We didn’t say anything at first.

  The walk back was short, but it felt endless. I was moving, but my steps didn’t quite belong to me anymore, as if part of me had been left beneath that halted sky. None of us moved the way we usually did. No one was breathing normally.

  Velka was the first to break the silence.

  —That… —she started, then stopped—. That wasn’t normal.

  She didn’t sound scared. She sounded fractured, in a deeper way.

  —No —Caelia answered almost immediately—. It wasn’t a technique. It wasn’t a forced limit. It was… something else.

  I pressed my fingers into my palm. I could still see the sky closing behind my eyelids. I could still feel the pressure in my chest, as if the dome hadn’t truly vanished.

  —She touched us —Neyra said suddenly.

  We all looked at her.

  —When she touched Reia. When she touched Caelia —she continued—. It wasn’t a gesture. It was… a taking.

  Caelia frowned.

  —She didn’t take anything from me —she said, almost defensively—. I can still conjure. I can still feel my emotion.

  —Yes —Neyra replied—. But didn’t you feel the other part?

  Caelia didn’t answer right away.

  Velka lowered her gaze.

  —It was like when someone enters a room and everything goes silent without them saying a word —she murmured—. Like the air decides to obey.

  I swallowed.

  —Reia flies —I said at last—. And today… today I saw someone fly the same way she does. Not better. Not differently. The same.

  That left us speechless.

  —The Mothers are gone —Caelia said, more to convince herself than to inform us—. Nerys sleeps. The others… we know.

  —Then what is she? —Neyra asked, and for the first time she didn’t sound defiant—. Because that wasn’t a Queen defending herself.

  A chill ran down my spine.

  —It was someone deciding that the world would keep existing.

  No one laughed. No one contradicted me.

  And as the silence settled again, the thought pierced me without warning.

  What would have happened if she had touched me?

  The question surfaced on its own, without drama, and still it froze my blood.

  Reia lost something I couldn’t name.

  Caelia felt something shift inside her, even if it was still there.

  I had no doubt what mine would be.

  Rage.

  Resentment.

  Blood of the Crown.

  My abdomen tightened instinctively, right where the scar slept beneath my skin. Blood of the Crown wasn’t a weapon I wielded. It was a wound I opened. Lyssandra’s blade rested inside me like a living sheath, waiting for me to decide when to bleed again.

  If Seraphina touched me…

  Would she be touching me?

  Or would she be touching the seal?

  Nausea rose in my throat.

  Because if someone could place a hand there without hurting me…

  if someone could decide which emotion was allowed to exist, and in what form…

  Then I didn’t know who I would be afterward.

  Or whether the blade would still answer to me.

  I lifted my gaze without realizing it, as if I could still feel her somewhere in the distance.

  I wasn’t afraid of Seraphina for what she could do to the world.

  I was afraid of what she could do to me.

  —And if she can do that… —Velka began, clenching her fists—. If she can stop the sky—

  —Then she can also let it fall —Caelia finished.

  The words hung between us, heavy, uncomfortable.

  I thought of Yareen.

  Of the second heart.

  Of what happens when someone crosses a threshold they were never meant to.

  —This isn’t an advantage —I said at last—. It’s a warning.

  They nodded. All of them.

  We were still stunned.

  Still shaking on the inside.

  And the worst part was that none of us needed to say it out loud to understand it:

  The Queen hadn’t shown all of her power.

  Only enough to make sure we would never forget who decides when the sky breaks…

  and when it doesn’t.

  The base never truly breathed again.

  Not really.

  The alarms had stopped, but the state of alert clung to everything—to the walls, to the skin, to the air itself. As we moved toward the hangar, the world around us shifted like a wounded organism refusing to slow down.

  Tanks rolled out of their bays with metallic roars that made the floor tremble. Columns of infantry rushed through hastily opened corridors, helmets on, weapons loaded, faces tight. Above us, the outer hangars opened and closed like jaws—fighters taking off one after another, leaving short contrails in the still-gray sky.

  Anti-air batteries rose from concealed platforms.

  Everything was in motion.

