The sky above Hwon bore no trace of the previous night’s horrors. Morning light filtered through the palace windows in soft golds and blues, deceptively calm against the ruin still clinging to the kingdom's bones. Servants moved like whispers, sweeping shattered glass and bloodied silks from marble halls. Guards replaced their uniforms with armor. Every corner of the capital felt alert—wounded, but watching.
Siera stood by the western terrace, her figure still in a travel cloak though she had not left. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the iron railing, knuckles pale, eyes distant as they overlooked the training grounds below. Soldiers sparred without laughter. The scent of steel and salt clung to the air. Every movement below felt restrained, as though the weight of death still hovered unseen.
Her grip wasn’t just for balance—it was to remind herself that she was still here. Still needed.
Behind her, Eros approached quietly. He held two cups of brewed leafwater, one of them still steaming. He offered it wordlessly. She took it without looking.
Catelyn entered with a brisk step, bowing her head slightly. "Your Majesty," she said, her tone clipped but steady. "The wounded are being treated. None have died, but morale is shaken. Rumors spread faster than orders. Some of the guards whisper about a curse. Others think the werewolves will return by nightfall."
Siera turned from the railing. "And Lyn?"
"Still unconscious," Catelyn replied. "The healers say she should wake soon. Her transformation was... unnatural. Violent. It shredded her from the inside. But she shielded you."
Siera nodded, her jaw tight. "Of course she did."
Eros, who remained a silent anchor beside her, finally spoke, his voice low and searching. "It wasn’t just instinct. Was it?" He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, remembering the way Lyn had stepped in—not blindly, but with unsettling clarity. There had been something in her gaze, a weighted pause, like she had made peace with the consequence. Not quite farewell, but something final, as if she knew her choice would change everything.
"No," Siera agreed, her voice quiet but firm. "She knew. I saw it in the way she looked at me—like she'd already made peace with something. The way she didn’t hesitate, how she didn’t flinch even when that werewolf charged. It wasn’t instinct. It was resolve. And if she knew... then she must've known before last night."
She paused. A faint crease formed between her brows.
"If Lyn knew before the night began… then what did she come here to change?"
Eros looked at her, his brow furrowed, concern flickering in his gaze. "You sound certain."
Siera's grip on the railing tightened again. Her voice dropped. "I... don't know, it's just..."
Eros’s voice dropped. “... she suspected something?”
“Perhaps more than that. Maybe she knew something we didn’t.”
A long silence followed, filled only by the wind threading through the open terrace.
She exhaled slowly, and Eros instinctively stepped a little closer. Not touching her, not speaking, simply offering his presence like a steady wall beside her storm.
He had stayed behind, not just for duty—but for her. And yet, watching her stare toward a man she refused to face, Eros wondered if loyalty was enough.
"I'll need to speak with her as soon as she wakes. Privately. And after that... I should see the others. The kings and queens—Zaltarish, Ylira, Amon, Lysandra. I owe them our apologies and our gratitude. I want to meet each of them in person— all of them. To explain what happened, to thank them, and to make sure they return to their kingdoms safely."
"And I suppose I should go too," Eros said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Siera turned to him, surprised.
"But I won’t," he added before she could speak. "Dam can wait. I’ll stay—at least a little longer. You don’t have to carry all of this alone."
Siera looked at him for a long beat, and something unreadable passed in her gaze. Relief, perhaps. Or the quiet burden of knowing Gwi should’ve been the one beside her, not Eros.
"I appreciate it. Thank you."
Eros nodded once. "Lysandra's leaving within the hour. She wasn’t pleased, but she understands. Or pretends to."
Siera gave the faintest smile. "That's more than most."
"We’ll start with the farewells," she said then, voice steady again. "Let them see that Hwon does not flinch. Not in retreat. Not in fear. But in honor."
In the stillness of the medical wing, Gwi sat at Lyn’s side. The room was quiet except for the steady sound of her shallow breaths. His robes were simple, sleeves rolled up from the strain of battle. His gaze wandered over her still form, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
His fingers rested on the pendant that hung from his neck—the silver token from Siera, a constant reminder of his duty. A duty to protect. To lead. To ensure that no harm befell those he swore to defend.
Lyn had taken the blow meant for Siera.
It had all happened so quickly—too quickly. The werewolves had been everywhere, and the chaos had been overwhelming. In the midst of it all, Lyn had stepped in without hesitation. A shield between the attack and Siera. But in doing so, she had nearly paid the ultimate price.
Gwi clenched his jaw, the weight of that moment pressing down on him. "You shouldn’t have been there," he muttered under his breath. "It should’ve been me... or no one."
But even as the words left his mouth, Gwi knew that wasn’t true. He had failed. He hadn’t acted fast enough. He hadn’t seen it coming. His people, his queen, had been exposed. And in that moment, he had been too slow, too reactive.
The image of Siera—blood on her shoulder, eyes wide, blade drawn—seared itself behind his eyes.
His thumb ran over the edge of the pendant again and again—unconsciously, as though trying to smooth out a scar that wouldn’t heal.
"You saved her," he said quietly to Lyn. "For that, I owe you. And I’m sorry. If I had been faster... maybe you wouldn't be here."
He exhaled slowly. "But I can’t linger here. Not while the kingdom reels."
