Year 844 after the Holy war, Kingdom of Elshire, Ravenmark residence

  Leonard ran through the smoke shouting orders, no- he was begging for help, stench of burned bodies and gunpowder hanging in the air, suddenly he heard a voice that was not supposed to be there.

  "Brother wake up“ Lauren’s concerned voice pierced through the haze, bringing him back to reality, "you were twitching again.“

  Leo jerked awake, heart hammering, breath ragged. The jungle was gone, but the screams of his comrades swallowed in the fire unleashed by the flying metallic beasts still lingered in his ears.

  "Another nightmare?" she asked quietly.

  He swallowed hard. "Yeah, in a jungle as usual, i was holding neither sword or wand, but a black weapon I did not know, killing people i did not know. It was… so vivid."

  She seemed concerned, but didn’t comment any further. "Breakfast is ready, everyone is waiting for you."

  Lauren gave him a sideways glance as they walked down the hall. "You sure you’re alright?"

  "I’ll be fine.. it’s just, they are getting worse, more real, like I can’t shake them off anymore."

  "You should talk to mom or dad, they’ll understand." Lauren said, then added "if you don’t want them to know, at least tell Wilfred, he’s back from the capital for the festival."

  "Yeah, maybe." He muttered unconvinced as they reached the dining hall.

  The Ravenmark family gathered around the table, the clink of silverware filling the air. Stannis set down his mug with a soft clink, his war-torn hands rough against the smooth ceramic. He traced the rim with his thumb, eyes distant.

  Lauren’s smile faltered. "...What is it?" she asked.

  "A friend of mine sent a raven this morning," Stannis said, voice low. "The fire in the capital wasn’t an accident. Romantine loyalists." He paused, eyes grim.

  "War is coming. And this time, we won’t be able to stay on the edges of it."

  "Those bastards without honor, burning innocent people of their own country for a coin. I’ll cut them to pieces along with the whole Empire." Harold said, his voice loud and angry.

  "Don’t underestimate war Harold, "Stannis cautioned, "the last one cost us dearly and we have yet to recover." he paused, then added "and you might be talented, but you lack battle expierience."

  Leonard’s eyes drifted to the window, where the first light of morning spilled across the Kingdom’s fields. His attention wandered away from his fathers warning to the strange visions that plagued him for weeks.

  Stanley who had been silently picking at his food suddenly spoke up. "I’ll be joining the army soon, graduation is almost there and I want to serve my country." Stannis nodded aprovingly at the patriotism his thirdborn son has shown.

  "Where’s El?" Winfred asked, noticing the youngest’s absence. At eleven, Eleanor had already caught the attention of many influential people.

  "Our generous king has sent Magus Alfred to help her with her studies," their mother explained. "They are at the library right now."

  "They just see her as a weapon… disgusting." Leo muttered quietly, just loud enough for his twin sister, Lauren, to hear.

  As the breakfast approached it’s end mother said with a tone that rejects any refusal, "don’t forget that we are going to watch fireworks after dinner today."

  As everyone left Leo was still in his chair, confused what did the upcoming war meant.

  "Let’s take a walk, shall we?" Winfred’s voice cut through Leonard’s thoughts, his usual easygoing smile in place.

  They strolled in silence for a few moments before Winfred spoke again.

  "So, how’s the academy treating you?"

  Leonard gave him a sideways look. "Did Mom ask you to talk to me about school?" he asked, his tone sharper than intended.

  Winfred chuckled softly. "No, not exactly. But I figured it out on my own. Look, I won’t pretend I know exactly what you're going through, but... I get parts of it. Being the less gifted one."

  Leonard raised an eyebrow. "You? The promising med student from the capital? Spare me."

  Winfred raised his hands, smiling. "Hey, hear me out. Both our parents fought in the war. Mom’s now a royal academy professor, Dad’s still captain of the king’s elite cavalry. Then there’s Harold — youngest knight in living memory. Your twin? Her swordmanship is better that most professors plus she casts magic like she’s reading bedtime stories. And El… well, the kingdom practically bows when she sneezes."

  Leonard stayed quiet, jaw tight.

