Surrender, or your father die

The past few days had been a blur of movement—of endless running, of hiding in the shadows, of barely catching their breath before moving again.

Elysia, Seraphina, and Zera had traveled through dense forests, across rushing rivers, through the ruins of villages left in the wake of Malvoria's conquest. The deeper they fled into the countryside, the more dangerous it became.

The demon soldiers were everywhere now. At first, their patrols had been scattered, easy to avoid. But each day, their numbers grew.

Their methods became more ruthless. Fires burned in the distance at night, signaling another village taken. Corpses of those who had resisted were left as warnings along the roads, their sightless eyes staring at the sky.

And yet, they had survived.

Seraphina led them with the sharp instincts of a seasoned warrior. She knew how to move unnoticed, when to keep running and when to rest.

She guided them through the thickest parts of the forest, where even the demon scouts hesitated to tread. They drank from streams, scavenged for food, and slept in the hidden alcoves of caves or in the barns of farmers who still held onto loyalty for the fallen kingdom.

The villagers had been their lifeline.

Despite the fear in their eyes, they did not hesitate to offer shelter, to provide food when they could, to whisper warnings of approaching patrols. Some had even sent their own family members in the opposite direction, creating false trails to mislead Malvoria's soldiers.

Every time they left another safe haven, another town that had risked itself to protect her, Elysia's heart grew heavier.

She didn't want this.

She didn't want to be the reason people were hunted, the reason homes were burned, the reason good people died.

But for now, all she could do was keep running.

Today, they were fishing.

The river was wide, its waters cold and fast-moving, the stones beneath their feet slippery with moss. Tall trees lined the banks, their branches casting dappled sunlight onto the rushing current.

Elysia stood knee-deep in the water, her boots soaked, her fingers tightening around the makeshift spear she had fashioned from a sharpened branch.

The river fish were quick, darting beneath the surface like silver shadows, but hunger made her patient.

Zera was further downstream, perched on a rock, her own spear held loosely in one hand. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair damp from when she had nearly slipped earlier.

Seraphina remained on the shore, keeping watch, her sharp green eyes scanning the tree line for any sign of movement.

Elysia exhaled slowly, adjusting her stance.

There.

A flash of movement just beneath the surface.

In one swift motion, she plunged her spear downward. The tip struck something solid—a quick struggle before the fish stilled.

She pulled it up, the water dripping from its silver scales as she lifted it above her head.

"Finally," she muttered, wading back toward the shore.

Zera grinned. "Took you long enough."

Elysia shot her a glare. "We'll see how long it takes you to catch one."

Zera smirked but didn't argue.

The situation was dire, but in moments like these, in the small, stolen breaths between survival, there was still a sliver of normalcy.

Still, it wasn't enough to chase away the frustration curling in Elysia's chest.

They had been running for days.

Hiding. Surviving. Watching others suffer in their place.

Elysia was tired.

Not physically—though exhaustion clung to her bones—but tired of this.

Of watching villages burned for sheltering them.

Of hearing whispered apologies from people who had nothing left to give.

Of seeing farmers bow their heads in shame as they told her they had no food, that their children were already starving.

She clenched her fists.

"This can't go on," she murmured, mostly to herself.

Seraphina, who had been quiet until now, glanced at her. "It has to," she said. "For now."

Elysia shook her head, staring at the fish in her hands, at the dirt beneath her boots, at the bruises on her arms from days of running, fighting, surviving.

"How many more people have to die because of me?"

Seraphina sighed, walking closer. "This isn't because of you, Elysia. It's because Malvoria is a monster."

"Maybe. But she wouldn't be hunting them down if they weren't helping me."

Zera, still standing in the river, let out a sharp breath. "Don't do this to yourself."

Elysia exhaled heavily, but before she could respond, the air shifted.

A sound.

Loud.

Too loud.

A deep, resonant boom, unnatural in its weight, in the way it seemed to ripple through the forest.

They all went still.

Then, a voice.

Not from a single person, but from everywhere.

Loud, amplified, carrying across the land like rolling thunder.

A spell.

A message.

"Princess Elysia of Arvandor."

Her stomach clenched.

"Surrender."

A pause, heavy and suffocating.

"Or your father dies."

Elysia felt her stomach twist, the weight of those words pressing down on her chest like an iron hand.

The voice echoed through the trees, its power unnatural, resonating deep in her bones. It wasn't a simple message—it was a declaration, a challenge, a cruel mockery of her helplessness.

"Surrender, or your father dies."

The words rang in her ears long after the sound faded.

She clenched her jaw, trying to steady herself, but her breath hitched, uneven. Her father—her father—was alive. He had survived the fall of the castle. But for how long?

She felt Zera's eyes on her, sharp and searching. Seraphina stood still, unreadable, her gaze locked onto the distant sky as if she could still see the words hanging there.

"I should probably surrender," Elysia murmured, barely above a whisper.

The reaction was immediate.

Zera turned so fast that the water splashed violently around her legs. "Are you insane?"

Seraphina exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No."

Elysia lifted her head, something hot and raw burning in her throat. "You heard them. They have my father."

"And you think walking into Malvoria's hands will fix that?" Zera snapped, stepping onto the riverbank, fists clenched. "You think she'll let you trade yourself for him and just let him go? Let you go?"

Elysia's nails dug into her palms. "I don't know what else to do!"

"You fight!" Zera's voice cracked, her frustration spilling out. "You survive! That's what we've been doing—what we have to keep doing!"

"At what cost?" Elysia's voice rose, her hands trembling. "How many more people have to suffer because of me?"

Zera flinched, her mouth opening, then closing.

Seraphina finally turned to face them, her expression cold. "So you think dying will fix it?"

Elysia inhaled sharply, feeling as if she had been struck.

"I'm not trying to die," she hissed. "I'm trying to stop this."

"This won't stop," Seraphina said, her voice steady, sharp as a blade. "If you surrender, Malvoria wins. She will take you, and she will break you. And the moment she does, do you think she will spare your father? Your people?"

Elysia shook her head. "She wants me. I'm the reason she's doing this. If I give her what she wants, maybe—"

"Maybe what?" Zera cut in, her voice tight with barely restrained anger. "Maybe she'll be kind? Maybe she'll just let everyone go and live peacefully?" She laughed, but it was bitter, full of something sharp and wounded. "Do you really believe that?"

Elysia felt something in her crack. "What else am I supposed to do, Zera? Tell me! Tell me how to fix this!"

Silence.

Zera looked away, her jaw tight.

Seraphina crossed her arms. "We need a plan first."