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NORA
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Nora Lancaster’s heart was torn.
As she returned home from the front lines, the sect leader of the Destiny’s Fateweavers only wanted one thing—rest. She desperately wanted to reunite with her best friend, Evelyn, but knew that blood usually scared the young woman.
At this point, Nora must’ve looked like some ancient war-goddess descended into mortal form—fierce, untouchable, and bloodstained.
The wind tousled her raven-black hair, catching the first traces of sunlight and turning each strand into a dark sheen that framed her face like silk against porcelain. Her pale skin was dusted with just enough freckles to soften the edge of her hardened expression, though the sharpness in her brown eyes made it clear she was not to be underestimated.
Accompanied by a platoon of mounted warriors, she trotted up to the Greystone Keep she’d known as home these past ten years. They flanked either side of her, the blackened eye she sported only accentuating her lethal beauty, the contrast giving her a dangerous allure.
Even bruised and battle-worn, there was a grace to the way she moved. Her cloak fluttered behind her, and the faintest scent of wild lavender and steel followed in her wake.
The lithe paladin tucked a loose strand of her midnight hair behind her ear, its soft texture brushing against her lightly freckled cheeks, still glowing faintly from the rush of the wind. She sighed in relief at the sight of the massive fortress looming ahead of them, her full lips curving into a smile as she caught the first glimpse of home.
She was finally back.
With an excited breath, she spurred her mount forward through the yawning arch and the twin iron gates that usually barred the way into their fortress. Her massive claymore clinked softly against the metal straps of her saddle.
The sound was a gentle reminder of the power she wielded, yet it did little to hide the subtle sway of her hips or the fluid motion of her lean, battle-hardened frame. Every movement told a story of both beauty and might, a warrior returning from the edge of battle, yet with a heart eager to embrace the peace that awaited within those walls.
Her best friend was waiting somewhere in there.
“Gods, it’s good to be back.” Nora sighed, guiding her mare toward the stables. When they reached the awaiting horsemaster and his staff, the sect leader and her platoon of warriors dismounted in perfect unison. Nora smiled softly in pride at their discipline. She’d only been their commander for a few months, but already she had garnered most of the order’s respect.
Nora handed off the reins of her Westmire mare to an awaiting servant, his brown tunic already doused with sweat from the morning’s chores.
“Thank you, Gerry,” Nora spoke with equal measures of authority and civility. She didn’t care that addressing a servant by name caught the looks of the other Fateweavers. She smiled softly at the young man. “Take good care of Lyla here for me.”
He blanched. “Isn’t that—”
“Yes,” Nora cut in easily with a wicked grin.
The poor boy’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the rudely named mare, for he knew as well as she did who also possessed that particular name. Knowing her rotten luck, she would have to encounter her steed’s namesake in just a few minutes.
“Commander!” A bright-eyed squire shouted with a crisp salute ahead of Nora. When she met his eyes, he blushed fervently. “Destiny calls for your council!”
“Is there any chance it can wait?” Nora grumbled. She could practically smell Evie’s chestnut hair and the bone-crushing hug her siren would give her. Nothing—no treasure in all the land—could come close to how precious that embrace was.
The squire gulped nervously, barely able to meet her quiet gaze. “I—I’m afraid it cannot, commander. He was most… adamant you come at once, no matter the state of your arrival.”
“I wonder if he’d change his mind if I came back in a coffin, or if that’d delay this meeting at all,” Nora whispered in annoyance.
She let go of that breath of home she’d been holding and set her shoulders. The sigil of the Fateweavers emblazoned on her twin pauldrons glistened below the cloudless sky as she made her way into the central throne room of her god. With each step, she shed her joy—her hopes and dreams.
None of them would aid her in what was to come.
Boots crunched against stone as she and her platoon of warriors marched up to the massive cathedral that housed their deity. Her carved thighs and taut back begged to find a place to rest, but she ignored her body’s traitorous complaints. Inside, there could be no signs of weakness. Of mortality.
Her warm brown eyes glanced up at the building that cast such a long shadow over the valley below. Its sharp parapets and steepled towers loomed over them as they reached the oaken doors framed in iron.
Unlike the few other abodes of gods and goddesses she’d visited, Destiny’s home bore no special ornamentation. It was like the very building knew that mystery lay just beyond this entrance.
Nora paused on the final step up the cathedral. Her lips pursed as she tucked her long braid behind her shoulder. She grimaced, feeling the tender burn of her cheek as the black eye she’d received as a parting gift from the slaver flared up yet again.
