CHAPTER 12 The Thorn and the Beast

The fire crackled in the center of the camp, casting a warm glow over the ring of worn armor and scattered bedrolls.

The night was clear; the sky above pricked with stars.

Crickets chirped in the brush nearby, and somewhere in the dark, an owl called out.

Severin tossed another log onto the fire and leaned back against a rock.

"You've been quieter than usual, Captain," he said, flashing Acheron a sidelong glance.

"Which is saying something."

"I'm always quiet," Acheron replied without looking up, sharpening his blade with practiced, rhythmic strokes.

"Sure," Dain grinned, biting into a piece of dried meat.

"But this is a different kind of quiet. The kind that follows a man who's thinking too much about a woman."

Severin gave a low chuckle. "Ah, so we're saying it now?"

"I'm not thinking about her," Acheron muttered.

"Didn't say who," Dain shot back with a smirk.

Acheron paused for just a second—too long.

"I still can't believe you haven't said anything," Dain drawled, his tone far too casual to be innocent.

Acheron didn't look up. "Said anything about what?"

"Oh, don't play dense," Severin said, leaning forward with a sly grin.

"You know exactly what. A certain princess."

Acheron exhaled slowly. "You'll have to be more specific."

Dain smirked. "Right. Could be any princess, given your impressive record. Let's narrow it down. Black hair, haunted eyes, seems to attract death and suspicion wherever she goes…"

Severin snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. The Thorn Princess."

Acheron's hand paused mid-sharpen. "Evelyne is none of your business."

"Which means she's definitely our business," Dain grinned.

"Honestly, Captain, the way you look at her? Like she's a wildfire you're hoping will burn you alive."

"I look at her like she's a soldier under my protection," Acheron replied coldly.

Severin barked a laugh. "Then remind me do you usually get that tense when Dain stares at our archers?"

Acheron said nothing, but his fingers clenched slightly around the dagger.

"Or when Rinna braided the scout's hair last week?" Dain added.

Still no response.

"Or when I said that Princess Elira looked quite fetching at the Summit last month?" Severin said, arching a brow.

Acheron froze.

Dain sat up abruptly, his teasing expression evaporating. "Don't."

Severin blinked. "What?"

"I said don't," Dain said firmly. 

The silence stretched.

Acheron looked over at him, brow furrowed.

Severin's grin faded. "Wait… Dain?"

Dain turned away, fiddling with the edge of his bracer.

"She's different. Not just another royal fluttering her lashes for political gain. She's... kind. When she speaks, she listens. Really listens."

Severin stared. "Oh, no. You're in love with her."

"I'm not—" Dain began, then stopped.

"It's not like that. I know what she is. Who she is. But for once, someone looked at me and didn't just see a sword. Or a jest. She saw me."

Severin let out a groan and dramatically fell back against the log.

"First Acheron with the cursed princess, now Dain with a western royal. Gods help us. We're doomed."

Acheron gave a rare smirk. "You two spend more time gossiping than training."

"And yet we still manage to keep you alive," Severin muttered.

"Barely," Acheron retorted, standing to sheathe his blade.

Dain chuckled. "At least none of us have married and died within a week."

That sobered them all for a moment.

Severin sat up. "Do you think the curse is real?" he asked more seriously now.

Acheron's expression shifted, shadows playing over his features in the firelight.

"No," he said. Then paused. "But something follows her. That much I know."

"You've seen it, haven't you?" Dain asked.

"The way her presence makes the air feel... different. Heavy. Like the moment before a storm."

"She's not cursed," Acheron said quietly. "She's marked. Haunted. But not damned."

Before they could press further, a scream cut through the night.

"East!" came the shout. "To arms! They're here Cryvolar!"

The three of them shot to their feet.

A soldier stumbled into the firelight, panting, blood dripping from his temple.

Behind him, the shrill cry of a Cryvolar echoed through the trees a sound like metal scraping across bone.

"They're attacking the outer posts," the soldier gasped.

