Shadows and Blood

The journey back to the castle was peaceful at first. The night air was cool, and the gentle rocking of the carriage only added to the comfortable silence between the two princesses. Aurelia, still high on excitement, recounted their day with a broad smile, occasionally teasing Lysara about how Laurien would be envious that he had missed such an adventure.

Lysara, seated beside her, merely hummed in response, her icy blue eyes flickering toward the carriage window. The dense darkness of the forest pressed against the glass, but it wasn't the night that unsettled her—it was the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Her instincts screamed at her, but before she could react fully, she felt it.

A prickle of danger.

Without a second thought, Lysara's body moved on its own. She lunged toward Aurelia, wrapping her arms tightly around the smaller woman's body, shielding her as they suddenly disappeared from inside the carriage. The wind howled in her ears, and in the next breath, they reappeared ten meters away, standing amidst the tall grass of the meadow.

Aurelia gasped, clinging to Lysara's tunic in shock. Her golden hair shimmered under the moonlight, and her widened pale blue eyes darted between Lysara and their carriage. Before she could ask what had just happened, the sound of splintering wood filled the air.

The carriage collapsed in on itself. Its wheels and legs, suddenly shattered, sent pieces flying in every direction. If they had remained inside, they would have been crushed.

Aurelia's breath hitched. "Lysara…?"

Lysara didn't respond. Her jaw tightened, her eyes dark and sharp as steel. A trap.

She heard it before she saw it—the soft twang of a bowstring. She spun on her heel, pushing Aurelia behind her just as an arrow, glowing with an eerie blue light, was released. With a flick of her wrist, she reached out with her mind, grabbing hold of the projectile mid-air and crushing it in an invisible grip. The arrow exploded harmlessly into sparks before it could touch them.

They were surrounded.

From the shadows of the forest, masked figures emerged, their weapons glinting in the moonlight. There were dozens of them, dressed in dark armor and moving with the silent coordination of trained assassins. Yet, despite their numbers, Lysara stood unfazed, her grip tightening around the hilt of her blade.

She turned her head slightly, voice sharp. "Stay behind me."

Aurelia swallowed hard, nodding. She had never seen Lysara like this—so still, so calculating, so deadly.

The first man lunged.

Before he could even swing his sword, Lysara disappeared from sight. A gust of wind marked her movement, and then blood painted the grass as she reappeared behind him, her sword dripping crimson. His body hit the ground before the others could react.

Chaos erupted.

Lysara moved like a specter, blinking in and out of existence. Each time she appeared, another body fell. She was a dancer in the night, her blade an extension of her fury. The men barely had time to scream before she silenced them, one by one.

Aurelia watched in horror. These men—thirty of them—were being slaughtered like cattle. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts as she pressed her hands to her mouth, her stomach twisting. She had known Lysara was strong, but this—this was something else. Something terrifying.

The battlefield grew silent. Only six remained. They trembled where they stood, their swords slipping from shaking hands. They looked upon Lysara not as a warrior, but as a demon.

Then, one of them moved.

Faster than Lysara expected, the man darted toward Aurelia, grabbing her and pressing a blade to her throat.

"Stop!" he barked, his voice cracking. "You move, and she dies!"

Lysara stilled. Her chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, but her knuckles turned white around her blade. Her gaze flickered toward Aurelia, whose skin had gone pale as ice. A thin red line appeared where the knife bit into her flesh.

"Let her go," Lysara said, her voice deathly calm.

The thug's eyes darted around. "No! You—You let us go, or I'll—"

Lysara's gaze turned cold as winter.

Then, before anyone could react, the man's body convulsed violently. His limbs twisted at unnatural angles, his joints snapping as he gasped in agony. He tried to scream, but Lysara's power crushed his voice, his mouth sealed shut by an unseen force. His body trembled violently, his grip loosening on Aurelia as sheer terror consumed him.

Then, with one final flick of her wrist, she made him explode.

Blood splattered across the grass. Across Aurelia.

A scream tore through the night.

Aurelia fell to her knees, shaking, gasping, staring at her hands—her dress—covered in crimson. She turned to Lysara, her eyes wide with horror. But Lysara wasn't looking at her. She was already moving, cutting down the last of the men, ensuring not a single one remained to tell the tale.

When she turned back, her robe was soaked in red, and her silver hair was matted with blood. Her expression softened as she took a step toward Aurelia.

"Aurelia—"

"Don't come near me!"

The words struck like a blade to the heart.

Lysara froze. Aurelia's hands trembled, her entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her pale blue eyes were no longer filled with admiration or mischief, but with fear.

Fear of her.

Lysara clenched her fists. She had done this to protect her. She had done everything to make sure she was safe. And yet… Aurelia looked at her as if she were a monster.

Lysara stepped forward, her heart hammering in her chest. "Aurelia, I had no choice—"

Aurelia flinched. "Stay away!"

Lysara's breath hitched.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Lysara knew she couldn't let this continue—not here, not now. With a heavy heart, she moved behind Aurelia and, before the princess could react, struck the back of her neck with the side of her hand.

Aurelia's body went limp in her arms.

Lysara exhaled shakily, her jaw clenched. With one last look at the bloodied scene, she lifted Aurelia into her arms, cradling her close before blinking away, leaving behind no trace of the massacre.

Only the night remained, silent and still, as if the ghosts of the fallen still lingered in the air.