  The missile threat hadn’t passed.

  It had only changed shape.

  We walked together, but we didn’t speak. There was no room for words. The noise filled everything.

  Then I felt a hand on my arm.

  It wasn’t rough, but it was firm.

  —You —said a voice I knew far too well.

  Irhena.

  I barely turned enough to see her. She was tense, jaw clenched, eyes lit with a contained anger that didn’t need to surface to be felt. She didn’t give me time to say anything. She pulled me without ceremony, dragging me out of the flow of personnel and machinery.

  —What are you doing? —Caelia asked immediately, turning toward us.

  Before she could take a step, another hand closed around her shoulder. Then another grabbed Velka. Neyra was intercepted a second later.

  Thessia, Maren, Vaelyn, and Lureya moved with silent coordination, taking them without violence—but without choice.

  —Irhena —Caelia insisted—. What—

  —Shut up —Irhena cut her off, not even looking at her—. Not here. Not now. Don’t say anything.

  The tone allowed no argument.

  They pulled us away from the main hangar, down a side corridor that wasn’t marked on any visible map. The doors sealed behind us, dulling the roar of mobilization until it became a distant, constant murmur.

  The room we entered wasn’t large. It was functional. No symbols. No ornamentation.

  Lumina Umbrae was already there.

  Reia stood with her arms crossed, her face pale but steady. Nysha remained silent near one of the walls. Caelin kept her gaze lowered. Virelle hadn’t sat down—she looked too tense to do so.

  The air was heavy. Not with hostility. With something worse.

  Irhena released my arm and stepped to the center of the room.

  —Enough —she said flatly—. We’re not going to pretend nothing happened.

  No one answered.

  —What the Queen did —she continued— wasn’t a standard defensive maneuver. It wasn’t a political display. And it wasn’t a mistake.

  Her gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on Reia, then on Caelia.

  —It was a threshold-level intervention.

  My stomach tightened.

  —And if we’re going back out there —she added—, if we’re going to fight a war that’s already underway… then you’d better understand what that means. For all of us.

  The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable.

  We were still in shock.

  Still trying to fit something that had no shape.

  And yet, we all knew the same thing:

  If Irhena had decided to move us like this—

  to pull us out of the deployment, to separate us from everyone else—

  Then whatever we were about to talk about in that room

  couldn’t wait.

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  Not because there was nothing to say, but because all of us were trying to remember how to breathe after something like that.

  Reia was the one who stepped forward first.

  —We saw her first —she said, her voice low and steady—. Not like that… not as a Queen. Like that.

  I lifted my gaze.

  —We were near the forest surrounding the Academy —she continued—. Not on a mission. Just… there. And suddenly we felt the resonance.

  Nysha nodded, arms held close to her body.

  —It wasn’t a pulse —she added—. It was continuous. Like something had been opened and never closed.

  —We didn’t even see her at first —Caelin said—. We felt her. And that was the worst part.

  Reia clenched her fingers.

  —It was like something was draining us without touching us. Fear, hope, anger… it didn’t matter. Everything was being pulled toward the same point.

  A chill ran down my spine.

  —When we came out of the forest —Reia went on—, she was already there.

  —Doing what? —Caelia asked.

  Reia hesitated for a second.

  —Agitated —she said at last—. Not wounded. Not weak. Agitated. Like someone who had just done something… big.

  Virelle clicked her tongue, uncomfortable.

  —That doesn’t appear in any record —she said—. No magical girl awakens like that. Not that late. Not in that way.

  —Stories talk about awakenings during crisis —Nysha added—. Childhood. Early adolescence. Trauma. Loss.

  —No… —Caelin murmured—. This was different. This was accumulation.

  Silence fell again.

  I felt the weight in my chest. The same as before. As if saying her name out loud would be enough to draw her closer.

  —There’s something you need to know —I said at last.

  They all looked at me.

  —And before I say it —I added—, Venesse will probably kill me when she finds out I told you. But I’d rather that than have us keep moving blind.

  Irhena didn’t interrupt me. She only nodded once.

  I took a deep breath.