“Damn it all to high hells, if Klaus remarks on the condition of my face, I will gut him like a fish.” Nora’s promise fell on deaf ears as her platoon waited silently for her to enter.
She went inside. They did not.
The creak of leather gloves stretching and clenching was met with the steady rhythm of steel boots as Nora forced her battle-hardened body to relax. The twin sounds echoed against the ancient stone floor, each footfall resonating like a solemn drumbeat in the cathedral of fate. The air that swept in from the open windows was cool and smelled faintly of the sea.
She moved her gauntleted hand onto the blue-crystal pommel of her greatsword unconsciously, enjoying the comfort it brought. Her blade, Wavebreaker, had been passed down from sect leader to sect leader for generations, but it was finally starting to feel like her own, and not some revered artifact in her care.
“Oh, damn,” Nora glanced down and winced again at the dried blood dyeing her fingertips a mauve crimson.
Frustratingly clean advisors and other political savants whispered quietly at the sight of her, their wandering eyes taking in every morsel of her stained steel and curves her armor struggled to conceal.
She hated all of them.
Above, the vast ceiling was lost to shadows, held aloft by pillars that shimmered with ethereal light, casting the room in a celestial glow that seemed both inviting and foreboding. Nora wished she could disappear up there. Up in those rafters where she once hid so often, she could be alone. She could be herself.
As Nora walked, her eyes processed who was present today amongst the assembly of Destiny’s advisors. They were a collection of figures draped in robes of various dusky hues, their faces obscured, their postures too still, too calculated.
When do they itch? Nora wondered to herself. Surely, the statuesque councilors had to adjust their postures once in a while. But, for all the worlds, she had never seen any of them move save for when Destiny himself addressed them.
Her grip on Wavebreaker tightened. Where most saw a group of dignified intellects, Nora only saw a nest of vipers, each waiting for the opportune moment to strike, their venom cloaked in honeyed words.
The atrophied crow of a man she feared would be here today lifted his nose at Nora. His eyes glowed with malice, and his dark purple skin seemed to absorb the light around him like a snare.
Klaus.
He was one of the greatest contributors to Nora’s frustrations. In her darkest hours, she fantasized about adorning a pike with his head and knew she would be ridding this world of a great evil. But like all snakes, he made his home beyond the reach of hunters. But someday…
“Looking as… rugged as ever, I see,” Klaus drawled as Nora passed. “Did you manage to apprehend those fate-breakers our illustrious ruler warned you about?”
“The slavers are dead, if that’s what you mean,” Nora shot back, refusing to rise to his bait.
“Try not to stain the ground when you kneel, Lancaster.” Klaus adjusted his thin spectacles, though Nora believed it was just another way for him to raise his nose at her. “I’d hate to see the servants forced to enter these hallowed halls because of the grime you dragged in here.”
“Oh, that’s it—” Nora started, but a presence descended on the room, silencing what few noises echoed throughout the expansive hall.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
At the far end of the room stood the bone-white throne, empty as usual, its intricate carvings telling tales of eons past and destinies fulfilled. Before it, the air shimmered with the promise of an imminent appearance from the god himself.
It was here, mere seconds before their mysterious god and patron arrived, that she noticed Lyla.
A curse pressed itself against her knitted lips. If not for the imminent arrival of Destiny himself, in whatever of his three forms he might take today, she would scowl at the golden paladin.
Lyla, it seemed, had no such reservations. She glowered over at Nora, hatred and envy written plainly across her immaculate skin. Her gaudy armor caught the light that poured in from the vaulted windows and reflected it back defiantly, as if she herself could outshine the stars.
Their eyes met across the expanse of the room, and the air thickened with unspoken animosity. Nora’s eyes narrowed into slits and she tightened the grip on her greatsword’s hilt, the only outward sign of her disdain. She would not lose her cool.
Not today.
As Nora drew closer to the empty throne, Lyla’s voice, smooth as silk yet edged with a frosty disdain, broke the silence between them.
“Nora, how fortunate that you could join us, and with just moments to spare.” Lyla flung her loose blonde hair over her shoulder with the back of her hand.
The gesture, as much as the untangled locks, was a weapon designed to irk her.
“Though I must say, the battlefield wear does little to enhance the solemnity of our gathering. I see your haste prevented cleaning up from your… brawl in the mud,” Lyla commented while she watched the shimmering air.
Nora resisted the urge to wrap her armored fingers around the vile woman’s throat. She told herself over and over again that murder in Destiny’s throne room would be the easiest way to discredit her leadership as sect leader.