He rose. His voice was firmer now, grounded. "You’re strong. You’ll wake. And when you do—we’ll talk. Because if you knew about the attack, Lyn... then this wasn’t just bravery. It was a choice. And I need to understand why."
He left the room with long, determined steps, boots echoing on the marble. Outside, aides awaited him with maps, scrolls, and anxious expressions. There were border towns to reinforce. Noble houses to question. Whispers of rebellion to quell.
She watches from terraces of gold and silence.
He walks into corridors of blood and maps.
Both bracing for a night that may never end.
The palace’s great audience chamber, once adorned with laughter and flowing silks during the camaraderie festivities, now held a quieter grace. The red banners of Hwon hung in the morning light, casting long shadows over the polished floor. Courtiers had been dismissed. Only the monarchs remained for one final farewell.
Queen Siera stood at the center of the hall, resplendent once more in her formal queenly gown—golden threads catching the morning light like fire. Her shoulders were squared, her posture regal, though her eyes betrayed the storm behind them. Eros stood a step behind her to the left, silent and composed, his dark cloak draped like a shadow.
The air held a strange heaviness—a farewell laced with unspoken truths and the echoes of the night’s terror. Guards stood at a respectful distance near the entrances, their armor polished but bearing scratches from the previous night’s chaos.
King Zaltarish and Queen Ylira were the first to step forward. Zaltarish’s robes of green and bronze shimmered softly, embroidered with tiny leaf motifs. His expression was gentle, his steps light yet purposeful as if grounded by the very trees of his land.
"Queen Siera," he said warmly, bowing low, "it was an honor to stand with you, even in darkness."
Siera returned the bow with sincerity. "Your wisdom steadied us all, King Zaltarish. I thank you both—for your courage and presence. And I apologize for the chaos"
Queen Ylira stepped forward, her pale eyes glowing faintly beneath her ivy-draped crown. “We share no blame for battle. Only respect for those who fought beside us. May our trees whisper your strength back to your people.”
Their presence lingered with the calming hush of a forest breeze as they stepped aside.
Next came King Amon and his queen, both clad in rugged battle-trimmed cloaks. Amon offered a strong clasp of the hand, his face carved in grim readiness.
"Hwon stood firm. And so shall we. But it is time we return to prepare our borders."
"Of course," Siera said. “You have my deepest gratitude, and my commitment to send aid should trouble reach your gates."
Amon nodded once, sharply, before turning away, his queen following with a respectful glance.
Then came Queen Lysandra of Dam, regal and sharp in ocean-mist silk. Her silver hair shimmered like steel, framing a face both beautiful and biting. She paused before Siera, arms crossed loosely, eyes gleaming with irony.
"I suppose this concludes the camaraderie event with a rather dramatic curtain call," she said dryly. Her words held the usual sarcasm, but beneath it lay a weariness not easily masked.
Siera gave a small smile. “Even amidst chaos, your spirit never faltered. I thank you, Lysandra.”
Lysandra raised an eyebrow. “You should thank your king for not hiding. For once.”
Before Siera could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the side hall. All heads turned.
King Gwi emerged slowly, cloaked in a dark mantle, the pendant at his throat catching a glint of light like a blood-speckled star, pulsing with the memory of another life. His face was pale, the edges of fatigue softening the stern set of his jaw. Yet he moved with dignity, each step a silent apology.
He stopped beside Siera and bowed deeply to the assembled monarchs. “Forgive my absence earlier. I stand before you now with a heart full of thanks—for standing with Hwon, and with her.”
A hush hung in the air. Some monarchs blinked in surprise; others nodded, their expressions unreadable.
Queen Lysandra tilted her head. “Well, well. He does speak.”
Eros stepped forward, his voice crisp. “We will escort you all to your carriages.”
Outside, the royal courtyard gleamed beneath the high sun. Columns cast long shadows on cobblestone paths lined with Hwon’s elite guard, each armor plate polished to brilliance. The scent of trampled blossoms and soot still lingered in the air.
One by one, the visiting monarchs were led down the grand steps. Horses were bridled, carriages gleamed, and final words were exchanged in the kind of diplomacy born from shared survival.
Zaltarish offered one final clasp to Siera. “May your skies stay clear, Queen of Hwon.”
Ylira simply said, “Stand tall.”
Lysandra approached Eros last. Her eyes, for once, were raw.
“Next time you pick a kingdom over me, Eros… be sure it’s the one you’re willing to lose me to.”
He met her gaze with a calm certainty. “This time, I’m staying. For Hwon, for Siera. But I’ll return to you—if you still wish me to—once I understand where I truly belong.”
She sighed and shook her head. There was no fury, only resignation. With a lingering, bitter glance, she placed a light kiss on his cheek—more habit than affection—before boarding her carriage without another word.
As the last wheels rolled out of the palace gates, the guards returned to their posts and the courtyard quieted once more.
Siera turned to Gwi. Their eyes met across a distance now heavy with history. He said nothing, nor did she.Gwi’s hand twitched at his side, hovering briefly—half a heartbeat away from reaching for her. Siera saw it, the shadow of what was once familiar, and let the silence stand between them.
Then she spoke, quietly, to Eros, her voice lined with steel and sorrow. “Now that they’re gone… we face what’s left.”
The camaraderie was over. But the war had only begun.