  —In Al-Rahad we discovered that Seravenn has been lying for generations. About the Thirteen Mothers. About how emotional inheritance truly works.

  Frowns appeared. Not disbelief. Attention.

  —We’re not exceptions —I continued—. None of us are. All of us, in one way or another, are descendants. Echoes. Diluted fragments of the Thirteen.

  Nysha’s eyes widened slightly.

  —All of us? —she asked.

  I nodded.

  —Some closer. Some farther. But all connected.

  The air grew heavier.

  —And we discovered something else —I went on—. The second heart.

  A barely contained murmur spread through the room.

  —It’s not a metaphor —I said—. It’s real. A latent emotional core that all of us carry. It doesn’t awaken on its own. But it’s there… waiting for the right conditions.

  Caelia held my gaze.

  —Yareen?

  I nodded.

  —In her case it wasn’t a natural awakening —I said—. It was forced. Stimulated until the balance broke. They didn’t put something new inside her… they pushed what already existed until it occupied a place it was never meant to.

  The silence that followed was colder.

  —Yareen —I added— wasn’t a Mother. And she wasn’t a normal magical girl. She was an emotion driven past its threshold. Artificial not because she was false… but because she was accelerated.

  Reia folded her arms tightly against herself.

  —Like a witch —she murmured—. But conscious.

  —Exactly —I said—. She didn’t lose her mind. Not completely. She knew what she was. She knew what she was doing.

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  —So… —Virelle began cautiously— are you saying that…?

  I didn’t finish the sentence for her.

  —I don’t know —I replied—. But when I look at what the Queen did… the way… the timing… how late it was…

  A knot formed in my stomach.

  —I can’t stop thinking that maybe she didn’t awaken.

  —Maybe she was pushed past her own threshold —Reia finished.

  No one denied it.

  And in that moment, I understood with uncomfortable clarity:

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  We weren’t trying to understand the Queen.

  We were trying to figure out what kind of truth could create something like her…

  and what price it would demand afterward.

  The silence held for a few seconds longer than it could bear.

  It wasn’t calm. It was pressure building.

  Irhena was the first to snap.

  —No —she spat—. No. This is insane.

  She stepped back and slammed her fist into the table. It wasn’t a symbolic blow. The surface groaned. A second strike split it in two, fragments flying into the wall.

  —They’ve been lying to us forever —she continued—. Using us. Moving us around. And now—

  She grabbed a chair and hurled it to the floor. The metal bent as if it were soft.

  —Now it turns out the Queen might be something else entirely!

  No one moved to stop her. No one except Caelia.

  —Irhena —she said firmly, stepping forward—. Enough.

  —Don’t tell me to enou—!

  Caelia didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t change her tone. She simply planted herself in front of her and placed a hand on her chest, right where Irhena’s breathing had turned erratic.

  —Look at me —she said.

  Irhena clenched her teeth. The air around her vibrated, thick with pure, dense, dangerous rage. But she didn’t push Caelia away.

  —Breathe —Caelia continued—. With me. Now.

  It wasn’t immediate. Long seconds passed. Irhena trembled. Her hands stayed clenched, knuckles white.

  Finally, the pressure eased.

  Irhena closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the rage was still there… but contained, forcibly compressed.

  —This isn’t over —she muttered.

  —No —I said before anyone else could speak—. It isn’t. But we’re not doing anything stupid either.

  They all looked at me.

  —Listen to me —I continued—. What we know is enough to understand we’re standing on something unstable. If anyone acts on impulse now, if anyone decides to “test” something on their own…

  I shook my head.

  —We don’t know what consequences that would have. For us. For Seravenn. For the world.

  Reia nodded slowly.

  —So what do you propose? —she asked.

  —That we promise something —I replied—. Here. Now.

  Silence fell again.

  —That we don’t do anything —I went on—. Anything. Until we know exactly what’s going on. Until we’re sure.

  Nysha swallowed.

  —Even if we feel like something’s wrong?

  —Especially then —I said—. We watch each other. We talk. We stop each other if we have to.

