Isilyn

The forest was a black void, an all-encompassing shadow that swallowed me whole. The silence was so profound it made my skin crawl, like the trees themselves were watching—silent, ancient witnesses to my rebellion. Their twisted limbs reached for me as though they wanted to pull me into their folds, to drag me deeper into a place where no one could find me. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t want to be found.

Fuck the Citadel. Fuck my father’s plans. Fuck everything that was ever expected of me.

I’d been the princess. The golden child. The perfect heir. A pawn in my father’s war to secure his reign, to expand his power. I had worn that crown of duty like a mask—a cold, suffocating thing that smothered my every breath. I had been molded for greatness, made to lead my people as though I had a fucking choice in the matter. And for what? So I could sit on a throne while the world around me bled? So I could pretend I was some celestial being with a destiny written in the stars?

I wasn’t born for this. I was born to be free.

I had tried—really tried—to fit into the role. To pretend that I could be the princess they wanted. That I could bring my people into an era of prosperity and peace. I did it for years. I played the dutiful daughter, stood in the shadow of my father’s expectations. I smiled at the right moments, said the right things, wore the damn gown and the crown. But inside? I was suffocating. I was suffocating on lies.

My father’s voice haunted me still. “You will lead them, Isilyn. You will bring us to greatness.”

The bastard didn’t even see me. He saw only a future that served his needs. I wasn’t a daughter to him. I was a tool, a vessel to carry his hopes. And for that, I had become nothing more than a puppet—a pretty little figurehead with a mask of hope painted on my face.

But not anymore.

I fled in the dead of night, the cold air biting my skin as I slipped past the high walls of the Citadel. I didn’t look back. I wouldn’t. I had burned those bridges, torn down the shackles of my birthright. The pull of the Citadel, the invisible chains that had held me there, tugged at me even as I walked farther from them. But I ignored it. I had to.

The forest, for all its darkness, felt like freedom. The further I went, the lighter I felt—until I realized just how goddamn lost I was. No plan. No purpose. Just the road ahead and the weight of a choice I had already made.

The stars above were cold tonight. Indifferent. They weren’t the warm, comforting lights I had once looked to for guidance. Tonight, they were just distant fires in a sky that didn’t care about me. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t care either.

I glanced down at my hands—at the silver markings that adorned my skin, the symbols of my bloodline. A reminder of everything I had rejected. But none of it mattered now. The royal blood that coursed through my veins didn’t mean a goddamn thing out here. I had left it all behind. I had chosen something else, something unknown.

But even as I walked into the unknown, the question lingered: What now? What the hell was I supposed to do with this freedom?

For now, I would keep walking. One step at a time. The answers would come when they were ready. And I would be damned if I went back to the prison that had once been my life.

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Zarek

Victory.

I heard the word in my mind, but it was hollow, empty, like the air after a storm had passed. I stood there, the stench of smoke and blood heavy in the air, looking down at the devastation that had once been a thriving town. The smoke curled into the sky like a funeral pyre, and the sound of the dying—mothers, fathers, children—filled the silence around me. And all I could think was: For what?

Another fucking victory. Another ruined city. Another pile of corpses.

My soldiers were already celebrating behind me, their adrenaline-fueled laughter cutting through the quiet like knives. They didn’t get it. They were too deep into the madness, too drunk on the thrill of the fight. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t be.

I ran a hand through my hair, wiping the sweat and grime from my brow, and stared at the ruins before me. This war, this cause—it wasn’t the same anymore. Once, I had believed in it. Believed that we could topple the tyrants, rebuild a world where people could be free. But now? Every victory felt like a betrayal. Every town we conquered, every city we razed, every life we destroyed—it felt less like freedom and more like the very tyranny we fought against.

I looked at my men, their faces flushed with victory. But they didn’t see it. They didn’t see the faces of the dead. They didn’t hear the screams that lingered in the air. They had become numb, lost to the violence, consumed by it. To them, this was just another battle. Another notch in the belt.

But I couldn’t forget.

I closed my eyes and saw their faces. The innocents. The ones who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The families caught in the crossfire. The fathers and mothers who only wanted to protect their children. They had died because of us.

I clenched my fist around the hilt of my sword, feeling the weight of it. I had to keep going. There was no other choice. My men needed me. The rebellion needed me. But what about me? What was left of the man who once believed in something better?

There was no time to dwell on that. No time for weakness. I could feel my resolve hardening, pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind. I couldn’t afford to question the cause now. I had a duty.

“Korrin,” I called, my voice sharp and cold, betraying none of the turmoil in my chest. “Get the men ready. We leave at dawn.”

He nodded, but I saw it in his eyes—the concern, the understanding. He had seen it before. He had seen the cracks. But there was no room for cracks. Not now. Not when the war still raged.

I turned away, pushing the weight of the rebellion onto my shoulders once again. And I moved forward, because that was all I knew how to do.

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Dravena

The temple stood before me, ancient and broken, its stone walls decayed by centuries of neglect. It had once been a place of power, a sanctuary for those who understood what it meant to wield true magic—the kind of magic that devours everything in its path. To me, it wasn’t just ruins. It was a prison. A reminder of what I had become, of the storm I had let loose.

I moved carefully through the shattered floors, the echo of my boots the only sound in the oppressive silence. This place was old—older than any of the books I had stolen from the Sanctum of the Lost. Its power pulsed in the air, dark and dangerous. It was the same power that flowed through me, the same power that had burned my village to the ground.

I had never meant for it to happen. I had been just a girl, desperate to understand the magic inside me. But you can’t control chaos. You can only hope to survive it.

And when the storm came, it took everything. My family. My home. My entire fucking life.

Now, I had come to face it. The chaos. The magic. The demon inside me. Because if I didn’t learn to control it, it would destroy me. And I wasn’t ready to be consumed again.

I ran my fingers over the ancient runes carved into the walls, the power vibrating beneath my fingertips, whispering to me in a language I barely understood. The whispers of those who had come before, who had wielded magic like mine, who had fallen prey to it.

But I wasn’t like them. I wouldn’t be. I couldn’t be.

The book I had stolen from the Sanctum of the Lost lay heavy in my hands, its pages alive with the knowledge I sought. I could feel it—the pull. The storm inside me stirred, hungry for release. But I wouldn’t give in. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that this magic would just bend to my will. There would be consequences. There always were.

But I had no choice. I had to learn to control it.

With a deep breath, I steadied myself. The storm was awakening, and this time, I would not let it consume me.