Chapter 22: Ashes to the Moons

The stage groaned beneath Lyanna’s boots, its wooden planks as weary as the soldiers gathered before her. Above, the wind tore through the camp, its icy fingers raking the edges of tents and stirring the smoke from smoldering cookfires. Lyanna stood at the edge of the platform, clutching a parchment in one hand. Her unmangled knuckles shone white, her grip unyielding as the speech she had labored over trembled in her grasp—not from the breeze, but from the faint tremor of her fingers. Control yourself, she thought. There is no room for weakness, not here, not now.

Her other mangled hand, instinctively sought the hilt of Scarlet. As her three fingers wrapped around the familiar yet unfamiliar leather grip, she felt a surge of confidence flow through her. Lyanna could almost hear Scarlet reassuring her. She knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that Scarlet would see her through this night as well.

The camp sprawled out before her, a patchwork of tents and hastily reinforced barriers. Lanterns swayed, their light casting shifting shadows over the soldiers as they filed into ranks. Aides barked orders to bring order to the gathering, their voices hoarse but unyielding. The men and women in the crowd carried the weight of exhaustion, faces smudged with grime and despair, but their eyes burned with a shared resolve. They had survived too much to falter now.

And yet, not all were present. Lyanna’s gaze drifted toward the far end of the camp, where the woods stretched dark and endless beyond the palisade walls. Alric and his party had not yet returned. It was foolish to feel relief at their absence. Their work—clearing the woods of the nightmare creatures—was necessary and unrelenting. Yet a selfish part of her felt spared by the delay. If they weren’t here, she could put off stepping onto that stage just a moment longer.

She tightened her grip on the parchment in her hand. The speech she had spent the long hours of the night crafting felt alien to her now, its words hollow and insincere. She had rewritten it twice, the candle burning low beside her, trying to summon a voice that could inspire those who had fought and bled under her command. The soldiers deserved that much, at least.

She reread the words she had written. “We bleed for each other. We die for each other. And for those sacrifices, we endure.”

The sentiment felt hollow now. What right do I have to speak of sacrifice, after so much blood had been spilled under my command?

Her other hand dropped to her side, brushing against the smaller folded paper tucked into her belt. It felt heavier than the speech in her hand, though it was no more than a slip of brittle parchment. On it, she had written the names that haunted her—the names that had followed her from the ashen dunes of the Burnt Sea to this fractured camp. Pyrope. Karina. Eda.

And one name more: Lyanna.

The name was hers, but it wasn’t. The young girl who had stood at the edge of the Burnt Sea, craving glory and chasing triumph, had perished in the chaos of fire and steel. She had been consumed by the Skybreaker’s inferno, drowned beneath the black tide of orcish steel, swallowed whole by the monsters that tore at the edges of their kingdom. What remained was something quieter, harder—a blade dulled by use, but no less deadly.

Movement in the crowd broke her reverie. A cluster of soldiers shifted aside, making way for a battered group emerging from the woods. Alric’s party. Their armor was smeared with dark ichor, their faces streaked with grime and blood, but they stood tall, carrying themselves with a weary determination. Alric, his forehead wrapped in a bloodied strip of cloth, caught her gaze as he took his place at the back of the assembly. He nodded once, a gesture of solidarity.

Lyanna exhaled slowly. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Steeling herself, she handed her speech to a nearby aide. The young woman took it with respectful nod. Lyanna stepped onto the center of the stage, the planks creaking beneath her weight, and turned to face the soldiers. The camp fell silent, the restless murmurs giving way to a heavy stillness. Lantern light flickered over the assembly, throwing their weary faces into sharp relief.

Her voice cut through the silence, brittle at first but gaining strength with each word.

“Brothers. Sisters. Survivors.” Her voice, though brittle at first, carried through the stillness. She took a step forward, her boots steady on the groaning boards. “That is what you are. Survivors.”