  "I’m not saying I’ve got it as bad," Winfred admitted. "But when you grow up in a family like ours, it’s easy to feel... average. I thought I’d be a healer or an alchemist. Turns out I’m barely good at either. My swordsmanship? Laughable." He gave a dry laugh. "But medicine — real medicine — that’s where I found something that clicked. Not flashy, not heroic. But it’s mine."

  Leonard exhaled shakily. "You know... maybe I deserve this," he muttered. "When I realized I’d never measure up to any of you, I just... stopped trying. Bare minimum, just enough to scrape by." His voice wavered as he continued. "But now? Seraphine — she grew up in the slums, didn’t even hold a sword until a few years ago — she beats me in duels like it’s nothing. I was trained from the moment I could walk and she still wipes the floor with me. And on top of that... the nightmares. I keep dreaming of fighting in some alien war with weapons I’ve never seen, killing people I don’t even recognize. And now there’s a real war coming, and I—" His voice cracked. "I can’t do anything. I can’t protect anyone."

  He turned away, blinking rapidly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel useless, Win."

  Winfred didn’t respond right away, letting his little brother calm down a little, then said, hand on his shoulder, "you don’t need to save the whole world dear little brother, just start with yourself and the rest will follow."

  "That’s easy for you to say." Leo responded, somewhat calmed down.

  "No" Winfred protested, " it’s really not, but it’s the only think that has kept me going."

  They stood in silence again, the morning breeze rustling the leaves above them.

  "Come on," Winfred finally said, gently bumping his shoulder. "Mom’ll have my head if we’re late for whatever festival chores she signed us up for."

  Leonard managed a weak chuckle.

  "You mean the ‘stand around and look respectable’ kind of chores?"

  "Exactly those. We’re very qualified."

  The rest of the morning passed in a quiet haze. Lunch came and went — roasted fowl, fresh bread, and talk that tiptoed around anything heavy. Leonard hardly touched his plate, his mind elsewhere. He needed to move. He needed to do something.

  He found Lauren working out in the courtyard, sweat dripping from her face on the cobblestones from the sun and her hands rought from the intensive training she went through everyday.

  "Hey," he called out. "Up for a spar?"

  She looked up, surprised, but nodded. "Sure. You feeling alright?"

  "Not really. But I am not going to drown in self-pity anymore, especially when I can better myself." He answered convinced.

  As he stepped into the circle, he noticed Harold leaning against a pillar with arms crossed, a half-eaten apple in hand. A moment later, their father arrived too, his heavy boots silent on the stone as he took a seat with wordless interest. The tension in Leonard’s chest grew tighter — just what he needed, an audience.

  Leonard tightened the grip on his training sword, sweat already forming on his palms. Lauren stood opposite him, her stance relaxed but precise — too precise. The courtyard was quiet now, with only Harold and their father watching from the sidelines, murmuring low observations to one another.

  Leo charged, cautious but committed, blade raised. Lauren parried effortlessly, countering with quick precision. He parried — barely. His feet stumbled, but he didn’t fall.

  He swung again, more from instinct than strategy. She weaved aside, tapped his ribs with the flat of her blade.

  "One."

  They reset. He adjusted his stance.

  Again.

  He lasted longer this time, reading her movement better. He blocked a high strike and managed to step back in time from the sweep — but she disarmed him on the third exchange. His blade clattered to the stone.

  "Two."

  Breathing hard, Leonard retrieved it. He wanted to quit. He didn’t.

  Again.

  Each round ended the same, but the rhythm began to shift. He wasn’t winning, but he was thinking, adapting. Noticing things — the way Lauren adjusted her footing, how she disguised her feints. And more importantly, how utterly focused she was. Not a drop of laziness in her movements. No sloppiness hidden under talent.

  By the end, he was bruised, exhausted, and thoroughly beaten. But Lauren offered him a rare, proudful smile.

  "You’re improving. For once, it didn’t feel like a waste of time."

  Leo nodded, chest heaving. "You're this good because you train this hard, aren't you?"

  She looked at him. No teasing this time. Just a quiet, serious: "Every day."

  After the spar Leonard felt like he fell off a horse, but he was well aware that the pain from his beating was nothing compared to the lesson he just learned, he made his way slowly towards the garden, where he found Eleanor sitting on the bench, as usual.