"They brought the beasts. One of their captains said… said they've already sent more toward the Vale Manor."

Acheron's expression darkened instantly. "They're trying to divide us."

Severin's blade was already drawn. "Then they've made a mistake."

"Do they not know what waits at that manor?" Dain said with a cold grin. "Northern steel doesn't bend."

"I've already stationed a full unit of sentinels around the perimeter," Acheron said as he pulled on his gauntlets. "The manor is protected. Let the East come."

A low growl rose in the distance as the Cryvolar emerged tall, sinewy beasts with jagged armor-like scales and eyes glowing faint green. Their talons scraped the earth like sickles.

Severin stepped forward, cracking his neck. "Tell me we don't have to catch one alive this time."

"Only if you want to feed it," Acheron replied coolly, sword drawn.

Dain laughed as he unslung his axe. "I've been waiting for something to hit. Let them come."

The Cryvolar shrieked as the first wave charged.

Northern steel met claw and fang with brutal grace. The soldiers did not falter. They were wolves in formation, battle-tested, sharp-eyed.

Acheron fought at the front, blade cutting with lethal precision, his presence an anchor. Severin flanked him with speed and flourish, and Dain's roar rose over the clash of war, swinging his axe like thunder.

The attack was fierce but not enough.

Not here.

Not in the North.

And as the eastern forces began to falter under the unrelenting defense, Acheron's voice rang out over the battlefield like ice breaking.

"Let them learn tonight," he said,

"What happens when they threaten the Thorn Princess and the North that guards her."

And they fought on unyielding, defiant, as fire and fury lit the edge of the world.

The cries of battle echoed faintly through the manor walls.

Inside the nursery chamber, Evelyne sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Syrin in her arms. The girl's breathing was shallow, her small frame still and feverish.

Across the room, Rinna held Riven tightly, shielding him with her body as though she could block out the chaos outside with her bare hands. Outside the windows, the clash of steel and the shrieks of Cryvolar reverberated in waves.

The Headmistress burst into the chamber, her tone sharp and commanding despite the fear etched across her face.

"Everyone remains in your quarters! Lock the doors, bar the halls. No one is to leave until I say so!"

Maids and attendants nodded, wide-eyed, disappearing down the corridors like scattered birds.

Rinna clutched Riven tighter as she glanced toward the flickering shadows outside. "There's only five of them," she whispered.

"Just five Northern soldiers…"

But even through the window, they could see it: the disciplined, feral grace of the North's elite.

The soldiers moved like wolves, relentless and unyielding as they held back wave after wave of the shrieking beasts. Rinna's awe flickered across her face.

"They're… incredible."

But Evelyne didn't hear her.

Whispers had begun in her mind again uninvited, urgent, haunting. They circled like vultures, curling through her thoughts.

"Blood must be shed… to save one…"

She looked down at Syrin, whose breath was growing shallower. The girl's lips trembled, her face pale against Evelyne's shoulder.

She held Syrin tighter, her hands trembling. His face was pale, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't take her. I can't…"

The voice came again—clearer this time.

"One… must bleed… to save another."

Evelyne's eyes shot to the window. The battlefield beyond the walls glowed faintly under moonlight and fire. The Cryvolar were advancing, monstrous shadows rippling through the dark. And in that moment between war cries and stillness she felt it.

A pull. A knowing.

Blood… for blood.

Then came the shriek of the raven.

It pierced the night like a blade.

Riven looked up sharply from Rinna's arms. His eyes widened.

"The raven says… blood must be shed."

Rinna flinched. "Riven what?"

But Evelyne was already moving.

She turned to Rinna and gently placed Syrin into her arms, brushing the girl's damp hair from her brow.

"She'll live," Evelyne said softly. "Take care of her."

"Wait You're Highness, what are you doing?" Rinna stood in alarm, but Evelyne didn't answer.

Riven called after her, voice rising. "Don't go!"

But Evelyne had already left the nursery.

She ran.

Through the halls, down the staircases, across the marble floor of the grand foyer. Her gown swept behind her like smoke, her bare feet pounding against cold stone.