  I looked at Irhena.

  —All of us included.

  Irhena held my gaze for a few seconds that felt endless. Then she nodded, barely.

  —I promise —she said—. Even if I don’t like it.

  The others followed, one by one.

  It didn’t sound solemn.

  It sounded necessary.

  —First, we protect Seravenn —Reia said at last—. Everything else can wait.

  —We follow orders —Caelia added—. For now.

  No one argued.

  The meeting broke without ceremony. No final speeches. Each of us went our separate way with the tension still clinging to our bodies.

  As I left the room, I understood something with uncomfortable clarity:

  We weren’t ready to face the truth.

  But we were ready to protect our home…

  while we figured out how much time we had left before that truth caught up with us.

  We didn’t split up.

  The twelve of us moved together toward the deployment runway, and the simple act of walking like that—no rush, no words—felt different from other departures. Not because this was the first war. Not because anything was being declared.

  But because this time, the blow was going to be direct.

  The war against Eiswacht had been ongoing since the beginning. There were open fronts, established lines, trenches that already knew our names.

  But what hung in the air now wasn’t routine or attrition.

  It was pressure.

  The engines were already roaring, deep and constant, mixing with the wind that carried dust and the sharp smell of fuel. Personnel moved back and forth with the tense efficiency of people who knew this wasn’t a drill.

  As we walked, the transformations began.

  No circles.

  No poses.

  Armor, fabric, symbols formed as a natural response to motion, locking into our bodies while we kept moving. One by one. Without stopping. Without looking at each other.

  Even Lumina Umbrae did it that way.

  Reia didn’t take flight. She didn’t glow. She didn’t draw attention. She simply kept walking—and when I blinked, she was no longer the same girl who had left the room.

  That said everything.

  The Queen was waiting for us at the end of the runway.

  Seraphina stood before the transport aircraft, her cloak barely shifting in the wind. She didn’t look rushed. She didn’t look tense. But her presence imposed a different kind of silence—heavier than the alarms.

  We stopped in front of her.

  —Don’t expect minimal resistance —she said, without preamble—. Eiswacht isn’t testing positions. They’re reinforcing fronts. Moving full bodies. Corps. Armies.

  No one reacted. We already knew. Or at least, we’d felt it coming for days.

  —I’ll try to support all active fronts —she continued—. Not always directly. Not always in time.

  Her gaze swept across us.

  —There will be air support if necessary. But the greatest concentration of force is shifting toward the desert.

  A weight settled in my stomach.

  —Reports indicate anomalous energy accumulation in that zone —she added—. This isn’t a feint.

  We nodded, one after another.

  —Your priority is containment —she concluded—. Protect civilians. Hold existing lines. Do not pursue a quick victory.

  She paused, just briefly.

  —Survive.

  It wasn’t a speech.

  It was an order.

  We boarded the aircraft without another word.

  When the hatch sealed and the engines roared louder, I felt the ground vibrate beneath my feet. I adjusted the weight of Blood Crown inside me, where it always was, where it belonged.

  We were heading for the mountain range.

  Not to start a war.

  But to stop one that already existed

  from finishing the job.

  The flight was short.

  Not because the distance was small, but because we already knew it. The aerial route toward the mountain range was familiar—the same stretch of sky, the same treacherous air currents, the same peaks cutting through the clouds like ancient teeth.

  We had been there before.

  And somehow, that made it worse.

  The interior of the aircraft vibrated steadily, a low mechanical tremor that settled into the bones. No one spoke. It wasn’t new tension—it was focus. The kind that takes over when the body understands what’s coming before the mind does.

  When the doors began to open, freezing air slammed into us head-on.

  The mountain range unfolded beneath us.

  Vast. Dark. Scarred by wounds that hadn’t been there the last time.

  Even from that altitude, movement was visible: columns advancing through mountain passes, distant flashes of artillery, fortified positions spreading like a living stain. Eiswacht wasn’t hiding.

  Velka stepped toward the ramp first.

  Neyra followed without a word.

  Caelia adjusted her communicator, calm.

  I took a deep breath.

