenderness, the only thing holding me together.
— Listen to me, Lyss —she said, her voice low and steady—. I understand you perfectly. We all live with that fear: the fear of hurting what we love the most. But you’re not alone in this. You never will be.
She pulled me into a fierce embrace, as if she could rip the guilt out of me through my skin.
Neyra took my hand, her grip strong and steady, yet warm.
— Tomorrow will be another day. You’ll get through this —she promised, without hesitation.
Caelia gently stroked my hair, her voice calm as a lullaby:
— You will always have a shoulder to cry on. I will always look after you.
I don’t know how much time passed after that. I didn’t care. For the first time since running from that house, I felt supported.
— Please… —I whispered, my voice barely a thread—. Don’t leave me alone.
They didn’t answer with words. They answered with actions. In minutes, they had improvised the bed: Caelia on one side, Neyra on the other, and Velka holding me from behind, her arms wrapped around me like a warm, strong wall.
— Everything is going to be fine —she told me again and again, and for a moment… I believed her.
I closed my eyes. Not for forgetfulness. But for comfort.
I wasn’t alone.
Days had passed. Or weeks. Yet they felt like years.
Silas’s letters lay stacked neatly on my bedside table. Some opened, others not. I had read them all, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Every word in his steady handwriting felt like a splinter. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reply… it was that I didn’t know how to begin an apology when everything inside me still burned.
The cut I gave him healed in hours. Mine did not.
And still, what hurt most wasn’t wounding him. It was seeing how he never feared me. How, despite the pain, he wanted to reach me. To help me. To… love me.
And I ran.
In those days, I barely slept. My eyes were red, my chest heavy as if weighed down by stones. I would sit at the edge of the inner garden, the breeze barely stirring the leaves, trying to remember how to breathe. It was there I decided to stop running.
I rose with a fragile but steady conviction. I walked the halls. Each step echoed like a truth growing clearer. I clenched my teeth. Knocked on Venesse’s door.
—Come in, my girl —I heard from the other side, warm as always.
I entered. Venesse lifted her gaze, and her eyes were like a mirror: she knew at once something was wrong. Because Venesse always saw more than what we said.
I sat before her, drawing a deep breath.
—I want to ask for something —I said, and my voice surprised me: it was low, not trembling, but aching.
Venesse tilted her head slightly.
—Silas —she answered with tenderness.
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. I told her everything. From the date to the accident. I spoke of the cut, of how I ran, of how he never judged me. As I spoke, tears pressed at my throat, but they didn’t fall. Not until she rose, walked over, and took my hands.
—Venesse… he dreamed of seeing New Althameria. I want… to make that happen. I want to help him leave —I whispered.
It wasn’t easy to say. It wasn’t heroic. It was a decision that tore something out of my chest. But it was mine. And it was out of love.
Venesse studied me in silence for a few seconds. Then she leaned down and embraced me. An embrace that smelled of home.
And there, I broke. Tears spilled, silent at first, then in waves. She didn’t tighten nor loosen her hold. She simply kept me, her cheek against my hair.
—You’ve grown so much, Lyss —she murmured—. This choice… it isn’t easy or fair. But it is mature. And… I’m proud of you.
She squeezed my hands firmly.
—We’ll see to it that he’s granted the scholarship. Cleanly, discreetly… and without him knowing it came from you. Is that acceptable?
I swallowed hard. Nodded.
—Thank you…
Venesse cupped my face.
—You deserve love, Lyss. The world won’t always know how to give it. But you can give it… without destroying yourself in the process.
The sun was already low when I saw her waiting for me in one of the outer courtyards. For the first time since I had met her, Irhena wasn’t transformed. She wasn’t the storm of chains and magic that always came crashing down on me in training. She was simply herself—and still, she imposed.
Her athletic figure stood out beneath a sleeveless black dress that fell to her knees. The fabric cinched at the waist, flowing just enough to hint at strength hidden in elegance. Despite the roughness she radiated, there was something undeniably feminine in the way she wore it: the fall of the cloth, the natural confidence in her stride. Her dark hair, tied high, swayed like a whip.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
—Have you cried enough? —she asked, her rough voice like stone grinding on steel.
I didn’t answer. I only clenched my fists.
—Then get up. Today… you’re going to learn how to give shape to your rage.
I didn’t hesitate. I rose, drew a deep breath, and followed her into the courtyard.
The training began without transformations. Just strength, reflexes, technique. She moved as if she could read every one of my steps before I took them. A storm contained in a human body. She knocked me down again and again, but each fall hurt less—not because she struck with less force, but because I was learning to withstand more.
