His head throbs in time with the battle thundering around him. The horses’ hooves vibrate into his aching chest. There’s a slick coolness sticking to his skin reminding him he’s facedown in the mud. He forces his eyelids open and gazes at the maze of dancing legs in scattered groups around him. To his right is Tyrann’s bisected body. Bones, brains, and organs spill over the grass and pool around the melted rapier. His stomach wrenches; clenching his teeth, he swallows, preventing bile from bubbling in his throat.

The fighting around him hums to life. Horns and cheers roar across the field. New banners on pole guards depicting a smelting hammer ensign swim around him. Lollardum. The newcomers fight with exuberant vigor which rally the tired allies. Hope flutters, and the end is in sight, and its all because of her. He doubted Moira’s decision to send Nicole. But her instincts paid off. When this is over, he’ll allow himself to place a bit more faith into both.

Using his sword, he pulls his body upright. He’s only a few meters from the hilltop; she needs him and he’s wasted too much time. Dragging his throbbing leg, he hoists himself to the top only to discover her body beside a pile of torched remains. She's a shade of pale he has never seen before. With shaking hands, he ties the sash of her uniform around the bleeding wound.

Despite the men he killed today it’s her lifeless form that makes him tremble. The blood seeps through the impromptu bandage. Shit. He scoops her into his arms and struggles over the hill. The occupied soldiers ignore his calls for help. But a few yards away is a panicked horse. Its reins caught on a dead man’s boot. The animal swings and tugs desperate to get free.

“It’s okay fella," he strokes the horse's nose, "I’ll get you out of here.”

With one hand he untangles the leather straps and adjusts the horse’s bit. Once free he climbs into the saddle; holding her against his chest as he urges the horse through the fighting. Guilt clenches his chest; he failed again. Like he failed his family. He wasn’t strong enough to save them. And this time, he wasn’t there to protect her. Despite his training, despite his instincts, he convinces himself she isn't dying.

He didn’t pull her from the railing to allow her to die here. He saved her because a future without her flashed before his eyes. And now, like before, that future is too terrible to bear. Don’t leave me, he pleads. But his helplessness infuriates him. He pushes the horse harder until they reach the Mounted Lancers, the last line of defense, standing guard at the Ruby Gate.

“Is that?” the officer stutters.

“Yes, and if she dies because of your stupidity, I’ll see you court martialed!”

The Gate opens wide enough for the horse to pass and closes with a clap of thunder behind him. He races through the streets, ignoring citizen's questioning stares, to the palace. There’s only one soul in the kingdom who can help her. Of every thought spinning in his head; one screams louder than all the rest: Eclipse. Get her to Eclipse. He’s imbued with the knowledge of the Celestial Realm. He knows what to do, he’ll save her. He has too.

Racing from the alley Eclipse, carrying Sara on his back, joins him at the palace gate. He glances at her body and rushes to the stairs. Hope flickers in his chest; he’ll save her. At the steps, a guard grabs her allowing him to dismount. But as his feet touch the ground his heart yearns for her. He rips her from the guard’s grasp and holds her against his chest following Eclipse inside.

“Zack, what happened?” Sara’s anxious steps trails behind them. “Chris!” she spots the thief in the throne room, “Chris, she isn’t moving! Let go!” His friend scoops the sobbing girl in his arms while Eclipse leads him to the makeshift hospital located in the chapel.

“It is the next phase of Lex’s plan,” Eclipse begins. “If the medics at the front get overwhelmed with wounded, we are to set up a temporary hospital in the palace. The casualties are more than expected.”

The doctors push the pews, littered with discarded items, against the rear wall. The holy altar remains in place but houses medical instruments and towels. The statues that loomed over Moira’s prayers hold ropes with curtains for makeshift operating areas. He navigates the maze of beds and scurrying doctors who tend to the wounded. Two male nurses rip her from his arms and disappear behind a white curtain.

The clatter of instruments dropping in metal pans echo around him. Doctors and nurses move like a blur through the room while the injured cry out for comfort. Their gurgling cries remind him of the nights spent in the barracks during the Treason. The wails for the missing. The scream prayers for relief from the pain. The faithful begging for forgiveness, for answers, for sleep. The uncertainty and fear pulled at him. Leading his mind to drift into an endless ocean of countless, and terrible, possibilities. It only takes a moment for him to feel like that terrified child once again.

“What’s your name?” A pocked face doctor places a hand on his shoulder.

“She fought Kipling.”

“Yes Captain, then what?”

“I don’t know; he stabbed her. I think. There was a light and he was dead. She… I found her like...like this…”

“What’s your name, son?” My name? She’s dying over there. Slipping away forever, and he’s asking my name? The doctor continues; “what’s your rank and position?”

“Answer the question,” Eclipse urges; siting next to him.

“Zackary Dawson, Captain of the King’s Royal Knights.”

“Where were you born?”

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“Seriously? I was born here, in Alexanderia. Now, will you tell me what’s wrong with her?”

“Captain sit over here; let’s look at you.”

“You need to see her; she needs your help.”

“She has her doctors. Now it is your turn,” Eclipse nudges him towards the bed.

“I’m fine!”