  —Aircraft, maintain maximum alert —Caelia said—. Do not mark targets yet. Await signal.

  We nodded.

  The magical jump wasn’t a fall.

  I focused magic into my legs, compressing it like an invisible spring. I felt my weight redistribute, gravity shifting from a threat into a tool.

  We jumped.

  The wind roared around us, but there was no panic. We descended under control, adjusting our trajectory with minimal movements, guiding the fall instead of fighting it.

  Then the fire began.

  Energy tracers surged upward from the ground, lines of light slicing through the air to meet us before we could reach it. Heavy artillery—fired with enough precision to force evasive maneuvers.

  —Long-range contact —Velka warned.

  I twisted midair on instinct. An explosion passed close—too close—and I felt the heat brush my side.

  We adjusted our descent.

  The ground rushed up: fractured rock, remnants of old defenses, dirty snow mixed with earth churned by weeks of fighting. We chose a zone with natural cover, a deep break between shattered rock formations.

  I landed as if the ground had been waiting for me.

  My legs absorbed the impact effortlessly. I rose at once, pulse racing, senses wide open.

  Velka was already assessing the terrain.

  Neyra breathed hard, wearing a tense smile.

  Caelia watched the front, measuring distances.

  Above us, the aircraft held position.

  It wasn’t time yet.

  But the front had seen us.

  And it knew we had arrived.

  In another position far from there...

  The second aircraft did not slow down.

  There was no warning.

  No countdown.

  The doors blasted open and the wind tore a metallic roar from the fuselage, as if the sky itself were protesting.

  Blood of the Throne jumped.

  They did not descend.

  They fell.

  Irhena tore through the clouds first, her body angled forward, chains unfurling around her like living serpents. Energy detonated with every heartbeat, violent sparks igniting in her wake, as though the sky couldn’t contain her.

  Thessia fell in a twisting spiral, the barbed whip carving impossible arcs. The world around her warped—sounds arriving too late, screams breaking before they existed, nerve impulses tangling into pain before reaching flesh. Where she passed, perception itself turned hostile.

  Maren descended upright, almost serene.

  The ivory scepter floated before her, the orbs orbiting slowly, heavily. With every meter she fell, morale beneath her unraveled. Soldiers who hadn’t even seen them yet felt their chests cave in, their legs grow heavy, hope evaporating without knowing why.

  Vaelyn chose.

  From the air, her gaze locked onto the greatest concentration of force: a fortified core, heavy artillery, energy amassed to crush any advance. Her split lance shuddered violently.

  Pure envy.

  She compared.

  Measured.

  And decided it had no right to stand above her.

  Enemy energy began to dim, dragged downward, turning dense, sluggish, uneven. She did not take it for herself.

  She ruined it.

  Lureya fell last.

  The massive mace struck the air before the ground, and when it hit, the shock split the earth like an open wound. Pain ceased to exist for her. Shrapnel, fire, debris—nothing slowed her. Nothing made her retreat.

  The impact was catastrophic.

  They did not land in a safe zone.

  They did not seek cover.

  They fell into the heart of the army.

  Explosions ripped through the enemy formation as Irhena struck the ground, chains detonating in pyrotechnic bursts that hurled bodies and armor skyward. Thessia landed among them, and chaos multiplied—soldiers firing at nothing, screaming at injuries they hadn’t yet understood.

  Maren raised the scepter.

  And the line broke.

  Vaelyn took a single step forward, the lance driving into the ground, and the power core she had chosen collapsed inward, unable to sustain the advantage it believed it held.

  Lureya advanced without pause, moving through fire and shrapnel as if it were rain.

  Blood of the Throne had not come to fight.

  They had come to break the front.

  The front no longer existed.

  At least, not the way it had before.

  Irhena moved through explosions as if the battlefield belonged to her, chains spinning and detonating with every motion, ripping through armor, tearing bodies apart, igniting enemy energy in violent bursts that allowed no time to react. Every step was a discharge. Every turn, a sentence.

  —More —she growled, teeth clenched—. Give me more.