“It is fascinating to note that your paladin gear has yet to see any combat,” Nora whispered just loud enough for Lyla to hear.
The woman went still.
“I wonder if that sword by your hip is even real, as I can scarcely recall it getting drawn. Maybe we should see if our god could relocate you to somewhere less vital than guarding his throne room. We wouldn’t want him slain simply because you didn’t want to tarnish that ugly can you call a suit of armor.” Nora knew her words landed home, for she could see Lyla vibrate with rage.
Turning away with a dismissive flick of her wrist, Lyla stepped toward the shimmering space before the throne, her posture regaining its usual poise as she prepared herself for the god’s emergence. Nora watched her for a moment, her narrow jaw set firm, then turned her attention back to the front, the exchange leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Pushing past the discomfort, Nora continued forward, her gaze fixed on the shifting space before Destiny’s throne. The others in the room were mere shadows now, peripheral to her purpose here. She felt the weight of her responsibilities settle around her like a cloak, heavier in this sacred space where every word and gesture could tip the scales of fate.
She was a sect leader. She would prove herself worthy of that role.
As Nora Lancaster approached the throne, the air before it rippled intensely, heralding the arrival of their god.
Destiny chose this moment to manifest, not as the stoic Past or the vibrant Present, but as Future—his form emerging like a ghost from the mist, draped in robes that shifted between shades of deep ocean blue and the stark white of sea foam. His presence was both awe-inspiring and unsettling, as if he bore the weight of all tomorrows upon his ethereal shoulders.
Nora bowed deeply, her armor creaking softly, the respectful silence punctuated only by the whisper of her sword against its scabbard. As she straightened, her eyes lifted to meet those of Future, and she caught a glimpse of something rare and disquieting behind his veiled gaze—a flicker of what might have been fear, or perhaps a premonition dark enough to trouble even a god.
It was in this moment, under the weighty scrutiny of Future, that the grandeur of the throne room felt suddenly like a stage for a play whose script was written in the stars, yet liable to be rewritten with each breath they took.
Future paced in front of his throne.
His wire-thin arms were pulled behind his back, the usual hunch in his spine a soft curve that led up to his obscured face. Future paused suddenly, and the shimmering air above the bone-white throne settled into calmness. His gaze swept over Nora and Lyla, who stood tensely awaiting his decree. His voice, when he spoke, was like the distant rumbling of thunder, layered with the complexity of a thousand whispers.
“In the garden where destiny’s flowers bloom, one blossom has caught the eye of the sun. Its petals shall now brighten a different path, swayed by golden promises and the caress of wealth,” Future intoned, his words cloaked in the usual enigmatic veil.
Nora’s heart skipped.
She sensed the weight of his words, her thoughts racing to Evelyn—Evie—her charge, her friend. The reference to a garden and the sun could only mean a shift in guardianship to another deity's realm. Her grip on her sword tightened as she tried to maintain her composure. She reflexively moved her other hand toward the tome strapped to her right hip but resisted the disgraceful behavior.
Lyla, ever eager to flaunt her understanding, was quick to interpret. “You speak of Evelyn, the siren. She is to be moved to Prosperity’s court?” Her voice was smooth, laced with a hint of triumph as she glanced sideways at Nora.
Future’s nod was slow, deliberate. “Where riches abound, the siren’s song will weave through halls of opulence, serenading the feast of eternal abundance.”
Nora felt a chill run down her spine. Prosperity’s court was notorious, its splendor matched only by its peril, especially for sirens. His ‘feasts of abundance’ often turned fatal for the divinely gifted singers whose lives were supposed to be protected above all.
Struggling to keep her voice even, Nora addressed Future, her tone laced with a barely contained desperation. “But, my lord, the waters of Prosperity’s realm are turbulent and often run red. Is this the fate destined for our Evelyn?”
Future turned his veiled face towards her, the cowl pulled so low only shadows returned her gaze.
“The wheel of fortune spins, and where it stops, the threads of fate bind us all. Even sirens must dance to the music of inevitability,” Future spoke coldly.
Nora’s chest cracked. This was not happening. It was too soon. Evie was not ready for this. Surely, her god knew this. There had to be a reason.
There had to be.
Lyla took advantage of Nora’s hesitation. “It appears, sect leader, that you doubt the weave and weft of our lord’s vision. Such hesitance could fray the very fabric we strive to uphold.”
Nora bristled. “My faith in Destiny’s wisdom remains unwavering. It is the execution of his will by those less divine that concerns me.”
Their god appeared before them. There was no warning, no flitter of cloth against marbled stone.