In a narrow opening, barely a heartbeat, I slid to her left and slammed my palm against her chin. Irhena staggered back a single step, surprised.
—Well… you left a mark, runt —she grunted, and there was no mockery in her eyes. Only recognition.
I couldn’t help but smile faintly, gasping for air.
—Told you.
She nodded.
—Transformation. Let’s see if it was luck… or something more.
Magic wrapped us both. My black-and-crimson suit formed with a burning whisper, the edge of my sword appearing in my hand like a bleeding memory. Irhena, in contrast, looked as though she had never stopped being transformed: chains sparking with energy, her presence a storm chained to her skin.
The duel was brutal. Her chains deflected my strikes with insulting precision, forcing me to think, to adapt, to restrain my fury and aim it. My body burned, my arms ached, but I didn’t step back. Not this time. When I noticed a reflex in her defense, a subtle pattern leaving her flank exposed, I didn’t hesitate. I struck with all my weight, and the impact drove her to one knee.
Irhena let out a dry laugh.
—Well done. That hurt. You’re learning.
I released my transformation, exhausted. But something unexpected appeared in my hands: the comb Silas had given me. It trembled with the same fury I held back. I contained it, though the shiver crawled through my bones.
Irhena didn’t ask what it was. She only nodded.
—That’s it. You’ve taken the first step.
But I couldn’t leave it at that. That object… that name. The memory struck me like an echo. Blood Crown. Irhena had spoken it once before, as if she already knew. I had never said it aloud.
I looked at her.
—Irhena… how did you know my sword’s name? I never told you.
For a moment, she was silent. Her gaze hardened, then softened just slightly.
—I’ve always wanted to understand rage. It’s the emotion that fascinates me most… and the one that destroyed me. Years ago, I found documents in the palace—damaged, nearly unreadable. They spoke of an ancient artifact, a weapon called Blood Crown. The records weren’t complete. Just fragments. But the name was there, carved into them with force.
A chill ran down my neck.
—And you think… it’s the same one? —I whispered.
She held my gaze.
—I do. And that’s why… I want you to learn not to fear it. Or you’ll end up like me.
A heavy silence surrounded us. I didn’t know what to say. I only nodded, gripping the comb tightly, as if it were my anchor.
Irhena slapped my back so hard I almost lost my balance.
—Don’t repeat it. And don’t mistake it for tenderness. I trust you. Trust what I’ve taught you.
And she walked away, leaving behind the echo of something greater than I yet understood.
A heavy silence fell between us. I looked at her, and before she could walk away, the question slipped out.
—Irhena… what was your relationship with Caelia?
She stopped. Her expression tightened, and for a moment I thought she wouldn’t answer. But then, her eyes revealed something more fragile.
—A deep one —she said, her voice low—. We were inseparable. We did everything together. But I didn’t know how to control my anger. And that… ruined everything.
The pain in her gaze struck me, because it was a pain I understood.
—Thank you for telling me —I murmured.
And with out telling me anything she walked away, leaving behind the echo of truths I still didn’t fully understand.
I returned to the academy with every muscle burning, but for the first time in days… my soul didn’t ache. Each step down the corridors felt heavy, slow, as if the very stone wanted to swallow me whole.
Neyra was the first to notice me.
—You reek —she said bluntly, arms crossed—. Go shower, please.
—What? —I tried to smile—. Not even a “welcome back”?
—I’d just rather be able to breathe without getting dizzy.
—Oh, enough already! —Velka appeared from the end of the hall, that mocking grin plastered on her face—. If anyone stinks here, it’s me, so come on. Communal showers before we all die dehydrated.
—Where’s Caelia? —I asked as we walked.
—Venesse called her —Velka answered—. Something important, or so she said. She shouldn’t be long.
We entered the showers together. Steam wrapped around us gently. The hot water soothed my aching muscles, and while Neyra barked reminders about conserving water and Velka cracked jokes about our “glorious bodies,” for a moment… I felt peace. Only for a moment. But sometimes… that’s enough.
By the time Caelia returned, I was still drying my hair. Her expression, though as steady as ever, carried that subtle shift we had all learned to read: something had changed.
—Rest is over —she said calmly—. We have a new mission.
Neyra was the first to move, followed by Velka. I barely had time to put my towel away before the four of us dressed almost in sync, our habits ingrained too deeply to falter. When Caelia spoke like that, there was no room for hesitation.
