The Gathering Storm
The destruction of the vines left Pherr's capital in chaos. Crow-feather banners hung limp in the wind, their once-proud defiance now a symbol of defeat. Valencia and Xyrus moved through the streets like shadows, their presence unnoticed amidst the panic.
Nyssa was gone, vanished into the night, but her absence was a hollow victory. The vines' death had left a void, one that Valencia felt in her bones.
"We need to move," Xyrus said, his voice low. "Lysandra won't wait."
Valencia nodded, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The Deadmarsh loomed in the distance, its rot spreading like a cancer.
---
They returned to Feron's border camp to find their forces in disarray. The loss of the vines had shaken morale, and whispers of betrayal slithered through the ranks.
"They're saying you've doomed us," a Feron captain said, his voice tight with accusation.
Valencia stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "I've freed us. The vines were a chain, not a weapon. Now we fight on our own terms."
The soldiers murmured, their doubt palpable. Xyrus moved to her side, his presence a silent reminder of their unity.
"We stand together," he said, his voice carrying across the camp. "Or we fall apart."
---
The war council that night was tense. Maps of the borderlands covered the table, their edges frayed from constant use. Valencia traced the line of the Deadmarsh, her fingers trembling.
"Lysandra's forces are massing here," she said, tapping the map. "If we can hold the Silvercross Pass, we can buy time to rally Pherr."
"And if we can't?" a general asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.
"Then we fall back to the capital," Xyrus said, his tone firm. "But we don't retreat. We regroup."
Valencia glanced at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. He had always been her anchor, even when the bond was gone.
---
The plan was set: hold the pass, then strike at Lysandra's forces before they could regroup. It was a gamble, but it was the only play they had.
As the council disbanded, Valencia caught Xyrus's arm. "Thank you."
He looked at her, his expression softening. "For what?"
"For standing with me. Even when it's hard."
He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Always."
---
The battle at Silvercross Pass was a storm of steel and venom. Lysandra's serpent-mounted cavalry charged, their scaled armor glinting in the pale sunlight. Valencia fought at the front, her dagger flashing as she carved through the enemy ranks. Xyrus was a shadow at her side, his sword a blur of silver.
But the real weapon was their unity.
As the battle raged, Valencia and Xyrus moved as one, their movements synchronized despite the bond's absence. They fought not for crowns or kingdoms, but for each other.
---
In the chaos, a figure emerged from the enemy lines—Nyssa, her crow-feather cloak billowing in the wind. She raised a hand, and the fighting stilled.
"Valencia," she called, her voice carrying across the battlefield. "You've lost. Surrender, and I'll spare your people."
Valencia stepped forward, her dagger raised. "You don't speak for Pherr."
Nyssa smiled, cold and cruel. "And you don't rule it. Not anymore."
Before Valencia could respond, the ground beneath her feet *shifted*. The vines surged, not to attack, but to *protect*—their roots forming a barrier between her and Nyssa.
"What…?" Valencia whispered, her hand trembling as she touched the vines.
Nyssa's smile widened. "You're not the only one who can wield them."
---
The revelation struck like a dagger to the heart. Nyssa had taken the vines' power for herself, twisting it into a weapon. Valencia's vision blurred as the roots coiled around her, their thorns biting into her skin.
Xyrus fought his way to her side, his sword cutting through the vines. "We need to go. *Now.*"
But Valencia hesitated, her gaze locked on Nyssa. "She's using them. She's—"
"And we'll stop her," Xyrus said, pulling her to her feet. "But not here. Not like this."
---
They retreated to the border, their forces battered but intact. Valencia collapsed in the war tent, her hands shaking as she stared at the map.
"She's corrupted them," she said, her voice hollow. "The vines… they're hers now."
Xyrus knelt beside her, his hand warm on her shoulder. "Then we find another way."
"There *is* no other way," she snapped, her frustration boiling over. "The vines were our last hope. Without them—"
"We still have each other," he said, his voice steady. "And that's enough."
---
That night, Valencia dreamed of Liora.
The first queen of Pherr stood in a field of ash, her face gaunt and her eyes hollow. "The crown is a root," she said, her voice echoing with the weight of centuries. "But roots can be severed."
Valencia woke with a start, her heart pounding. The answer was clear, but the cost was unbearable.
---