“You are pale, injured, covered in blood, and your hands are shaking. You are not fine.”

“It’s not my blood; it’s hers.” As the doctors remove his armour, he sees the horror they do. Blood splatters the steel and among the dried droplets is the fresh smudges where he held her against him. He knows she's nearby fighting for her life. Which makes Eclipse's presence at his side more mysterious.

“I am powerless to help her,” he confesses; glancing at the curtains hiding her condition. “She is in Alona’s hands now.”

If Eclipse can’t save her, and the doctors fail… then what? The antiseptic stings as they clean his wounds. The doctor’s words slip from his brain the moment they pass his ears. Their scissors slice his pants, revealing where Tyrann’s sword hit its mark. But he glances at his sword which rests at Eclipse’s paws. How many did I kill?

Tyrann’s shadowy face amidst the sword’s light is his last memory of the assassin. Finally, he knows the secret to Diamond’s disappearance, but it doesn’t make anything better. Margaret hired a killer to dispose of him. A family friend, and inspiration, killed in the shadows. No funeral for the family, no ceremony for those who aspired to his greatness. It feels hollow.

Tyrann’s body is gone. His sword did that. His brain circles back to his question. And remembers facing Theo on the field. His sword, so desperate for blood, almost killed his friend. It didn’t recognise friend from enemy, it painted everyone red. His hands tremble as the pain in his limb worsens. The tools jab into his flesh pulling out debris and bone. None of it compares to the terror gripping him. I did that.

He can’t blame the sword when he is its master. After the Treason, he spent everyday making sure he did the right thing. Once he made a mistake, like turning in the wrong alley that fateful night, consequences bury him alive. Even now, he lost control. The consequences will set in soon enough. He glances at the curtains; I’ll know my fate soon enough.

“Captain,” the doctor holds a pair of crutches, “You should return to your quarters and rest.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m sorry Captain, but more wounded are arriving and we need this bed.”

“But her—”

“Her Majesty is in good hands. Please, get out of our way. We’ll update you on her condition.”

“On the occasion, her Majesty is incapacitated, I am acting Regent. I trust you understand her condition is an important matter of state.”

“Yes, of course, my Lord. We’ll do everything we can.”

“Thank you,” Eclipse bows his head before leading him into the hallway.

“Regent huh? Was that the plan all along?”

“Perhaps. But I am the only Lord from Moira’s court who remains which means I rule in the interim. If you oppose, I can send word for Beckham to return to the palace, as High Lord the role is his. Although, I will relinquish my power if Moira recovers. Beckham may not.”

“Will she survive this?”

“You are a soldier; what do your instincts tell you?”

But he can’t utter the words. Because of his position, Moira became the centre of his life, without her the centre crumbles. Servants and medical staff rush through the hallways caring supplies and soiled linens. Amidst the commotion, sitting near the throne away from everyone else, is his friends. Nicole sits on a stool beside the dais staring into the distance. Chris sits on the floor leaning against the step while Sara cuddles under his arm. Their gaze falls on Eclipse as he sits before them as if he alone addresses a royal court.

“Despite Zack’s tireless efforts, she is in critical condition. The doctors are currently trying to stabilize her.”

“What happened?” Chris’s question cuts the air.

“She found Kipling.” He can’t face Chris’s anger and his guilt all at once. “From my position she fought bravely.” He directs the next comment to Eclipse, “You’ll be proud. Kipling sent the final blow, a stab through the abdomen. Then this light covered the battlefield. When I came to my senses, I found her bleeding on the hill.”

“Did she destroy the monster?” Sara whispers,

“He won’t hurt us anymore,” he can’t forget the smell. “She ensured he is gone forever.”

“So how bad is it?”

“I explained.”

“No, you gave us the political nonsense answer. What’s her condition, will she die in there? Dammit Eclipse! We deserve to know!”

“The chances of Moira surviving are too small to count.”

“But you’re wrong! You said she’s a fighter! And she’s a Mage—a damn good one—that counts for something, right?”

“It is more likely a fatal flaw than our saving grace.”

“What does that even mean?” Chris presses his fingers against his closed eyes and tries to compose himself.

“That light I saw,” he adds, “it destroyed Kipling, there’s little left.”

“I imagine so. No one survives that attack twice.” He returns to his spot next to the empty throne.

“So, it’s the same magic her mother used twelve years ago?”

“Yes,” he rests his head on his arms, “there is no reason to doubt Moira’s abilities now.”

“What makes this light so powerful?”

“Because it is rare for the modern Mage to summon magic in its purest form. Ceraphim causes great physical strain. Mages realized manipulating elements is easier and less harmful to the body. Thus, they replaced superior magical abilities with convenient, if not inferior, skills.”

“So, the Gods use this magic because they don’t have a body to restrain them?”

“Magic is limitless. But the physical form is not. Overexertion combined with physical injury is the leading cause of death among Mages. Moira’s previous ability to summon it in small amounts reflects her mother’s abilities. However, unlike Emilia, she summoned it with such accuracy it left Kipling’s remains unidentifiable. If she survives this she will be recognized as one of the most powerful Mages of Umara.”

“If she survives.” Zack adds, sitting next to Eclipse.