We followed her through the corridors to one of the southern wing’s command halls. The doors were already open. Inside, waiting with that imposing presence that always made my skin bristle, stood the Queen of Seravenn. At her side, Commander Elore—elegant and razor-sharp—watched us with analytical precision.
We lined up without anyone needing to order it.
—Shadows of the Crown —the Queen began, her voice filling the chamber like forged iron—. Your next operation will differ from the ones before. There is no visible enemy… but that does not make it any less dangerous.
Commander Elore took over:
—Weeks ago, we detected an anomalous magical fluctuation in a desert region to the south. A territory long disputed with Al-Rahad.
The name sent a chill through me. Al-Rahad wasn’t just any nation. It was a land of spirits, ancestral and volatile if disrespected.
—We do not intend to repeat past mistakes —said the Queen—. That is why we have done the unthinkable. We made an agreement.
—A “military exchange” —added Elore—. You will enter legally as an observation delegation. But under one condition, imposed by the Sultana of Al-Rahad herself.
—Three of her magical girls will remain at your side at all times —the Queen declared—. Not as escorts, but as witnesses. Any misconduct… any cultural transgression… and the treaty will collapse.
My legs held steady, but inside I felt something tighten. This mission would not just be military deployment. It was diplomacy wrapped in danger.
Velka pressed her lips together, Neyra lowered her gaze as though already calculating dozens of scenarios. Caelia simply nodded.
—Your transport leaves in six hours —Elore announced—. Prepare yourselves. This will not be a simple operation. Al-Rahad will see you. And if it finds you unworthy… it will make that clear.
The Queen stepped closer.
—I trust you, daughters of Seravenn. Not only as weapons. But as a reflection of what this kingdom can be.
I nodded with my sisters. Not with words. But with that kind of look forged only after fighting, bleeding, and losing together.
Al-Rahad awaited us.
Later, in my bunk with my back pressed to the cold stone wall, the letter burned in my hands before I even wrote it. Outside it was still night. I couldn’t sleep. In a few hours I would leave for a place where everything was unknown, and before I left I needed to do this:
Silas,
I don’t know if you’ll read this before I leave or after. I don’t even know if I have the right to write you after what happened. But if I learned anything from it, it’s that some things can’t be kept inside any longer.
I’m sorry. With every part of me. There’s no excuse. I was the one who hurt you. And still, you didn’t fear me. You reached out your hand. And that… that broke me the most.
I don’t know what will happen now. But I know that in a few days you’ll receive a formal letter. I’ve asked that you be granted the scholarship to New Althameria. It’s your chance, your path, and I want you to take it without fear. Wherever you are, I will train, fight, and learn to control myself. Not to escape from what I am… but to deserve the hope of a reunion.
Because I love you, Silas. And I don’t want that love to be a chain. I want it to be a promise. A promise that if we both still desire it… we will find each other again.
Always yours,
Lyss.
I sealed the letter and set it on the table. Drew in a long breath. I couldn’t stay locked inside. Not tonight. Not now. I went to find the girls.
When I entered the common room, I found Velka sprawled dramatically across one of the couches, holding a wooden spoon as if it were a royal scepter.
—“I demand sugar! Justice and flour!” —she proclaimed, while Neyra watched her from the floor with one eyebrow arched.
—“Are you always this ridiculous before an important mission?” —Neyra asked, not looking up from the polisher she was using on her metal gloves.
—“Ridiculous? No. Inspired,” —Velka replied—. “This is my last will before the desert: cookies. Sweets. Desserts. Someone who loves me enough to bake something for me.”
—“I can bake something,” —I blurted out almost without thinking.
All three looked at me.
—“You? You can bake?” —Caelia asked, incredulous.
—“Yes she can, but I haven’t try them?” —Velka added, already grinning as if she’d just won a bet.
—“I remeber you weren’t there Caelia, I like baking pastries… when I have the time,” —I confessed, shrugging slightly.
—“Competition!” —Velka exclaimed, jumping to her feet as if a divine signal had struck her—. “All four of us. Let’s see who can bake the best cookies before the six hours are up.”
—“Seriously?” —Caelia asked, trying to sound stern, though she was already walking toward the small shared kitchen at the back of the wing.
—“If we’re going to die in a sea of sand, at least let it be with the smell of vanilla,” —Neyra added with a faint smile.
And so began our absurd and warm little battle.
We split the kitchen as best we could. Caelia mixed with surgical precision, as though the measurements were missiles. Neyra calculated proportions as if she were solving a life-or-death equation. Velka simply poured in ingredients “until it felt right for the soul.” And I… I lost myself in the rhythm of kneading. Measuring. Mixing. Every motion was a heartbeat different from fury. Every spoonful, every turn of the dough reminded me that not everything that came from my hands had to be blades or destruction. I could create something that gave peace. Something that smelled like home.
