Isilyn

I had thought that leaving the Citadel would be enough to sever the ties. To free myself from the suffocating weight of my lineage, my father’s expectations, and the rigid constraints of duty. But every step I took in this strange wilderness only reminded me of what I could never truly escape.

The moon's light struggled to break through the dense canopy above. Its glow, distant and weak, did little to comfort me. My connection to it felt like a ghost of what it had once been. In the Citadel, the moon had been mine, a constant companion. Out here, it seemed like a distant memory, fading as quickly as the past I had left behind.

I pulled the dagger from my belt, feeling its cold, familiar weight. It was all I had left from the life I fled—a small token from my mother, who had tried to teach me more than just the weight of the crown. She had understood the burden of my heritage, even when my father insisted on pushing me to the limits of my potential.

But there was no escaping the expectations that clung to my skin, even in this wilderness. My father’s voice echoed in my head, sharp and demanding, always urging me to do more. “You must live up to the legacy of your ancestors. You must rule as they did.”

I muttered a curse under my breath, digging my fingers into the dagger's hilt. Fuck him. I’m not a puppet.

The breeze rustled the leaves, but I was more focused on the feeling of the dagger in my hand. This wasn’t just a weapon. It was a reminder of the past. A reminder of what I had been expected to become. The heir to a throne I never wanted.

I stopped, the sound of footsteps crunching on the forest floor growing louder. My heart sped up, and I steadied my breath, instinctively slipping into a defensive stance. No longer a princess in a gilded cage, but a woman forced to survive in a harsh, uncaring world.

A shadow crossed my path. A figure stepped from the darkness, their eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. I didn’t lower my dagger, my fingers tightening on the hilt.

“You’ve strayed too far from your people,” the figure said, her voice calm but edged with something unsettling. “What are you running from, Princess?”

I narrowed my eyes, my grip tightening on the blade. “I’m not running. I’m searching.”

Her eyes flickered with something akin to amusement. “Searching for freedom, or running from responsibility? The lines between them blur, don’t they?”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut, sharper than any blade. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard them, and it wouldn’t be the last. But each time, they cut deeper.

“I’m not a princess anymore,” I spat, voice thick with defiance. “And I don’t need to answer to anyone, least of all my father.”

The figure studied me, as though weighing my every word. “Your father’s shadow will always follow you. You can’t outrun it forever.”

Her words stung, though I refused to let it show. The truth was, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to outrun it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. All I knew was that I had to keep moving. I had to find something more than what I had left behind.

I raised my dagger slightly, eyes never leaving the figure. “Who are you?”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“Someone who has walked this path before,” she replied cryptically. “Someone who understands the weight of the crown and the freedom of the forest.”

I stared at her, confused but intrigued. She was right about one thing: I was running, but not from what she thought. I was running from the life my father wanted for me. Running from the idea that I had to be something I wasn’t.

“I don’t need your riddles,” I said harshly, turning away. “I’ll find my own path.”

But as I walked away, her voice followed me. “You may try, Princess. But the path has already been chosen.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zarek

The air in the war room was stifling. Smoke from the torches curled toward the ceiling, mixing with the scent of sweat and unwashed bodies. The map spread across the table in front of me was stained with blood—though whose, I wasn’t sure.

“This city’s ripe for the taking,” Korrin said, stabbing his finger at a spot on the map. “We strike at dawn.”

I didn’t respond immediately, letting his words hang in the air. I could feel the eyes of my commanders on me, waiting for my approval, my fucking blessing to go and spill more blood.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “And what’s next, Korrin? After we take this city, what’s the plan?”

Korrin frowned, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t matching his enthusiasm. “The plan is to win, Commander.”

“Win what?” I snapped, my voice cold. “Another city? Another pile of rubble? We’re fighting for something bigger than conquest, or have you forgotten that?”

The room fell silent.

Korrin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “We’re fighting to take back what was stolen from us. To rebuild.”

I scoffed, pushing myself to my feet. “Rebuild what? A world where we’re the ones on top instead of them? If that’s all we’re doing, then we’re no better than the bastards we’re fighting against.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but I didn’t care. They needed to hear this. I needed to hear this. Because lately, I wasn’t sure what the fuck we were doing anymore.

Korrin didn’t respond, and I turned my back on him, walking toward the open window. The night air was cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the room.

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to stop fighting. To lay down my weapons and walk away from it all. But that was a fantasy—a childish dream. There was no walking away. Not for me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dravena

The temple called to me like a siren. Its ruins loomed ahead, jagged and weathered, a testament to a time long forgotten. The air was thick with the scent of magic, sharp and electric, setting my skin tingling.

I stepped inside, my boots crunching on broken stone. The chaos magic within me stirred, reacting to the ancient energy that filled the space. It was intoxicating, like a drug coursing through my veins, making my pulse quicken.

This was why I had come. To understand. To master the magic that had destroyed my life.

I ran my fingers along the walls, feeling the faint hum of power beneath the surface. The magic here was old—older than anything I had ever encountered. It resonated with my own, like two halves of the same storm.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice came from the shadows, low and calm. I turned sharply, my hand going to the dagger at my hip.

The man who stepped forward was tall, his dark cloak billowing around him like smoke. His eyes glinted with a strange intensity, and I could feel the power radiating off him.

“You’re playing with forces you don’t understand,” he said, his tone almost bored. “Chaos isn’t a toy, girl. It’ll consume you if you’re not careful.”

I smirked, though my heart was pounding. “Let it try.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Paths Collide

Unbeknownst to them, the threads of fate were already tightening, drawing Isilyn, Zarek, and Dravena toward one another. Their individual struggles, their quests for purpose, were not as separate as they seemed. The storm was coming, and when it broke, it would bring them together in ways none of them could have foreseen.

They were the Khaotic Krew in the making. And the world wasn’t ready for them.