  Thessia moved beside her, chaos in her wake. Her whip slid through ranks, and wherever it struck, order collapsed. Soldiers fired at shadows, twisted in pain with no visible cause, screamed at sensations their bodies could no longer process.

  Maren raised the scepter.

  The orbs sank lower, heavy as sick moons. The enemy’s vital energy drained away in silence. They did not fall dead at once. They fell empty. Kneeling. Without will. Without drive.

  Vaelyn chose another target.

  A mechanical colossus emerged from the rear, systems blazing with technological arrogance. She advanced straight toward it, drove the lance into the ground, and held its gaze.

  The enemy’s advantage dimmed.

  Systems failed.

  Energy turned sluggish.

  The colossus took a single step… and collapsed in on itself.

  Lureya did not slow.

  The mace came down again and again, each impact carving craters, every blow she took ignored as if pain no longer existed. Fire, shrapnel, direct hits—nothing made her stop.

  But the enemy was still there.

  Farther back.

  More dispersed.

  Regrouping.

  Then Irhena raised her voice.

  —Air strike! —she roared into the communicator—. My coordinates. Now.

  There was a pause.

  A single second of disbelief.

  —I repeat —she spat—. Bomb me.

  The sky split open.

  The bombardment fell like divine punishment—chained explosions, fire descending in pillars, the ground erupting into a storm of rock and metal. The area was swept, pulverized, forced back.

  When the smoke began to thin, something was still moving.

  Chains emerged first.

  Then a silhouette wreathed in flame.

  Then another.

  Blood of the Throne advanced from the center of the crater.

  Wounded.

  Covered in ash.

  Still standing.

  Irhena brushed dust from her shoulder.

  —There’s still work to do.

  In the distance, new enemy lines were already reorganizing.

  The front was not finished.

  But it no longer belonged to them.

  In another location within the mountain range...

  The sky changed.

  Not with thunder.

  Not with fire.

  With light.

  From the enemy lines, some soldiers looked up first out of instinct. Others because something loosened in their chests for no clear reason. The chaos of battle slowed—just for a heartbeat.

  Up there, a star was descending.

  It was not falling.

  It was lowering itself.

  Lumina Umbrae did not break into the battlefield.

  They manifested.

  Four streaks of light split from the initial radiance, forming a living constellation that crossed the clouds without haste. There was no urgency in their movement. No violence.

  And that was what made it terrifying.

  Reia led the descent.

  The star-tipped lance shone with a clean, almost unbearable light. Around her, the air grew denser, slower. Explosions on the verge of detonating seemed to hesitate. Wounded allies felt pain recede, exhaustion loosen, energy return like a memory they thought lost.

  But the enemies felt it too.

  And they could not tell whether what touched them meant to save them…

  or judge them.

  Caelyn descended wrapped in a silent drizzle.

  It was not ordinary rain. It was water suspended between states, heavy vapor seeping into lungs, skin, weapons. Where it touched the ground, dust settled. Where it touched bodies, sorrow became tangible.

  Some soldiers fell to their knees without visible wounds, drained, emptied. Others felt burns close abruptly, unable to understand why.

  Sadness did not choose sides.

  It only enveloped.

  Virelle arrived next.

  Not with fire.

  With pressure.

  The air around her vibrated, compressed until it became unbearable. The ground did not explode when she touched down.

  It imploded a second later.

  Bodies collapsed without external marks, armor intact, organs crushed from within.

  Repressed rage did not scream.

  It crushed.

  And then fear was unleashed.

  Nysha did not descend like the others.

  She was simply there.

  Between Caelyn’s mist, between Reia’s light, between Virelle’s invisible detonations… things began to move that had not been there before.

  Shadows too long.

  Creatures wearing familiar faces.

  Voices whispering names no one had spoken in years.

  Terror spread like a silent wildfire.

  The more fear they felt, the more real it became.

  From the ground, some soldiers lowered their weapons.

  Others screamed.

  Others fled.

  Others froze in place, unable to decide whether what had descended from the sky was salvation…

  or the end.

  Lumina Umbrae touched the ground.

