The group trouped down the streets towards the Central Citadel with caution. The two younger children had collapsed with exhaustion and were carried in the arms of Rangers. Ethan marched on aching feet, clutching the iron lid and club, ready to fight the soporific song should more ferrifae emerge. Yet they saw none, and reached the Central Citadel without incident.

The rest of night passed in a blur. Ethan was sequestered to a side room within the Citadel as his father took command. Desperate as he was to return to his own rooms in the Palace, to find his mother and brothers, Ethan’s exhaustion was too great and he fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

He stirred as a pair of strong arms lifted him from the leather lounge he had curled up on, snuggled into his fleece jacket. “Come on now, lad, time to get you back up to the Palace.”

He was dimly aware of being carried outside, of being cradled as a wagon began to move. Someone tried to ease his grandfather’s club from his grasp, but Ethan mumbled a protest, kicking out with tired feet and clutching the weapon all the tighter. He heard a quiet laugh and the would-be thief desisted.

The gentle rocking of wooden wheels over cobbles lulled him back to sleep until they reached the Palace gates.

Sitting up as they moved along the quartz-pebbled drive, Ethan drew in a horrified breath. The front facade of the Palace had been utterly destroyed, stone burnt and crumbling, turrets cracked or wholly blasted away. The elaborate gardens had been burnt to cinders. Dozens of the Palace staff were working to extinguish smaller fires still burning. Buckets of water were tipped over silver flames, which belched steam and serpentine hisses as they died.

The Watch Tower remained strong, rising like a monument to grief and fear from the cliff which buttressed the Palace. The bells were finally silent.

“Mother? Michael, Dante! Where—?” Ethan launched himself from the wagon’s cart, ignoring the group of Rangers he hadn’t realised were travelling with him as he raced towards the gaping maw of his broken home.

“Wait! Prince Ethan, stop,” a Ranger called. Though desperate to find his family, Ethan had learned the hard lesson about charging off on his own. He slowed to a walk as the Ranger caught up and steered him towards a side path leading to the workers’ entrances.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“The front halls aren’t safe, too unstable,” the Ranger explained as he kept a tight grip on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan looked up at Bird Mask. In the light of day, Ethan could just make out green eyes shadowed beneath the carved bone. His gaze was fraught with sorrow, but his stride was steady. Ethan remembered he had loved Failen.

“What’s your name?” Ethan finally thought to ask. Bird Mask glanced sideways and huffed a laugh.

“Felix,” he replied. “Through here.”

They stepped below a cracked archway and wended through the warren of stone tunnels which lay beneath the Palace.

With each step, Ethan’s chest grew tighter, his thoughts darker, as they rose up a final staircase. Felix ushered him into a room, one of the old chambers carved deep into the stone of the cliffside.

“Mother!” Ethan sobbed, stumbling forward as he at last lay eyes on his family.

“Ethan?!” Seraphina screamed and sprang towards him, lithe as a feral cat. She cradled him to her chest and sobbed into his neck. “We thought you gone,” she choked out. Ethan clung to her until she drew back and looked him over, tears staining her face.

“Are you hurt? Your hair... Are you injured? What happened?”

Ethan sniffed, smiling through his own tears. “It’s a long story. Is everyone okay?”

Seraphina nodded, alternating between clutching him to her and gazing at his face as if unsure he was real.

“Your brothers are all safe, they’re all here.”

Ethan sagged in relief, and Seraphina let him go as Michael tottered over, hair rumpled from sleep.

“Ethan!” he wailed, wrapping his arms tight about Ethan’s middle until it hurt. Ethan didn’t mind, holding his brother just as tightly. “We thought you were dead,” he sobbed.

Dante approached from the side, wrapping them both in a clumsy embrace. Esra followed a few steps behind. Ethan peered over Michael’s shoulders as the four boys clung to each other, assuring himself that his littlest brother was indeed safely asleep in a bassinet.

Behind him, Ethan was dimly aware of his mother whispering with Felix, enquiring after Edrick and offering condolences. Felix began recounting the nights events, his words clipped and voice toneless.

The dragons had emerged from the caverns below the Great Fall. Ethan’s uncles had fallen there in fierce battle, though not before two of the dragons had been pulled below the river. More dragons had emerged though all were now felled. Ferrifae had risen through the crypts of the Central Citadel. Most of the sheltered had survived. The fires were still wide spread, raging throughout the Village. A count was being made of buildings burned and lives lost...

Ethan stacked each fact, hard and weighted, like rocks atop the cairn growing in his mind. He had reached his limit for grief, and tuned out the words as Felix continued his whispered reports of destruction and death.

The dragons were gone and the fae lights with them. His brothers were safe. His mother was here. His father would protect them. There was surely much work to be done. But for now, Ethan was content to hold his brothers, and pray the ghosts were truly gone.