She threw open the front doors, the cold night air rushing in.

Beyond the gate, the Cryvolar were closing in shrieking, clawing, relentless.

One soldier spotted her from the line.

"Your Highness! Get back! It's not safe!"

But she kept going.

A single Cryvolar larger than the rest leapt down from the stone wall and landed before her, snarling, blocking her path.

On the manor balcony above, the Headmistress saw her and tried to run only to be held back by the butler. "Let me go! She's down there!"

Rinna and Riven appeared at the nursery window, their screams echoing behind the glass.

Inside, Syrin stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Through the window, she saw Evelyne standing alone before the beast.

"EVELYNE!" she cried.

The Cryvolar growled.

Evelyne raised a trembling hand.

She didn't know why she did it only that something inside her demanded it. Something old. Something terrible.

The Cryvolar stared at her then began to tremble.

Its growl faltered.

And then, with a sickening crack its heart burst from its chest.

The beast collapsed in a heap at her feet. She hadn't even touched it.

Evelyne stumbled back, gasping in horror.

A memory struck her like a spear.

Her husbands. Their bodies broken. Luke her friend his lifeless eyes. Blood, always blood.

Was this her doing?

The raven shrieked again louder this time. The whisper returned.

"Blood must be shed."

All around her, the Cryvolar began to collapse one by one.

Each beast's chest split open, their hearts ripped violently free as if by an unseen hand.

Screams turned to silence.

A hush fell across the battlefield.

Soldiers lowered their weapons, stunned. Others stared at Evelyne as though she were a god or a curse incarnate.

Even the Headmistress could only stare.

By the gates, Northern steel lowered not in fear, but awe.

Riven clung to Syrin now, shielding her as the raven circled once more and then vanished into smoke.

And then from the shadows beyond the trees a darker shape emerged.

Evelyne turned just as it approached her and watched as it slid like liquid into her own shadow, disappearing into her feet like a returning ghost.

The silence afterward was suffocating.

She stared at her own hands.

Her breathing was ragged. Her chest ached. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

The Headmistress slowly descended the stairs.

She placed a hand gently on Evelyne's blood-covered shoulder. "Come," she said softly. "You've done enough."

She looked down at her hands, stained in the black, inky blood of the Cryvolar. Her vision blurred with tears.

"What… am I?" she whispered.

Dawn rose slowly behind the trees, casting golden light across the manor's front courtyard.

The soldiers began cleaning up the bodies, working in stunned silence. No one spoke of what they saw. No one dared.

When Evelyne reentered the manor, Rinna, Riven, and Syrin were waiting in the corridor.

Syrin broke into a run and threw her arms around Evelyne's waist, sobbing.

"You came back," the girl cried.

"You came back…"

Riven followed, and Rinna, tears in her eyes, wrapped her arms around all of them.

"Your highness" she asked, voice cracking.

Evelyne stood frozen for a moment then slowly embraced them all.

"I'm here," she whispered, breaking into sobs.

"I'm here."

And above them, the morning light spilled through the manor windows, golden and warm.

But beneath it all… something ancient still stirred.

And Evelyne knew

This was only the beginning.

The first light of dawn spilled across the snow-dusted mountains, casting a cold gleam over the Northern encampment. Morning had arrived, but with it came no peace—only tension.

Inside the main tent, Severin and Dain stood before a bound eastern captain, bruised and bloodied but still arrogant, defiance simmering in his gaze.

Severin twirled a dagger between his fingers as he leaned in.

"Kaelen of Viranth leading the charge now? Tell me did he trade his perfume for a sword?"

Dain smirked, arms crossed. "I bet his armor still has lace trim."

The prisoner gave a dry laugh.

"Mock him all you want. He'll be the last one laughing. This war marks the fall of both the West and the North."

Just then, a sudden wind swept through the tent unnatural, almost whispering, as if something unseen brushed the fabric of the world. Acheron Vale turned sharply, his eyes narrowing toward the sky.