The word lingered in the air, a spark catching tinder. Soldiers straightened their shoulders; some lifted their chins, others let out breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. Lyanna’s gaze swept over them, seeing the grief etched into their features, the weariness that clung to their frames.

“Three days ago, we stood at the edge of annihilation. The orcish hordes came upon us with their war cries and their machines, the sky itself split open by fire. The ground burned, the air choked with ash, and still, we fought. Not for glory, not for riches—but because we had no choice. Because to retreat was to surrender not just our lives, but our future.”

She paused, her voice faltering briefly under the weight of her words. “And we prevailed.”

A murmur rippled through the assembly—quiet, but charged. It wasn’t jubilation; it was something heavier. The acknowledgment of what they had endured and what they had survived.

“But survival has its price,” Lyanna continued, her tone softer. “We paid for every inch of ground in blood. For every blow we struck, we lost a comrade beside us. Their screams echo in our ears. Their faces haunt our dreams. And now, those of us who remain—those of us who carry their memories—we stand together.”

She reached for the folded parchment at her side, holding it up so the crowd could see. “On this, I have written the names of those I have lost. Pyrope. Karina. Eda.”

She hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “And one more. Lyanna.”

“I write my own name because I, too, have died. The Lyanna who stood here days ago, filled with fire and hubris, is gone. She died so that I might stand here before you now—not as a commander seeking glory, but as one of you. As a survivor.”

Lyanna drew a deep breath, steadying herself. “Tonight, we honor the dead. But we also honor the living. Look to the person beside you. That is who you fight for. That is who you bleed for. And when the time comes, that is who you will die for.”

“But we will not fall quietly. We will not surrender to the darkness that seeks to consume us. We are the shield against the tide. And for every life lost, we will make the enemy pay a hundredfold.”

She stepped back, her hand trembling as she held the parchment to her chest. The two remaining priests of Arthor stepped forward, their hands glowing with soft, golden light.

The priests moved with solemn reverence, their outstretched hands a gentle invitation to the ritual. One by one, the soldiers produced their parchments, each bearing the names of the fallen, etched in ink that seemed to shimmer in the fading light. As the priests touched the pages, a soft golden glow ignited them, casting a warm radiance across the faces of the mourners.

Lyanna watched, transfixed, as the soldiers raised their burning parchments to the sky. The flames danced upon the paper, but instead of consuming it, they lifted it, carrying it upward on wispy currents of air towards the four moons that hung low in the horizon.

She held her own paper out to the priest, his touch warm and comforting. The flame that sparked from his hand was gentle, almost reverent, as if the very gods themselves were igniting the fire. As her paper caught fire, she lifted it above her head, watching in awe as it floated away, carried on invisible currents towards the celestial bodies.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

The sky filled with fireflies of light, the names of the dead rising into the heavens where Arthor’s protection would guard them. The soldiers watched in silence, their faces illuminated by the golden glow, their eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and reverence. The air was heavy with the weight of their collective grief, yet there was a sense of peace, of release, that settled over the gathering.

Lyanna’s voice joined the murmured prayer that rose like a tide, a gentle swell of sound. “We release the names of the fallen to the night sky, that they may be inscribed upon the celestial scrolls, and their memory be forever enshrined in the hearts of the gods.”

As the last ember disappeared into the darkness, Lyanna closed her eyes, the ache in her heart still palpable, but tempered by the sense of peace that had settled over her. She took a deep breath, the cool night air filling her lungs, and let the stillness of the moment wash over her.

Lyanna lingered in the moment as the embers faded, her hands resting on the rough grain of the stage’s railing. The ritual’s glow still warmed her skin, but the chill of duty pressed against her back like a blade. She turned, climbing back to the center of the platform. Her boots rang hollow against the planks, the sound sharp against the weighted silence. The soldiers watched her, their breaths measured. They were waiting.

They deserved the truth, no matter how bitter.

