What We Carry

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The throne hall had become a ruin.

Flames flickered from cracked columns. Smoke drifted like ash-filled ghosts across the broken floor. The once-shining banners of the royal house now lay torn beneath boots and blades.

Asteria stood with his chest heaving, his skin marred by burns and bruises. Yet his eyes—lit with searing lightning—burned brighter than ever.

Across from him, Caelen was faltering.

The prince's breath was ragged. His shoulder bled where one of Asteria's earlier strikes had broken through. His molten aura flickered, no longer steady, no longer regal. His stance wavered.

But his pride still stood.

"You've... improved," Caelen muttered, dragging his sword across the ground, lava dripping from the blade's edge like blood. "But it's still not enough."

Asteria exhaled. "Then you're more stubborn than I thought. Even beaten... still pretending you're in control."

Lightning danced across his skin—wild, feral, but focused.

Behind them, Seri and Sevrik clashed like warring stars.

Steel rang. Fire danced. Wind screamed.

Seri spun through the air, striking with burst after burst of focused flame and slicing wind, her body moving in perfect unison. Sevrik blocked with impossible grace, his twin crimson blades deflecting every blow with lethal precision. Blood slicked across his cheek—but none of it had slowed him.

He moved in.

Too fast.

Seri's foot slipped.

His blade came low—seeking her ribs.

Time slowed.

Her hand moved instinctively, tracing a motion she'd practiced only in secret, only in doubt. A mirrored blade twist. A deflection from below. A reversal meant to disarm.

She had never mastered it.

Until now.

> "You won't take another from me."

She stepped into the attack—into it—and turned her wrist just as the blade passed her side. The steel caught the wind, flipped upward—

And she drove her other hand forward.

The dagger pierced under Sevrik's chestplate, straight into the joint between armor and shoulder. His breath hitched.

Her voice was ice.

> "This is for Darius."

His eyes widened—just a flicker of recognition, or perhaps regret.

And then he stumbled back, coughing blood, collapsing to one knee.

As she consumed him with the flame of vengeance.

---

Caelen turned sharply at the sound of Sevrik's grunt, his expression darkening.

And then—he raised a single hand, palm glowing with a blood-red rune.

A signal.

From the upper rafters of the broken chamber, a figure dropped—silent, clad in black leather and red trim, the unmistakable mark of the Crimson Fangs gleaming on his collar.

He didn't land in the hall.

He vanished into smoke.

"Stop them," Caelen commanded.

"They won't survive," the assassin's voice echoed, already fading as he slipped through the cracks of the palace.

---

But Asteria had seen it.

And he burned hotter.

"You're running out of allies, Caelen," he said, stepping forward. "And I'm not done yet."

The prince tried to raise his blade—but Asteria was already there.

Faster than before.

The air shimmered around him—a streak of electricity, his limbs moving faster than Caelen could follow. Fists charged with lightning struck like thunderbolts. Caelen blocked one—missed the next. The third hit his jaw. The fourth hit his ribs.

Each blow rang like war drums.

> "You fight like someone who's never had to lose," Asteria growled, lightning bleeding from his fingertips. "Let me teach you what it feels like."

Caelen's knees buckled, but he roared—his pride flaring with flame. Lava surged up his arm as he hurled a molten slash.

Asteria ducked, slid under it, and spun behind him, both palms crackling with light.

> "This ends now!"

He struck.

A spear of lightning surged from his body, straight into Caelen's back. The force of it exploded outward—a shockwave that shattered what remained of the throne behind them.

The prince screamed.

His body flew—launched through the ruined palace wall, stone and steel bursting apart, debris crashing like a landslide.

He flew past the edge of the palace cliff, crashing down through the trees beyond.

Silence.

Asteria stood alone in the center of the wrecked hall, chest heaving, lightning crackling like a dying storm around him.

---

Seri limped to his side, one arm clutching her ribs, the other slick with blood—not hers.

