Beloved Father,

  I pray these words find safe harbor in your mighty hands. Whispers of your fate reverberate through Orsino's spy web. While loath to trust such mendacious sources, I cling to hope the tales are true—and that you live, though in exile.

  My sisters impressed the unlikelihood of a response. They speak to me like a child. They think me weak, forgetting the same blood through my veins as theirs. But you have always known there's steel in my dreamer's heart. And dream I must, for in these dark times, hope is a precious resource. Though worlds apart, I shall fan that spark of hope until it becomes a beacon to guide you home.

  But your absence leaves a void prayer cannot fill. I shudder thinking of the horrors your mind conjures of our plight, but rest assured, your daughters are safe, though the days are dark since the invasion.

  I am haunted by that night…

  I sat by my window observing the sun’s crimson arc as it tucked into the hills. A hush of stars awoke to slumberous life. Inspired, my fingers wove melodies from my lyre, coaxing the passing breeze into harmony, while cormorants piped a frolicking chorus. The tune wavered over the acropolis to the pink beaches. Moonlight unfolded over the Salmon Sea.

  All was glorious.

  Then, a loathsome beacon flared from the city—hot as forge fires, red as blood—the prelude to a new song born in pain.

  A terrifying, martial chant that rumbled throughout the warrens. House after house burst in molten columns in such multitudes that night became day, as if the sun were roused from slumber by the bestial roars of our assailants.

  I sat transfixed, mesmerized by the inferno unfolding below. The once-proud villas of the foothills were now cindered ruins, their elegant stilts reduced to charred matchsticks. The cloisters smoldered, and dark clouds hovered above the market like vultures—I could smell the burning spices. Our vibrant streets were a trampled wasteland, buildings ablaze in a grim procession linked by a necklace of fire.

  And through the smoky veil, I glimpsed our tormentors.

  They were colossal creatures of sand and salt – unyielding as mountains – bearing fire from the desert. The air shook with the thunder of their bellows; their blows smote the earth like lightning.

  My handmaids burst in, eyes red-rimmed and frantic, with tear-streaked paths cutting down their sooty cheeks.

  "Princess, we must away! Giants have come!" they begged, pulling me from the window.

  The Rose Keep – our home – was a furnace. Smoke twisted from the depths like a serpent, choking and blinding. We covered our faces and rushed to the third-floor landing to Indira's Library, where I found my sisters taking charge of a coterie of servants and nobles who clung together in terror, all semblance of station forgotten.

  Indira hastened the survivors through a slip pass behind a false shelf, her calm efficiency paired with Ariadne’s rallying words kindling courage among our people. Father, if only you could have seen them—despite our world collapsing around us, their devotion to our people never wavered.

  We descended in tight formation down winding, narrow steps carved into the rock long ago. Many wept, knowing each step propelled us into an uncertain future and further from the lives we knew. The cacophony from above gradually faded, giving way to an eerie, tomb-like silence. I disliked the tunnels—their oppressive closeness, the damp chill, and the darkness that consumed all light. The ground was soft and crunched underfoot. I hugged my shoulders, trying to shut out the unpleasantness.

  Sensing my unease, Ariadne swaddled me in her shawl. For a moment, I was a child again, safe in her arms.

  At last, Orsino's voice cut through the darkness. "We've reached a safe distance. We can risk some light now."

  The Vizier knelt and whispered to the earth.

  A curtain of light rolled across the canopy; gasps blew down the cave as our eyes drank in the sparkling spectacle above.

  Thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of glow worms blanketed the walls and ceiling, their soft, segmented bodies radiating a vivid blue light. The worms coiled and stretched as they crawled, spring-like, trailing threads of luminous silk. It was beautiful, as though a celestial tapestry had flooded into the earth's veins.

  "Strange," Indira breathed, "annalumens are not native to our lands."

  "Someone must have brought them," Ariadne said.

  Orsino nodded, curiosity flickering across his podgy moon face. "And nurtured them with care. An annalumen's diet requires a steady supply of snails and richer soil than we find by the sea."

  I heard a crunch and looked down where, by the dim light, I saw countless snail shells lay scattered on the ground.

  "It would require years to farm such a horde," Indira murmured thoughtfully. "The logistics alone...and why? What would compel such effort?"

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  "Isn't it obvious?" Ariadne replied. "For this. For tonight."

  Indira's sharp, dark eyes glinted in the glow. "You suggest this attack was... foreseen?"

  Ariadne shrugged. "Possibly."

  Our thoughtful silence was shattered by a blood-curdling scream from the rear of our group. I turned to see Lady Sindra’s ashen face, ghostly and unsteady, emerging from the shadows. She thrust her arm forward, revealing a dark smear staining the sleeve of her gown.

  Ariadne clamped a hand over the lady's mouth, pulling her close. As Sindra's muffled sobs shook her, Indira examined the stain. The air thickened with an acrid stench—a mixture of soot, iron, and something far more sinister.

  "Blood," Indira whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's seeping through the earth. We are below the market—the giants...they must be..." Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the thought, but we all understood: bodies piled like firewood, blood pooling in ghastly volumes, defiling the ground.

  Nobles and commoners alike retched and wailed, the reality of our plight brutally real. I felt my own gorge rise but swallowed it back.

  Orsino raised his voice to a sharp whisper. "Do not let despair drag you back now, not when we are so close. Persist."