  And the battlefield understood something terrible:

  Hope had arrived.

  And it was not in the mood to be ignored.

  Back to Lyss moments before...

  The front ahead of us didn’t scream.

  It didn’t collapse right away either.

  It resisted.

  —I’ve got visual —Caelia said, her voice steady over the communicator—. Front armor is reinforced, but the energy nodes are poorly distributed. There… and there.

  Before I could answer, I felt the shields form. Invisible layers locked into place around us just as enemy artillery fired again. The impacts struck the barrier with a dull, contained thud.

  Velka moved at my side.

  She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The emotional weight of the field shifted slightly, redirected toward her. My anger remained—sharp, intact—but no longer threatening to spill over. As if a firm hand had been placed between my shoulder blades.

  Neyra was already farther ahead.

  She copied an enemy discharge—badly, incompletely—and hurled it back, warped and unstable, but enough to tear open a breach. It wasn’t elegant. It was effective. She smiled briefly, as if proving she could do it right anchored her in place.

  I took a deep breath.

  The scar on my abdomen burned.

  Not like before.

  Not like an open wound.

  Like a door that knew it was about to open.

  I drew Blood Crown.

  There was no explosion.

  The blade emerged clean, red, impossible. The air around it vibrated, as if something ancient had just acknowledged the battlefield. The weight settled not in my arms, but in my chest.

  It wasn’t blind rage.

  It was authority.

  I advanced.

  The first cut split a line of armored infantry as if it weren’t there. Armor designed to withstand direct impacts parted without resistance, separating with an almost gentle sound. Bodies fell afterward—late—as if they hadn’t yet understood they were already dead.

  —Target weakened —Caelia reported—. Opening created.

  I nodded.

  The second strike was horizontal.

  It wasn’t fast.

  It was final.

  The line gave way.

  Where Blood Crown passed, resistance vanished. Vehicles opened like paper. Energy fields collapsed on contact. I wasn’t unleashing everything.

  And still… it was too much.

  I felt the temptation.

  The pressure in my chest.

  The invitation to release it all.

  Velka stepped closer.

  Remorse absorbed the excess before it could overflow.

  —Now —Caelia said.

  Markers appeared in the air, precise.

  —Bombardment authorized.

  Above us, the aircraft responded.

  Explosions fell exactly where they were meant to—reinforcement routes cut, hidden batteries neutralized, the front dismantled without waste.

  We advanced together.

  Not as a symbol.

  Not as a miracle.

  As a unit that knew exactly

  where and how to cut.

  Blood of the Crown vibrated in my hand, satisfied… but restrained.

  Not yet.

  It still wasn’t time to show them

  everything a Mother could do.

  For a long stretch, nothing seemed able to stop us.

  The enemy was not weak.

  There was just no one left to put in front of us.

  Schattenspear no longer existed.

  And what remained wasn’t built for battles like this.

  Even so, it wasn’t clean.

  A discharge struck my left shoulder and I felt the vibration tear through my arm before dissipating. It hurt—enough to remind me I was still flesh. Velka covered me instantly, remorse drawing the emotional edge out of the impact before it could turn into wasted rage.

  —I’m fine —I said, more for her than for myself.

  Caelia raised a hand.

  —Pattern shift —she announced—. They’re rotating weapons.

  It didn’t take long to understand what she meant.

  The air changed.

  A low hiss came first, followed by a greenish cloud spreading between the rocks—heavy, unnatural. It didn’t burn. It didn’t kill instantly. But with the first breath, I felt my focus blur, as if someone had turned the world’s volume down.

  —Gas —Neyra warned—. Not lethal, but—

  She didn’t finish.

  She didn’t need to.

  —Masks —Caelia ordered—. Now.

  Magic responded immediately. I felt a translucent structure form over my face, sealing with precise pressure. Air was air again. The world snapped back into focus.

  Velka did the same beside me without breaking stride.

  Neyra took a second longer, coughing before sealing hers.

  Caelia was already marking the source of the cloud.

  —They’re not trying to kill us —she said—. They’re trying to disrupt us.

