CHAPTER 33: EMBERS IN THE ASH

Lyanna exhaled, slow and shaky, her forehead pressing against the rough cloth of the healer’s tent. The scent of blood, sweat, and herbal poultices clung to the air, turning her stomach. The muted groans of the wounded seeped through the canvas like whispers of the dead.

The fabric beneath her fingers was damp—whether from blood, sweat, or the morning’s bitter mist, she couldn’t tell. Her breath came in shudders, her ribs aching with the effort to hold it all in.

The weight of it was unbearable.

Her shoulders trembled as she clenched her twin swords, Scarlet and Ember, against her chest. They felt heavier than ever, their edges dull under her trembling grip. They had been instruments of war, symbols of command. Now they were nothing more than the cold metal that had failed every soul who had trusted her.

A hundred. That was all that remained.

One hundred soldiers where there had once been almost ten thousand.

Lyanna squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing to stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks. She had promised them victory. She had stood before them, bold and unwavering, spouting words of courage she no longer believed in. And now, their bodies rotted in the mud, their screams still echoing in her ears.

Her fingers dug into the hilt of Scarlet, her nails scraping against the worn leather. She wanted to throw the damn thing away, to cast it into the dirt and never pick it up again. What good had it done? What good had she done?

The answer was plain in the silence around her.

She was nothing. A failure. A pretender playing at war, her illusions of grandeur shattered in the cold, unfeeling light of reality.

A sob finally tore from her throat, raw and unrestrained. She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle it, but it was too late. The grief, the guilt—it surged through her like a tide, dragging her under.

Her reflection glinted in the polished steel of her blades, and she hated what she saw. Hollow eyes, a face too young to carry the weight of so many dead. Seventeen—no, eighteen. Her birthday had passed unnoticed in this nightmare of battle and loss.

Karina and Pyrope should have been here, laughing at the idea of her “baby sister” being in command. Karina should have been the one leading them.

But Karina and Pyrope was dead.

And Lyanna? Lyanna was still here, standing in the ruins of everything she had tried to protect, choking on the weight of the dead.

Her nails bit into her palm as she tried to steady herself. She had to stop. She had to stop. There was no time for this. There was never time.

The healer’s tent was quiet, save for the ragged, uneven breathing of Alric on the cot behind her. Her only friend, the one person who had never doubted her, now lay broken because of her.

Her fault.

All of it, her fault.

The tent flap stirred behind her. Footsteps—hesitant but deliberate—crunched in the dirt. Her grip tightened around the hilts of Scarlet and Ember. The swords felt heavier than before, the weight of the fallen dragging them down.

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She had turned eighteen two days ago. No feast. No gifts. Just more bodies, more losses. Karina should have been here, laughing at the idea of her “baby sister” being in command. But Karina wasn’t here. Karina was dead. Torn apart by the enemy’s steel while Lyanna screamed her name.

She forced the memory away, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape. She had no right to break. Not when Alric was barely breathing inside the tent behind her.

The crunch of boots on gravel made her stiffen. She wiped her eyes, quickly, angrily.

Kael.

She turned to face him, her expression a mask of cold resentment. He was flanked by Titanius, the ever-silent sentinel, and beneath one arm, Kael carried, a dragon egg.

The goddamned dragon egg.

Lyanna scrubbed at her damp cheeks, forcing her face into a mask of steel. “What do you want, Kael?” she asked, her voice sharp, her words like the edge of a blade.

He hesitated. “I—”

“Save it.” She turned to face him, her eyes dark with fury and grief. “If you’re here to make excuses, I don’t want to hear them.”

Kael’s mouth tightened. “I know you’re angry—”

“Angry?” A bitter laugh escaped her lips, sharp and hollow. “Alric is dying in that tent because you weren’t where you were supposed to be.”

Kael flinched, but Lyanna didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. The rage inside her had festered too long, and now it burned hotter than the fires that had consumed their battlefield.

“I wanted to—”

“To what?” she snapped.

Kael flinched, and for a moment, she felt something close to satisfaction. But it soured quickly, twisting into something uglier.

“I didn’t mean to—” he started.

“No, you didn’t mean to,” she interrupted, voice shaking. “But you did. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. You left your position, and now so many are dead, and Alric might be next. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Kael looked away, his jaw tightening. “I lost her to that mage,” he muttered. “You didn’t see it, Lyanna. You didn’t see what he did to her.” His hands trembled slightly. “I—I lost her. I couldn’t—”

Lyanna sucked in a sharp breath. She wanted to scream at him, to shove him, to make him hurt the way she hurt. She wanted to tell him that they had all lost someone. That his grief did not excuse his failure. But the words caught in her throat, choking her like a noose.

Because she knew. She understood.

She had lost Karina. She had lost too many. And Kael had lost Kate.

They were all breaking, one by one, and there was no one left to hold them together.

She looked at the dragon egg in Kale’s arms. A fragile, pulsing promise of a future none of them might live to see.

“What do we do now?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

For a moment, Kael said nothing. Then, with quiet resolve, he answered:

“We survive.”

Lyanna closed her eyes, gripping Scarlet and Ember so tightly that the hilts bit into her palms.

Survive.

It was such a simple word. And yet, in this world of blood and ash, it was the hardest thing of all.

Kael cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “We should take this outside,” he said, glancing at the wounded and unconscious figures around them. His voice was low but firm, as if speaking too loudly might shatter what little strength Lyanna had left.

Lyanna hesitated before nodding. The last thing she wanted was to keep standing here, drowning in the weight of her grief while the air stank of blood and failure.

She followed Kael out of the tent, stepping into the dim morning light. The air was thick with the remnants of smoke from the battle, a bitter reminder of everything they had lost. Titanius, ever silent, stood nearby, his gaze scanning the horizon like a statue carved from iron and patience.

Lyanna exhaled sharply and crossed her arms. “Have you figured out Titanius’s affinity yet?” she asked, jerking her chin toward the towering sentinel.

Kael scratched the small dragon hatchling coiled on his shoulder. The little creature arched into his touch, its metallic scales catching the light. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “Best guess is that it helps me with my runes somehow.”

Lyanna hummed in thought. “I had some training on that,” she said, glancing at Titanius again. “I can help try and figure it out.”

Kael nodded. “Actually…” He reached into the crook of his arm and lifted the dragon egg. I “That’s part of why I came to you.”

Lyanna frowned. “What do you mean?”

Kael held the egg out to her. “You’re the last one in the camp who hasn’t tried to bond with it.”

Lyanna stiffened, shaking her head. “Kael, I— I’m not ready for another responsibility.” Her voice wavered, betraying the exhaustion she tried so hard to bury.

Kael didn’t argue. He didn’t explain. He simply shoved the egg into her arms.

Lyanna instinctively caught it, her twin swords still awkwardly gripped in her hands. The weight of it settled against her chest—warm, steady, alive.