He wasn’t, then he simply was.
Future, his glowing white eyes barely visible through his veil, spoke with a finality that brooked no further debate. “The golden paladin shall escort the siren to her new sanctuary. The threads of destiny shall not be questioned.”
“It will be as you command, my lord.” Lyla smiled thinly, her satisfaction clear as she bowed deeply to Future.
As Nora bowed in turn, her mind raced with dread and anger. She couldn’t organize her thoughts. A chill spread from her chest into her veins. The decision was made. Evie would be beyond her reach come tomorrow.
She would not let this be her fate.
She couldn’t.
With Future's decree still resonating in the cold, ethereal, air of the throneroom, the god turned away from Nora and Lyla. His silhouette blurred at the edges as if it wished to merge with the very fabric of fate itself. He addressed Klaus and those who stood by him at the ready, already having moved on from Nora’s discomfort.
“Let the shadows of Elysia not cloud our vision; bring forth the voices of counsel,” he commanded, his tone echoing through the vast chamber.
From the shadows, figures clad in robes that seemed woven from twilight itself approached, their steps silent but weighted with purpose. Klaus’ lip curled at the sight of Nora. He made a small shooing motion, and Nora had to fight the temptation to draw her blade on him then and there.
Breathing raggedly, she spun on her heel and walked down the long dais and toward the exit. Future’s haunted words bounced off the spacious walls as she left.
“As destruction and creation weave through the alleys of Elysia, deception dances close behind. Beware, for Life spins tales not fully woven from truth,” Future intoned, his words cryptic as they dissolved into whispers, the advisors nodding their veiled heads in silent assent.
Nora’s armor clinked softly with every step, her thoughts turbulent as storm-tossed seas. Lyla, ever composed, moved to follow, her golden armor catching the shifting lights of the chamber. Once beyond the echoing expanse of the throneroom, the corridor outside offered no relief, its walls lined with tapestries that seemed to whisper of fates and fortunes with every flutter.
Lyla’s voice broke the uneasy silence between them. “So, Nora, will you challenge his decree? It seems unlike you to accept such…dire assignments without a fight.”
Nora resisted the urge to groan. She was so tired. She didn’t need more games. But as there was no way out of this section of the palace except for the route they were both on, she steeled herself. Nora looked over at Lyla, eyes narrowed slightly, already aware of the trap laid within Lyla’s honeyed words.
“My duty is to serve, not to question the threads of destiny as they are woven by our lord,” she responded. Her voice was even, though her insides churned like the fire within a dragon’s gizzard.
“Even if it leads your dear friend to peril?” Lyla’s tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp, searching. “It must be exhausting, bearing such burdens—fighting bandits and would-be murderers and other, darker, fates.”
“It is what we are sworn to do,” Nora replied tersely, feeling the weight of her recent skirmishes against those fated for darker deeds. The memories of violence were fresh. She knew the outcomes were necessary, but that didn’t stop them from becoming anvils chained to her soul.
Lyla laughed softly, and the tinkling sound made Nora want to punch a gauntlet through her throat. “How noble, to enact Destiny’s will upon the condemned. Yet, one must wonder if the path of righteousness ever wearies you, leads you to doubt…”
Nora stopped, turning to face Lyla with a hard gaze filled with barely controlled rage.
Lyla instinctively stepped back, and Nora pressed her advantage. “Doubt is a luxury we cannot afford. My faith in our mission remains steadfast, even if the road is fraught with shadows.”
“But shadows are where truth often hides,” Lyla pressed, her gaze intent.
She recovered her footing as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t feared that look in Nora’s eyes just now.
“Remember, Nora, even paladins can falter under the weight of their convictions. It would be tragic to see you fall,” Lyla said with ice in her eyes.
With an equally cold smile, Nora stepped away. “Tragic, but unlikely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a hot shower and time to think—on how to serve, not to falter.”
As she walked away, her thoughts turned not to rest, but to plans, desperate and dangerous.
How could she save Evie? She crossed the long courtyard filled with pomegranate trees and other sweet scents that partially obscured the sweaty death that lingered on her skin.
Nora nodded solemnly at the guards who watched over the lightly crowded gardens, sirens and their guardians wandering about the immaculate flora. With a sigh of relief, she reached the tower that held her rooms.
A wild, irrational thought struck her, and she grimaced. As she ascended the marble staircase that led to her chambers as sect leader, a death-defying plan formed.
It was a line she hadn't crossed before, but for Evie, there were no lines—and no lives she wouldn’t take to keep her best friend safe.