She looked up at the broken sky through the gaping wall.

> "He's gone?"

Asteria nodded.

> "For now."

He turned to her, noting the quiet shake in her voice, the way her flame flickered beneath the grief.

> "Are you okay?" he asked, gently.

Seri hesitated. Her gaze lingered on the spot where Caelen had vanished into the wilderness beyond the cliffs.

> "He was still my brother, Asteria… even as he tried to kill everything I stood for."

Asteria's expression didn't change—but his voice softened.

> "And you spared him more than he ever would've spared you."

[Beat of silence. Lightning faded from Asteria's skin. Seri looked down.]

> "I don't know whether to mourn him," she whispered, "or wait for him to come back."

She followed his gaze, then lowered her voice.

> "We need to go. That assassin's headed for Mira and Tarn."

Asteria turned—wounded, exhausted, but burning still.

"We find them."

---

The broken stairway gave way to sunlight at last.

Tarn grunted as he climbed, hoisting Valron over one shoulder with one hand, the other gripping stone and iron scorched by war. Mira followed behind, her breath shallow but determined, hands glowing faintly with cool waterlight, flickering like a heartbeat on the edge of failure.

They emerged through the shattered arch into what used to be a garden hall—now just smoke, craters, and fire-licked statues.

> "Almost there," Mira muttered. "We're back."

But they weren't alone.

Before Tarn could finish pulling himself up, a shadow dropped silently from the rafters, landing with catlike grace.

Black leather. Red-trimmed cloak. Twin daggers glinting with poison.

The Crimson Fang assassin.

> "Finally," he said, voice smooth as silk soaked in venom. "The little sheep found their way home."

He didn't wait.

A blade slashed down.

Tarn barely raised his gauntlet in time—sparks burst, and the impact sent him stumbling back. Valron slipped from his grip, tumbling to the floor with a hard thud.

> "Valron!" Mira cried, rushing toward him—

But the assassin was already between them.

> "You two look tired," he said, flipping his blade. "Don't worry. I'll make it quick."

Mira raised her hand—a blast of pressurized water burst forward, but he was too fast, already ducking beneath it, his dagger nicking her thigh as he spun past.

> "We don't have time for this!" Tarn growled, rising to his feet, hammer in hand.

> "We never do," Mira said, voice tight with pain.

The assassin came again, his movements inhumanly precise—a blur of steel, poison, and silence.

Tarn blocked one strike, but the second grazed his side. Mira launched another wave, but the man twisted mid-air, riding the momentum like a ghost through wind.

She was bleeding. Tarn was limping. And Valron lay behind them—alive, but fading.

Still, they stood.

Side by side.

Back to back.

> "He's too fast," Mira whispered. "We can't overpower him."

> "Then we don't fight fair," Tarn said, eyes narrowing. "We trick him."

The assassin lunged again—this time for Mira.

She stumbled backward, deliberately—drawing him in.

Tarn moved at the same time, swinging his hammer wide—not to hit, but to corral.

The assassin dodged, just as they expected.

> "Now!" Mira shouted.

She dropped to one knee, slamming her palm onto the ground.

A sudden wave of ice erupted beneath the assassin's feet, climbing his legs in a rush of frost and mist—freezing him mid-lunge.

His eyes widened. Muscles locked.

He couldn't move.

Tarn didn't hesitate.

With a roar, he spun and slammed his hammer into the frozen assassin, sending him flying back through the broken archway—

Right back down the pit they had just climbed from.

> CRACK.

The echo of the fall rang like a promise.

Then silence.

Mira dropped to her knees, chest heaving.

Tarn turned to Valron, lifting him gently once more.

> "He's breathing," he said. "Let's not wait for that monster to climb back up."

Mira nodded, already limping toward the hall.

> "Let's move. Asteria needs us."

They didn't look back.

They couldn't afford to.

But behind them… in the depths… the ice began to crack.

And the Crimson Fang… was not done yet.

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