From above, a brilliant light broke through the morning haze.

Descending in silence came a golden phoenix, wings outstretched like banners of flame. It landed just outside the tent, radiating heat against the frost.

Tied to its leg was a scroll, sealed with the sigil of Aurelius Seal, King Caelum of the West.

Acheron untied it, broke the seal, and scanned the contents. His jaw tensed.

"What's it say?" Severin asked.

Acheron passed the letter over without a word.

Severin read aloud:

"I've uncovered something regarding the curse. It may run deeper than blood—deeper than even Evelyne herself knows. Be warned: the East is moving. Queen Seraphina her brother, Kaelen of Viranth, now commands their armies. HeyThey wield the Dominion of Echoes a relic that manipulates truth, warps memory, and commands beasts. Do not underestimate it."

Severin snorted. "So, Kaelen finally found a way to make people take him seriously. Mind control."

Dain chuckled. "Still wouldn't trust him to lead a picnic."

The eastern captain sneered.

"Laugh while you can. This is your downfall. The Dominion of Echoes will twist your thoughts until you forget who you are. Your soldiers, your friends, even your beasts they'll turn on you."

He leaned forward. "The Zheparal is awakening. You've already lost."

Acheron's expression darkened. He strode forward and grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him up.

"How do you know about the Zheparal?"

The captain only grinned, blood staining his teeth.

"Your Thorn Princess triggered the chain," he spat.

"Evelyne your cursed bride of ruin. She's nothing more than a death sentence wrapped in velvet. When Kaelen marches, she'll be the first to fall."

He laughed bitterly. "And you'll be the one to watch her burn."

Severin's jaw tightened. Dain stepped forward, fists clenched.

But Acheron didn't flinch.

Without another word, he drew his blade and sliced clean through the man's throat.

The body crumpled to the floor in a pool of blood.

Acheron stepped out into the rising sun, sword still dripping crimson. Soldiers stood at attention, the air thick with silence.

He raised his voice.

"Men of the North.The East marches against us with stolen power and twisted truth. They seek to break our minds before our bodies, to rewrite memory, to bend beasts to their will.They call us cursed. They mock our scars.But we are Northerners. We do not bend. We do not bow.This war will not be swift. It will not be clean. Blood will stain the snow…But it will not be ours.Let it be the blood of the East that feeds the earth."

A roar echoed across the camp as blades were raised, boots stomped, and the winds carried the cry of war.

Far across the realm, deep within the towering obsidian palace of Eirenthal, King Aldric stood by the grand window, cloaked in silence and ambition. The city below lay quiet too quiet.

He smiled darkly.

"They'll destroy each other," he said.

"North and West. All we must do is wait… and sweep away the ashes."

Beside him, Queen Seraphina reclined on her ivory throne, gently stroking the curve of her growing belly. A wicked smile played on her lips, hiding a truth Aldric did not yet know the hidden legacy of the former queen, buried and bound to Evelyne's blood.

"They suspect nothing," she murmured.

"And they never will."

A black-hooded masked man stepped into the chamber as a raven shrieked overhead. The bird swooped down and landed on his shoulder, carrying a sealed message.

He opened it, scanning quickly, then looked up with a grin beneath the mask.

"The northern commander executed our scout," he said.

"Vale has chosen war."

The queen's smile deepened.

"Then let him come. We'll make him kneel."

Aldric turned from the window. "And the girl?"

The masked man nodded.

"The Thorn Princess will die. And when she does, the Zheperal will be ours… along with the kingdom."

Seraphina whispered softly, hand resting on her stomach as her eyes glowed red in the candlelight.

"Let the war begin."

The queen smiled but her eyes flicked downward, hand resting on her belly with quiet purpose.

Deep beneath Eirenthal, something ancient stirred. The Dominion of Echoes pulsed through the roots of the land. And far away, in the North...

A black feather landed on the windowsill of Evelyne's chamber.

Her breath caught.

The shadow within her whispered.

"They know."