The last sliver of sunlight is a bruised purple with bled across the devastated landscape of Aethel. 
Smoke, thick and acrid, plumed from shattered buildings painting the twilight sky a mournful canvas. The once-pristine marble, where grand processions had trod, was now a gruesome mosaic of debris, dark stains, and the grim evidence of a war that had torn more than just stone and mortar. 
Thea stood over Ysabel's.
The blade is a cruel extension of her trembling hand. Her breath hitched ragged and shallow as the last vestiges of adrenaline drained away leaving behind a cold, hollow ache that resonated deep within her bones. The act was done. The impossible had become terrifyingly the real truth she could barely comprehend.
The weight of what she had done pressed down on her, a physical burden that threatened to crush her. Her vision blurred, the world tilting precariously on its axis, a dizzying spiral of guilt and exhaustion.
Then there's a sound of a raw and tearing like it's ripped through the oppressive quiet scream that could only belong to one person. Althea.
"THEA!" Althea shouted make
Thea stops what she's gonna do next.
"Please... Don't kill her.
Please Thea
Don't kill our mother." 
Althea manages to utter the heaviest word.
"No, I need to do this. 
She needs to die." 
Thea replied with a tear falling into her eyes.
Everyone witnesses the pain, struggle, hopelessness of the Great warrior they have who protects every single person in The Kingdom of Aethel.
"I'm sorry sister, I can't." 
Thea whispered but enough
for both of them to hear.
Thea's head snapped up with her senses jolting awake. Through the haze of her own shock and grief she saw her sister. Its like a motion with a streak of desperate fury racing across the devastated courtyard. 
Althea's face was a mask of pure anguish, contorted by a pain so profound it seemed to vibrate in the very air around her. Her eyes wide and disbelieving were fixed on the scene before her.
Ysabel, their mother fell and Thea, standing over her the undeniable architect of her demise. Thea knew with a sickening certainty that chilled her to the core, that Althea had seen everything. She had seen Ysabel fall. She had seen Thea stand over the murder weapon still clutched in her hand.
"Thea!" Althea shrieked the name a poisoned dart launched across the chasm of their broken relationship. 
Her pace quickened propelled by a grief so profound it bordered on madness a furious momentum that belied the graceful movements she was known for. In her hand, clutched tight, glinted the very dagger their mother had carried for years the twin to the one Thea still held a cruel symmetry of their shared heritage.
Thea didn't move. She couldn't. Her feet felt rooted to the shattered earth, as if the very ground refused to release her. Her mind, a tangled knot of fear, regret, and a strange, dawning resignation, struggled to process the unfolding horror.
This was it. The culmination of everything that had been building between them, between their family, between their mother's legacy and their own burgeoning identities.
The culmination of a life lived in the shadow of expectation and a destiny none of them had truly chosen.
Althea closed the distance between them in a desperate lunge, her every muscle screaming with a primal need for retribution. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no question of right or wrong, only an inferno of pain and vengeance that consumed everything else. The glint of her blade, catching the last dying light, was the last thing Thea saw clearly before she felt the searing, blinding pain. It was a jolt, a shocking intrusion that pierced through her numbness.
At the very same instant, driven by an instinct she didn't know she possessed, an ancient, desperate reflex Thea reacted. Her own blade, still warm with Ysabel's lifeblood, came up, a desperate, almost involuntary parry. The sickening thud of steel against flesh was followed by another, almost indistinguishable in its brutal finality. 
Two sisters once inseparable, once each other's confidantes and strongest allies, now locked in a deadly embrace, each piercing the other with the very weapons that had bound them to their mother's fraught, powerful legacy.
A gasp tore from Althea's lips, a choked sob that was more breath than sound, as the world spun around her. Thea felt a sharp, burning agony in her side, a blossoming wetness that spread rapidly, chilling her even as it burned. She looked down, her eyes widening in disbelief at the hilt of the familiar dagger protruding from her flesh, a grotesque monument to their fractured ties. Then, her gaze lifted to Althea, whose own face was contorted in a silent scream of agony, a matching wound blossoming on her shoulder, staining the delicate fabric of her tunic a shocking crimson.