She stepped back to the center of the stage, her boots firm against the creaking planks, and raised her arms to still the crowd.

“Listen to me,” she began, her voice low but steady. The camp seemed to lean closer, drawn by the intensity in her tone. “I know what you’re thinking. I know what you want. To go home. To see your families again, to sleep without fear of waking to the howl of some nightmare beast.”

Her words hung in the chill air, and she let the silence linger just long enough for the ache to take root. “But you’ve heard the rumors. You know the truth as well as I do: home is not waiting for us. The queen herself has decreed it. Our task is here. The forest must be cleared. The towns we abandoned must be liberated. And Kandria… Kandria is under siege.”

The name struck like a hammer, and the murmurs began to rise—low at first, then building in frustration and anger. She expected it. Welcomed it, even.

Lyanna raised a hand, her palm open as if to catch the tide of dissent. “I won’t lie to you. I won’t dress this up in fine words. There are no reserves coming to relieve us. No reinforcements to swell our ranks. Normally, Valior’s armies would have the strength to reinforce Kandria and send aid. But the trolls to the east and the elves in the south are building their armies, preparing for invasion. Every soldier we can spare is already committed to holding those lines. Our brethren, the dwarves, stand with us now, facing the trolls and the elves.”

The murmuring surged again, frustration palpable in the air. Lyanna pressed on, her voice rising above the discord. “The only reason we are not already overrun is because of our dwarven allies. Their legions fight alongside us, shoulder to shoulder, against this darkness. But they cannot fight for us. It is our duty to hold this ground. To reclaim our homes. To drive back the tide of beasts that threatens to consume everything we hold dear.”

The protests didn’t cease entirely, but they ebbed, giving way to a heavy, sullen silence. Lyanna let her gaze sweep over the soldiers. Their exhaustion, their anger—they were justified. She felt them keenly. But she could not let them give in to despair.

“Do you know the story of Roderic Valior?” she asked, her voice softening. “Of the man who bore our kingdom’s name, and his dragon, Valareth?”

That name—Valareth—had a power of its own. The soldiers stilled, their expressions shifting as they turned their attention to her.

“Roderic Valior was no king when he stood against the first beast tide. He was a knight with no more than his dragon and his will. For three days and three nights, he fought. Alone. Against the horrors that sought to drown our lands in blood and darkness. He fought because there was no one else. Because to falter, to flee, was to consign everyone he loved to death.”

She paused, letting the weight of the tale settle over them. “And he did not falter. He did not flee. He broke the tide, and in doing so, he gave birth to a kingdom that has stood for centuries. A kingdom that bears his name.”

Lyanna stepped forward, her gaze fierce, her voice sharp enough to cut through the frost-chilled air. “We are his legacy. You are his legacy. And I will not let his name be tarnished. I will not let his sacrifice be in vain. We will stand as he stood, against the tide, and we will break it.”

She pointed to the forest, its dark canopy stretching like a shroud over the horizon. “The monsters that lurk in those woods? They are not invincible. They bleed as we bleed. They fall as we fall. But we will make them pay for every life they’ve taken. A hundredfold. A thousandfold.”

Her voice dropped, almost a whisper, yet it carried across the assembly like a solemn vow. “You are soldiers of Valior. You are the shield against the tide. And when this war is over, when we’ve carved a path to Kandria and torn the monsters from their nests, you will go home. Not as victims. But as victors.”

The camp fell silent. Not the silence of despair, but something colder, harder. A silence of purpose. Of steel sharpening against steel. Lyanna felt it resonate in her chest, a pulse of shared determination that rippled through the assembly.

She stepped back, her heart pounding, and let the stillness linger. One by one, the soldiers began to raise their fists, their voices rising in a grim, united roar. It wasn’t the cry of triumph she had hoped for, but it was enough. Enough to carry them forward.