  —Mistake —I replied.

  I advanced.

  Blood of the Crown cut through the cloud as if it were wet cloth, the gas’s energy dispersing on contact. It didn’t neutralize it completely, but it opened a clean enough corridor to move through.

  More shots reached us. Superficial burns. Impacts that left deep bruises. Nothing critical.

  But enough to remind us this wasn’t an execution.

  It was a war.

  —They’re adapting —Caelia said—. That’s good.

  —Good? —Neyra muttered.

  —It means they haven’t decided to run yet.

  I looked ahead.

  Through the smoke, the ruins, the shattered formations, the enemy was still there. Less organized. More desperate. But present.

  I tightened my grip on the sword.

  —Then let’s not give them time —I said.

  And we advanced again.

  Not invincible.

  Not untouched.

  But still very far

  from falling.

  Then i felt something wierd...

  It wasn’t a clean hit.

  It was… a desynchronization.

  Blood Crown was still in my hand, burning, alive—but the world began to answer a fraction too late. Just a heartbeat. A blink behind. As if something invisible had slipped between my intent and the result.

  The first cut didn’t go through the way it should have.

  It still cut—but I felt resistance.

  That had never happened before.

  —Something’s wrong —Caelia said over the comms, her voice tight but steady—. It’s not full suppression. It’s interference. They’re saturating the front with staggered anti-magic.

  Another impact shook the ground. Not close. Not direct. Calculated.

  Velka growled beside me, one hand going to her chest.

  —This… this isn’t just physical —she muttered—. Something’s draining emotions. Not all of them. Just… the ones that flow the strongest.

  Remorse.

  Rage.

  Obsession.

  I swallowed.

  —Caelia.

  —I know —she answered immediately—. We’re not advancing. Tactical withdrawal. Now. No major discharges. Don’t burn anything big.

  That wasn’t an order given lightly.

  Pulling back meant admitting the enemy had read the rhythm of the fight. That they were pushing us into mistakes.

  A projectile detonated ahead. The shockwave didn’t hurt… but I felt the magic around us thicken, warp. Like trying to swim through oil.

  Another misfire.

  Another delayed second.

  —Minimal cover —Caelia continued—. Lyss, don’t force the blade. Not now.

  I clenched the hilt, teeth grinding.

  She was right.

  If I unleashed Blood of the Crown like this, it could rebound. It could break something it shouldn’t.

  And then everything fractured.

  A volley passed far too close. Too precise. The withdrawal corridor started to narrow. Not enough to trap us… yet.

  —They’re cutting off the exit —Velka said, breathing hard—. Lyss—

  —Maintain formation! —Caelia ordered—. Neyra, with me—

  She didn’t finish.

  Neyra wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

  I spotted her several meters ahead, trembling, eyes locked on the chaos in front of us. She wasn’t copying a spell. She wasn’t mirroring anything recognizable.

  She was… listening.

  I felt the change before I saw it.

  The enemy interference flickered. It didn’t shut down. It turned… messy. Unstable. Like someone had grabbed its pattern and bent it the wrong way, by force.

  A low hum tore through the air. Projectiles began to veer—just slightly. Not enough to miss entirely, but enough to break their timing.

  —What the hell…? —Caelia whispered.

  Neyra screamed, clutching her head.

  —I don’t care! —she gasped—. I don’t care how it feels, it just— it just has to break!

  And it did.

  Not the weapon.

  The rhythm.

  —Now! —Caelia shouted—. Full withdrawal! Lyss, open a path—one cut only!

  One.

  No more.

  I surged forward, compressing everything into a single precise motion. Blood Crown answered—not as a flood, but as a verdict.

  The ground split just enough.

  We jumped. Rolled. Crashed behind natural cover as the sky filled again with disordered noise.

  I struggled to breathe.

  Neyra collapsed to her knees beside me, pale, shaking like she’d just clawed her way out of a nightmare.

  —It worked… —she murmured, more surprised than proud.

  I looked at her.

  It worked, yes.

  But not the way it was supposed to.

  And that…

  that was what terrified me the most.