They stood, transfixed, for a heart-stopping moment, impaled not just by the blades, but by their shared tragedy, by the unbearable weight of what they had done to each other, to their mother, and to the very fabric of their family. The daggers, extensions of their mother's will, forged in her image and intended to protect her, had become instruments of their own destruction. Slowly, as if in a macabre, agonizing dance, their knees buckled beneath them, stripped of all strength. 
They fell, not together, but side by side, collapsing onto the cold, shattered ground. Their hands, still gripping the bloodied hilts moments before, finally released their desperate hold. The daggers clattered to the ground, two metallic echoes in the overwhelming silence, a final, chilling testament to their intertwined fates.
The air, once filled with the clamor of life, now carried only the mournful sighs of the wind and the distant cries of the injured. Whispers of what had transpired, of the queens' tragic demise and the devastating sibling conflict, spread like wildfire amongst the few traumatized survivors, adding another layer to the city's profound grief. The legacy of Ysabel, the fierce love and bitter rivalries of her daughters, would forever be etched into the very foundations of Aethel, a stark and brutal reminder of the terrifying price of power and the devastating cost of broken bonds.
----
Althea, Thea, and Ysabel or known as Darkness Queen stood locked in a final, devastating embrace.
The battlefield once echoing with the clash of steel and the cries of war, had fallen silent, save for the ragged breaths of the few survivors.
Ysabel or known as The Darkness Queen a figure of terrifying power and corrupted grace, was the first to fall. Her reign of shadow, which had threatened to engulf the world, flickered and died as 
Althea with a surge of desperate strength plunged a sacred dagger deep into her mother's heart. A guttural scream tore from the Darkness Queen's lips, and she collapsed, her formidable presence shrinking into a mere husk.
And Thea The Great Warrior was next.
She had fought with the ferocity of a cornered lioness, her every strike a testament to her unwavering loyalty and love for her people. But the battle had taken its toll. Wounds, both visible and unseen, bled freely, draining her life force with each passing second. As Ysabel's final breath escaped, Thea, too, began to falter. Her vision blurred, the faces of her friends, her kingdom, swirling before her eyes. She fell to her knees, her once mighty sword clattering uselessly beside her.
Althea, though grievously wounded herself, cradled Thea's head in her lap. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood and grime of battle.
"Thea," she whispered
her voice choked with grief.
"No, not you too."
With immense effort.
Thea's eyes fluttered open.
A faint, knowing smile touched her lips.
"Althea," she rasped her
voice barely audible.
"My sister... you did it. 
You saved them all."
She coughed, a spray of blood escaping her lips. Her gaze, though dim, swept over the fallen queen, then to the remnants of her weary, heartbroken allies. Her voice, though weakening, carried a surprising strength, reaching out to every corner of the shattered battlefield.
"To my friends," Thea began, 
her words a final testament.
"My brothers and sisters are in arms... 
know that your courage forged the path to victory. Never forget the strength you carry within you, the fire that burns for justice. Hold fast to each other, for in unity, you will always find solace."
Her gaze drifted, finding the faces of those she had loved most.
"To Haylee, my steadfast shield, thank you for always standing by my side. To Sebastian Mikeal, your wisdom guided me through the darkest nights.
To the people of Aethel my beloved kingdom... I fought for you, lived for you, and now... I die for you. Let not my passing be a shadow, but a beacon. Remember the light we fought for, the peace we sacrificed for."
A final, ragged breath escaped her. Her eyes, filled with an enduring love and unwavering hope, are fixed on Althea.
"Live, Althea. Live for us. Build a world worthy of the sacrifices made today. Be strong. Be kind. And never forget... What it truly means to be a hero."
With a soft sigh, Thea's head lolled to the side. The Great Warrior the beacon of hope had fallen. A profound silence descended upon the land and a heavy blanket of grief. But in the quiet, a seed of hope began to stir, nourished by the final words of a true hero. The Darkness Queen was vanquished, and though the cost was immense, a new dawn, however fragile, was beginning to break.
Althea, her twin, cradled her sister's head, the warmth of Thea's fading life a chilling contrast to the desperate cold creeping into her own limbs. The world around them blurred, the faces of their allies and the fallen Darkness Queen becoming indistinct shapes. All that mattered was this final, agonizing moment between them.
"Thea," Althea whispered, 
her voice raw with a grief 
that tore at her very soul.
"Don't leave me. Not now."
Thea's eyes, once bright with unwavering determination, were clouded, but a faint smile touched her lips. She coughed, a thin stream of blood escaping, but her gaze, though distant, found Althea's.