As the noise faded, Lyanna turned her gaze toward the woods, her jaw tight. In her mind’s eye, she saw the names again—on the casualty lists, on blood-soaked ground, on the lips of the dying. They would be added to, she knew. But she would ensure that the list ended with Kandria.

Lyanna lingered on the stage for a moment longer, her gaze fixed on the distant, shadow-choked woods. The roaring cheer of her soldiers had dwindled to murmurs, then silence. Only the crackle of dying fires and the restless rustle of the wind remained. She allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, her fingers brushing against the hilt of her swords. Drawing strength from Scarlet and Ember. The weight of her speech was still heavy in her chest, but so was the resolve she had drawn from the soldiers' response.

As long as they stand, so will I.

She stepped down from the platform, her boots sinking slightly into the mud churned by hundreds of restless feet. Her aide, the young woman who had taken her discarded speech earlier, approached hesitantly.

“My lady,” she began, her voice tight with apprehension. “The men… they’ll march, but there’s unrest brewing. Some have started to question—”

“Let them question,” Lyanna interrupted, her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s better than silence. Let them doubt, let them grumble, but they will march.”

The aide nodded, though her face betrayed her uncertainty. Lyanna sighed, softening her tone. “Fear is a weapon, and it cuts both ways. The beasts out there—they thrive on it. But so do we, in our own way. The soldiers fear what waits in those woods, and they fear losing what little they have left. That fear will drive them forward, so long as we don’t let it rule them.”

The aide swallowed hard but nodded again, her resolve strengthening. “I’ll spread the word, my lady.”

“Good.” Lyanna’s voice was firm, her nod curt. “Tell the captains to double the watch. I want no fires near the treeline, and every scout back before dawn.”

The aide hurried off, leaving Lyanna to her thoughts. She glanced once more at the forest, its dark silhouette against the horizon an oppressive reminder of what lay ahead.

“Lyanna.” The voice was gravelly but familiar. Alric stepped out of the shadows, his battered armor glinting faintly in the lantern light. The bloodied cloth around his forehead had darkened, but his posture was as straight as ever. “A fine speech.”

She arched an eyebrow, letting the faintest hint of a wry smile touch her lips.

“You didn’t hold back,” he continued. “They needed that.”

She gave a short nod, her gaze still fixed on the distant forest. “They needed more than I gave. But it’s all I had.”

Alric followed her gaze, his jaw tightening. “The woods are worse than we thought. The deeper we go, the denser the infestation. These aren’t just random attacks; something’s driving them, forcing them out to inhabit the area’s we clear. Breeding multiplying.”

She turned to him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Alric hesitated, running a hand over the slight stubble that had grown. “Tracks. Big ones. Bigger than anything we’ve seen before. The scouts think it might be a Devourer.”

Lyanna felt her stomach turn. A Devourer. The name alone was enough to curdle blood. Massive, unrelenting, and almost impossible to kill, the creatures were walking calamities, leaving destruction in their wake. The Devourers are creatures of the void, entering their world from the holes the Fallen One tore in reality to help her create the monsters as a way to challenge the stagnating world. If one was in the forest, it would explain the behavior of the smaller beasts—that could also mean that trolls might not have been behind the Beast Tide arriving early.

“How certain are they?” she asked, her voice low.

“Certain enough that they didn’t want to get any closer,” Alric replied grimly. “And I don’t blame them.”

Lyanna clenched her teeth, her mind racing. A Devourer would require every ounce of their strength and coordination to bring down. Even then, their chances were slim without heavier artillery—or the aid of a dragon. And there were no dragons left to call upon. Not anymore.

“Does the camp know?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Alric said. “But rumors will spread.”

She nodded, her thoughts turning inward. The soldiers were already teetering on the edge of despair. News of a Devourer could push them over. But keeping it from them until the last moment would breed resentment—and fear. Fear of the wrong kind.

“We’ll tell them tomorrow,” she decided. “After the first patrols return with their reports. If we’re to fight this thing, they need to be prepared.”