The city had begun to stir again, but not with life—no, it was fear now that threaded its veins. The streets of Rothvale groaned under the weight of rumors. Of war. Of the girl with fire in her veins and vengeance in her name.
In the underground taverns where the disloyal made their last stand, whispers of Scarlet Veil's return tasted like blood and smoke.
“Seina Sallow,” a drunkard scoffed at a table. “She’s just a myth.”
“Tell that to the ones who never made it out of the cathedral,” came the reply from a woman polishing a blade.
Kaydence paced the edge of a rusted balcony, staring down at the ruined training grounds. His men were ready—what few remained loyal. But his thoughts weren’t on war.
They were on Annora.
She had been the storm before Scarlet. His anchor, his muse—and his ruin. And now she was planning to marry the man who ordered Scarlet’s death.
When he slammed his fist into the wall, the stone cracked.
Below, Miro watched.
“You still believe she loves you?” Miro’s voice was low, coaxing. “Scarlet won’t survive this. But Annora might, if she’s smart.”
Kaydence turned, slow and lethal. “If you touch her—”
“I won’t have to.” Miro smiled. “She already made her choice.”
In the gilded halls of Castle Umbra, Annora sat in silk and shame. Her fiancé—Drelthorn’s ambitious son, Varik—poured wine she didn’t drink.
“You’re distracted again.”
“I’m not,” she lied.
“You still think of him?”
“No,” she lied again.
But her heart beat Kaydence’s name with every breath. And though she held Varik’s hand, she couldn’t help but remember the way Scarlet looked at her before the fall.
“I trusted you,” Scarlet had said.
And Annora had replied, “You shouldn’t have.”
Now, that truth burned.
Scarlet stood before her people, a makeshift army of former nobles, rebels, orphans, and mercenaries. Some wore armor, others hope. But every eye burned with a reason.
“We don’t need a throne to win,” she said. “We need each other. We need truth. We need rage.”
They roared.
And with that, the march began.
As they moved through the alleys and shattered bridges, she whispered to Lune, “We’ll strike before dawn. Miro expects hesitation. Let’s give him hell instead.”
Lune grinned. “Now that sounds like the Seina I know.”
“Scarlet,” she corrected. “It’s time they feared the name again.”
The sun was still hiding when Scarlet’s army descended on the ruins of Drelthorn Keep. Fog clung to the ground like the ghost of old wars, and beneath it, every heartbeat was a drumroll. Lune walked beside Scarlet, crossbow slung over her shoulder, face painted with ash. Ready. Ruthless.
Scarlet’s breath fogged in the cold air. She wore no crown, no title—just black armor and a vow stitched beneath her skin.
“Hold the eastern flank,” she told Jareth. “We push once Miro’s line breaks. No mercy.”
He nodded. “They won’t even see us coming.”
Miro stood above the walls, watching the movement with a smirk. His spies had warned him—but not fast enough. Scarlet was early. Bold. That was her way. It had always been.
Beside him, Annora stood wrapped in blood-red velvet.
“Are you sure you want this?” Miro asked.
She didn’t flinch. “I made my bed.”
“You made your coffin.”
Down below, the first arrow loosed.
The clash was thunderous. The rebels surged through the gates with blades and burning banners. Lune's cry led the charge. Jareth’s unit cleaved through the first wave.
Scarlet’s blade—custom-forged and named Sorrow—carved paths through betrayal.
Across the chaos, Kaydence arrived late—just in time to see Miro lock eyes with Scarlet. Just in time to see Annora disappear into the smoke.
He followed her.
Annora fled through the hidden passage beneath the keep, footsteps echoing in the dark. She didn’t get far.
Kaydence caught her by the wrist and slammed her against the stone.
“You knew Varik was coming for her.”
“I didn’t—”
“You always knew.”
She didn't fight. “It was me or her, Kay. I chose myself.”
“You chose wrong.”
Up above, Miro and Scarlet fought like gods gone mad. Blood soaked the stone. Every strike of his sword was met with hers, dancing death.
“You never deserved the crown!” Miro roared.
“I never wanted it,” she hissed. “Only justice.”
And with that, she drove Sorrow through his chest.
As he fell, the sky broke open—and Drelthorn Keep began to burn.
Scarlet stood over the crumbled remnants of the throne room, her hands slick with blood and sorrow. The fire still crackled in the rafters above. The battle had ended, but victory did not taste like triumph. It tasted like ash.
Jareth found her there, eyes hollow. “The keep is ours,” he said.
“Then bury it,” she replied. “This place is cursed.”
Outside, Kaydence emerged with Lune, both scarred but breathing. Annora was gone—escaped, or dead, no one could confirm. The tunnels beneath the keep had collapsed.
“She’s not the threat anymore,” Lune said quietly.
Kaydence didn’t respond. He watched Scarlet from a distance, unsure if he was allowed near her anymore.
They held no grand ceremony. No monarchs remained. Only survivors.
Scarlet wrapped Miro’s body herself, placing his broken blade across his chest.
“He was a monster,” Jareth murmured.
“He was my brother.”
She turned away before her tears could betray her.
Kaydence finally approached as the moon rose.
“You should be resting,” he said.
She didn’t turn to him. “I don’t rest. I rebuild or I bleed.”
“Scarlet—”
“I’m Seina now,” she whispered. “Scarlet died at Drelthorn.”
He stepped closer. “Then I came to find Seina.”
She looked up at him, years of heartbreak in her gaze. “Why didn’t you stop her, Kay?”
“I thought I could save both of you.”
“She never wanted saving.”
He nodded slowly. “But maybe you do.”
A message came that night—delivered in secret, sealed with a black rose.
Annora’s writing.
“You think it’s over, but Varik lives. And he has her.”
Beneath the message: a photo. Blurred, grainy, but clear enough.
A young girl. Scarlet’s eyes. Kaydence’s jaw.
“No more running,” Scarlet said.
Kaydence’s voice cracked. “That’s our daughter.”
Scarlet didn’t flinch. “Then we go get her.”
The war wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.