"My dear, sweet Althea," She rasped each word a monumental effort.
"You...
you always worried too much."
Althea shook her head with tears streaming freely down her face. 
"How can I not? You're... you're dying. After everything we've fought for, everything we've lost..."
"And everything we've gained," Thea countered, her voice surprisingly firm, despite its weakness. 
"Look around, Althea. The darkness is broken. The queen, she is gone our mother is gone.... You did that. You saved them all."
"But at what cost?"
Althea choked out, her voice breaking. 
"You, me... we're both... broken."
Thea reached a trembling hand, brushing a tear from Althea's cheek.
"Sometimes, The greatest victories demand the greatest sacrifices. It's not about being unbroken Althea. 
It's about what you do with the pieces." She paused as she 
was gathering strength.
"Remember our childhood? All those silly dreams we had, playing heroes in the old woods?" A faint chuckle escaped her. 
"You always wanted to be the healer, to mend what was broken. And I... I just wanted to protect you, protect everyone."
"You did," Althea sobbed
clinging to Thea's hand. 
"You always did."
"And you will too, little sister," Thea whispered to her gaze holding a profound wisdom.
"The path ahead will be arduous. There will be shadows, even without Ysabel. But you carry a light within you, Althea, brighter than any star. Don't let it dim. Don't let despair consume you."
Her breath hitched, and her voice grew fainter. 
"Promise me... promise me you'll live. Not just survive, but truly live. Build a new world from the ashes of the old. A world where no one has to fear the darkness again. Be strong, for our people. Be kind, for those who are lost. And remember... remember the love that binds us. It's stronger than any blade, any spell, any darkness."
Thea's eyes flickered and her gaze drifting over the weary faces of their friends, the devastated landscape. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
"I see them... our parents... they're waiting. And... and there's peace
Althea. So much peace."
Her hand, still clasped in Althea's, went limp. Her breath caught, then ceased. The light in her eyes faded, leaving behind only the calm stillness of death.
Althea's scream tore through the silence, a raw, primal sound of anguish and loss.
She clutched Thea's lifeless form burying her face in her sister's hair her body wracked with sobs. The Great Warrior, her other half was gone. And in that moment as the last echo of Thea's voice faded into memory, Althea felt a profound shift within her a mingling of overwhelming sorrow and a fierce, unyielding resolve. The torch of hope, though heavy with grief had passed.
Even in the depths of her despair, a fierce, desperate spark ignited within her. Thea couldn't be gone.
Not like this.
Suddenly, a voice, choked with grief but resolute, broke through the haze.
"Althea, we need to move her." It was Alric, his face streaked with grime and tears, his usual stoicism shattered. Behind him stood Zaria, her eyes wide with shock and sorrow, and Orion, his jaw clenched, radiating a quiet, fierce determination.
Althea looked up, her eyes wild with a frantic hope.
"No! No, we can't! She's... 
she's not gone. She can't be!" 
Her voice cracked, bordering on a desperate plea. 
"Please, Alric, you're the strongest.
You know the old ways, the forbidden spells! There has to be something! Zaria, your healing touch is beyond compare! Orion, your knowledge of ancient lore... please, tell me there's a way to bring her back!"
She gestured wildly towards Thea's.
"Look at her! She fought so bravely! 
She saved us all! It's not fair! 
We can't just let her go!"
Alric knelt beside her
his gaze filled with sorrow. 
"Althea, I understand your pain. Believe me, my heart aches for her too. But some paths are closed to us. Even the strongest magic has its limits."
"Limits?!" Althea shrieked, her voice rising in desperation.
"There are no limits when it comes to saving the one who saved us!
I remember what she said, what you all said.
'As long as one of us stands, hope remains.' 
Well, she fell for us! For you!"
Her gaze pleaded with Zaria.
"Zaria, you healed me when I thought I was beyond repair! Your touch... it's like magic from the gods themselves! 
Please, just try! Just one more time! She's just resting, isn't she? Her heart just needs a little push."
Zaria's lower lip trembled. 
"Althea if there were any spell, any herb, any whisper of a cure, I would give my very life to perform it. But the light... it has left her. Her spirit has ascended."
Althea turned to Orion her eyes burning with an almost mad intensity. 