—“Does this need salt or sugar?” —Velka asked, holding both jars over her bowl.
—“I swear, if you make salty cookies again…” —Caelia muttered without even looking up.
—“It’s art,” —Velka shot back, offended—. “You’re just not ready for it.”
When the trays finally came out of the oven, the room filled with the smell of home. Of family. We tasted each other’s creations with a rotating and completely biased jury: ourselves.
Velka’s cookies tasted almost like pizza dough, Neyra’s were so hard they could have been thrown as weapons, and Caelia’s were actually pretty good… though a little burnt.
Mine… well, they won. For flavor. And because Neyra grew emotional saying they reminded her of her mother. Velka threw a pillow at me for making them so good, claiming, “No one who forges blades of corrosive magic should be allowed to bake with that much tenderness.”
After the verdict, we collapsed in a circle, stomachs full and spirits lighter. Velka rested one leg across mine, Neyra absentmindedly took my hand, and Caelia, half-asleep, draped a blanket over my shoulders. Small gestures. Pure sisterhood.
—“Do you think Al-Rahad will be any good?” —I asked softly, with the lights dimmed.
—“They’d better have weird desserts or I’m coming back,” —Velka mumbled, still with the pillow over her face.
—“Just remember not to trade secrets for sweets,” —Neyra said, half-asleep.
Caelia smiled with her eyes closed.
—“Anything’s better than more training at six in the morning.”
I closed my eyes too. Sometimes, calm didn’t come from being alone. But from being with those who, even in the middle of chaos, reminded me who I was.
Tomorrow something big would begin.
But tonight… we were just four girls, laughing, crumbs on our clothes and cookies in our hearts.
The first light of dawn barely touched the golden domes of Sel?nrah, painting amber tones across the sacred river that cut the city like a shining serpent. From the palace’s highest terraces, the desert wind carried ancient echoes, as if the soul of the city itself spoke.
In the Hall of the Sand Mirror—a circular chamber adorned with carved crystal, salt mosaics, and arcane symbols—Sultan Azhara Qamar al-Sel?n stood tall, cloaked in white robes embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like stars. Her long black hair, heavy and unbound, fell past her knees, unmoving even in the breeze.
Before her, three figures stood silently: the most seasoned among Al-Rahad’s seven magical guardians.
—“Zayrah al-Namir,” —the Sultan intoned, her voice clear but restrained.
—“Mahtani Rha’a.”
—“Irsah Qalam.”
Each inclined her head slightly.
—“This mission is delicate,” —Azhara continued—. “The Council has reluctantly agreed to allow a Seravenn military squadron into our lands… but not without conditions. You three will be those conditions.”
None of them spoke. Mahtani pressed her lips tight, dry as dunes. Zayrah lowered her eyes briefly, feline even in stillness. Irsah, as always, seemed to listen to something beyond words.
—“This is not a gesture of friendship, nor of submission,” —the Sultan pressed on—. “It is a measure of protection. No one… no one but us knows the true reason behind the anomalies plaguing the region. Not even them.”
She paused. The sun began to ignite the stained glass with golden fire. Her figure turned into a specter of light and shadow.
—“On this mission, you will act as observers. As balance. As witnesses. But if the situation turns… I trust you will know what to do.”
Zayrah stepped forward.
—“Will we be allowed to fight, if necessary?”
The Sultana looked at her for a long moment, then nodded—though with sorrow.
—“Yes. If it is inevitable… yes.”
It was Irsah who spoke next, her voice measured.
—“Do we trust them?”
A subtle tremor touched the Sultana’s lips, almost imperceptible.
—“I don’t know,” —she admitted—. “But we must. Or at least pretend we do… until all the cards are on the table.”
She approached each of them in turn, placing her hand over their hearts in silence. An ancient gesture, one she hadn’t performed in years.
—“I give you my blessing. And my fear. Because if Yareen finds what he seeks…” —she faltered, leaving the sentence unfinished—. “…none of us will be safe.”
Zayrah straightened like carved marble.
—“We will not fail you, my Sultan.”
—“Do not,” —Azhara whispered.
The wind swept once more through the open balconies, tossing her hair like a living curtain. In the distance, beyond the walls, the desert stirred with an ancient murmur.
Thus began the shadow of a pact.
A pact between those who protected their legacy…
And those who, unknowingly, were about to reshape their history.