  And so we did. The tunnel floor began to slope upward, each step sending shockwaves of pain through my aching feet. Just when I thought I could go no further, we came upon a staircase carved into the rock. Ariadne led the way, her unwavering resolve inspiring us to follow, though we were as unsteady as newborn fawns on trembling legs.

  The ascent seemed endless – two flights, perhaps more. Finally, we emerged onto a small landing where the air was less stagnant. Here, we paused to catch our breath while our shadow-adjusted eyes drank in the changed surroundings. The tunnel had widened, slivers of moonlight crept through fissures to pierce the gloom. Ahead, a yawning cavity promised the forest beyond – and freedom.

  We burst into a clearing, gulping in the sweet night air. Some of our company sank to the ground, finally allowed a moment to mourn. Those driven by fury pushed through a nearby copse towards a solitary hill.

  From the top, we peered over the forest canopy toward the crimson glow staining the horizon – our burning city. A terrible, smoldering shame kindled in our hearts: the burden of survival.

  The Rose Keep's eastern wing was a smoking pile of rubble. The wind carried a haunting dirge to the hill, cries of pain and terror. With each shuddering breath weight of hopelessness grew heavier until even Ariadne appeared ready to fold beneath it.

  "It is the end!" wailed a once-proud nobleman, now a broken shell of a man. His sobs echoed the collective anguish of our shattered people.

  But then Ariadne's voice rose above the din of misery. "Hear me!" she commanded. "For generations, our people have fattened on the peace our ancestors gifted. But before that? We were survivors—scavengers and craftsmen who bent the world to our will. That fire still burns in our blood. We will not crumble into despair. No—we shall seize the wheel of fate and wrench it back in our favor!"

  “Pretty words, but empty!" cried a ragged voice from below—one of the nobles. "Our King is gone, our city burns. What hope remains?"

  Indira surged forward. "By tilling fields before us, row by row!" She stood beside Ariadne, flattening any opening for rebuke with an imperious gaze. "We start with the caves, exploring their vaults and passages to unearth any secrets they hide. Next, a small party will scour the forest for resources. I shall oversee day-to-day operations, Orsino shall gather information from the city to monitor our enemies' movements, and Ariadne shall investigate the fate of our king."

  "We keep our ears to the ground and eyes forward," Ariadne thundered on. “Each of you must strive to rekindle your bond with Mystery, to heed her wisdom. Our kinship with the natural world is a strength our enemy lacks—use it to leverage for a better tomorrow.”

  "At daybreak, I’ll assign roles to coordinate our efforts toward reclaiming the capital," Indira spoke, her cool demeanor balancing Ariadne's fire. "The woods and caverns will be our refuge, as they were for our ancestors. You will venture out only when permitted, to gather food and information.”

  Ariadne prowled the hillcrest like a lioness— drawing every eye, every heart to her.

  “All is not lost,” she continued, her voice steady and resolute. "Indira salvaged our most precious tomes before fleeing. Every scrap of knowledge that might guide our king home rests in her erudite hands. With Mystery's blessing and your support, she will light the path forward."

  It was like witnessing a star born from the crucible of chaos. Each word built upon the last to expand the domain of her influence. At that moment, she was becoming legend.

  "Luna," she called. "Yours is the most important role of all."

  With a flourish, she produced a chipped, scuffed lyre, unmistakably hers. Its once-bright finish had dulled from neglect, and the wood was marked with scratches, yet, as she held it out, it gleamed in the moonlight as if it had been waiting for me.

  I laughed, startled, and took it. Ariadne’s expression softened as she spoke. "Music is a delicate power never meant for rough hands such as mine. Long ago, I set this aside for the sword, but in your hands...you are capable of wonders I shall never match. The way you lift the spirits of those around you is a miracle. In the days ahead, should strategy and steel fall short, your music will carry us forward."

  I ran my fingers lightly over the worn strings, they were as threads connecting me to a lost world. The sound was imperfect, raw—but alive. And so was I. I vowed to pour every ounce of strength into song—a shield against despair.

  Ariadne turned back to the crowd. "There's a stream nearby. Let's wash away the day's ashes and tears. Tonight, we rest. But tomorrow?" Her eyes blazed. "Tomorrow, we rise – and pen the first lines of our vengeance."

  And so it goes, Father.

  Indira, brilliant and unyielding, plots our survival. Ariadne, all fire and charisma, forges us into an army. And I? I sing, as I always have, but now my melodies carry the weight of our people's hopes.

  Worry not for your gentle daughter, Father. I will not bend, I will not break, I will survive. My first song will be about your return.

  A ballad of hope.

  Luna

  Ashton set the letter on the dashboard where it appeared thoroughly unremarkable under the streetlights' glow. Just a letter once more.

  "You okay?" Ashton asked the King.

  The King's hands dropped, revealing a radiant smile. "Better than okay—I'm reborn! My daughters live!”

  He vibrated with energy. "I long to dance, to hear Luna's music... But dancing can wait. I must return first." His tone softened. "Luna, my tender one. Always steel beneath gentleness. She faces trials bravely, unbroken."

  Pride radiated from the King's face as he turned to Ashton, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "This calls for celebration!" he exclaimed. "I know a place that will accept my credit. Come, lad—let us toast our success. Drinks are on me! What say you?"

  Ashton checked the time.

  “Yeah—I could use a drink.”