"Orion! You know the legends, the stories of heroes brought back from the brink! There must be a ritual, a forgotten artifact, anything! I'll go anywhere, do anything! I'll face any beast, cross any chasm, if it means bringing her back!"
She clutched her own side, where the wound from trying to stop Thea from striking Ysabel still throbbed with a dull ache. She barely registered the pain, her mind solely focused on Thea. 
"She... she protected me, even when I tried to stop her from... from hurting mother. She pushed me away to keep me safe. She was always thinking of me, even in that moment. And now... now she's gone, and it's my fault! If I hadn't hesitated, if I had been stronger, faster..."
Her voice dissolved into fresh sobs.
"Please... don't let her sacrifice be in vain. Don't let her light go out like this. We need her. I need her."
Alric placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes filled with a profound empathy. "Althea, listen to me. Your pain is immense, and it is shared. But Thea's sacrifice was not in vain. Her light will never truly go out. It lives on, in us, in the kingdom she saved. And you, Althea, are now the inheritor of that light."
But Althea didn't hear him. She only saw Thea's still face, the memory of her final whisper echoing in her ears. Her plea continued, a desperate, broken record, as the reality of her sister's death began to settle, cold and heavy, upon her soul. Her friends watched, helpless, as the last flicker of hope in Althea's eyes threatened to extinguish entirely. 
----
The remaining forces of Aethel shattered and weary, gathered around the dying Althea. Queen Lyra, her face etched with a grief that mirrored the kingdom's, knelt by Althea's side, her hands glowing with healing energy. Healers, their faces grim, joined her, pouring every ounce of their magic into the fading warrior. Yet, it was futile. 
The wounds Althea bore were not merely physical they were the echoes of a cataclysmic magical discharge, a price exacted by the defeat of a dark goddess. The combined might of royal magic and the most potent healing spells seemed to bounce off her, leaving her untouched by their restorative touch.
Confusion and despair rippled through the assembled royalty. Their faces normally composed were now masks of helplessness. 
"What is happening?"
A noble whispered, his voice trembling. 
"Why can't she be healed?"
Queen Lyra, tears streaming down her face, looked up, her gaze sweeping over the desperate faces of her people. 
"Her life force... it's too intertwined with the magic she wielded," She murmured and her voice thick with anguish.
"We cannot reach her."
Just as the last vestiges of hope began to wane, a blinding, ethereal light erupted from the heavens. 
All eyes turned skyward, then widened in collective awe as the Goddess of Light descended. She materialized directly before Althea, her form radiating pure, unblemished grace. Her presence alone seemed to cleanse the air, soothing the raw edges of pain and despair.
With a voice that resonated like chimes of pure crystal, the Goddess spoke, her words not in the common tongue, but in an ancient, melodic Latin.
"Sanguinem vitae, sanguinem lucis, sanguinem umbrae. Misceatur, una fiat."
As she uttered the mystical incantation, a vibrant, golden light flowed from her hands, seeking out the very ground where Thea and Ysabel's blood had mingled with the earth, their lifeless bodies lying nearby. The light swirled, drawing forth the essence of their sacrifice, of their power. The mixed blood, glowing with an otherworldly luminescence, coalesced into a shimmering, ruby-red liquid.
The Goddess gently guided this mystical concoction towards Althea.
A gasp went through the crowd as the Goddess presented the vial to Althea's lips. With a strength that defied her dying state, Althea swallowed the liquid. As the mixed blood of her sister and the Darkness Queen entered her, a powerful tremor shook her body. 
A brilliant light erupted from within Althea, mirroring the Goddess's glow, pushing back the encroaching darkness.
Her wounds, moments ago beyond the reach of healing, began to knit themselves closed. The pallor on her face gave way to a healthy flush, and her labored breathing steadied into a deep, peaceful rhythm.
The scene unfolded before the kingdom's friends, the royalty, and the remaining soldiers, leaving them in utter, speechless shock. Their eyes, wide with disbelief, stared at the miraculous revival. The blood of two beings, one the embodiment of light and sacrifice, the other of darkness and destruction, had been combined and given to Althea. And it had worked. The very essence of their intertwined fates had become her salvation. The fall of the Great Warrior had ushered in an impossible resurrection, leaving everyone to wonder what new destiny now awaited the one who had literally consumed the light and shadow of her world.
What do you think this miraculous event means for Althea and the future of Aethel?