  She looked up at him as he approached, "You were sparring with Laura weren’t you?" her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she asked.

  "Yeah, she wiped the floor with me." Leonard smiled as he rubbed his sore shoulder.

  Eleanor giggled softly, her voice light and untainted by the weight of the world. "I bet you tried your best, though. Lauren's really good, isn't she?"

  "Yeah... she is," Leonard agreed, sitting down beside her. "But you know, she's not the only one with talent."

  Eleanor’s eyes lit up. "Really? What do you mean?"

  He ruffled her hair, smiling despite the weight on his chest. "Well, maybe you're not as good at swordplay yet, but you’ve got a different kind of talent. You’ll catch up to all of us. You’ll be better than Lauren one day, I’m sure."

  She gave him a skeptical look. "Better than Lauren? Really?"

  "Definitely. You’ve got something special," he said with a wink.

  Eleanor hesitated, her small hands twisting in her lap. "Do you think we will be okay? Everyone is talking about the war with Empire… first grandpa Alfred at the training and now even Daddy with big brother Harold." She paused, then admitted, "I’m scared, Leo."

  Leonards heart ached, seeing his little sister affected by the cruelty in the world of adults. When her magic aptitude was discovered, every invidual that meant something in the society of the Kingdom started to treat her as a weapon. Even their grandfather from his fathers side that had disowned Stannis for marrying a commoner, the Duke Lionborne, out of nowhere realized he actually has a granddaughter named Eleanor.

  And now that the conflict was inevitable it made her a target, but of course Leo would never tell her that.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, I’m sure of that." Her older brother said, trying to said as confident as possible.

  "You will protect me right Leo?" she asked, hoping to find reassurence.

  Leonard’s heart twinged, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could promise that. But he smiled again, squeezing her hand. "Always."

  After leaving Eleanor, Leonard wandered slowly through the garden, his mind still weighed down by the conversation. She’s still just a child, he thought, and already the world is starting to crush her.

  He sighed, the weight of his promise to her still heavy on his chest. But I’ll protect her, I’ll protect them all.

  As he rounded the corner of the garden, he spotted Stanley leaning against the stone wall of the estate, his eyes trained on the distant horizon.

  "Hey, Stanley," Leonard called, a little surprised to see his older brother out here.

  Stanley turned, his usual stoic expression softening into a slight smile as he pushed off the wall. "Didn’t expect to see you out here. All right after the spar?"

  Leonard nodded, rubbing his shoulder. "More bruised than I’d like to admit, but yeah. Just... thinking about things."

  Stanley raised an eyebrow, his expression becoming more serious. "What about?"

  Leonard hesitated, glancing back toward the garden where Eleanor had been. "Eleanor. She’s still just a kid, and I can see how scared she is... I don’t know how to make her feel safe when I’m not sure I feel safe either." He looked at Stanley then, a little unsure of himself. "Does that make sense?"

  Stanley nodded, his gaze intense but soft as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It makes sense. But you're doing the right thing by being there for her. You’re all she has right now." He took a deep breath, his voice dropping, low and unwavering. "As for the rest of us, well, we do what we must to protect this Kingdom. Every last one of us is bound to it."

  Leonard looked down at his feet, the weight of his brother’s words sinking in. "Yeah, I know. But the war... I can’t help but wonder what my part in it will be."

  Stanley’s expression hardened, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he stepped closer to Leonard. "This war is for the Kingdom. For our people. The Empire and their loyalists are coming for us, they want to crush us beneath their boots. And they’ll never stop unless we fight back with everything we have."

  Stanley’s grip on his arm tightened, and for a moment, the anger in his voice was palpable. "Our parents fought and bled for this Kingdom. Dad is still out there, leading the king’s elite cavalry. Mom... she turned her entire life into making sure this Kingdom stays strong, teaching those who will protect it." His voice grew colder as he added, "And I’m not going to let all that sacrifice be for nothing."

  Leonard could feel the intensity of Stanley’s loyalty, the unwavering patriotism that had been forged in the fires of family and war. "I get it, Stan," Leonard said quietly. "But sometimes it feels like we’re just... a step away from losing it all."

  Stanley smiled, a small but genuine smile that showed just how much he cared for his brother. "Then you’ll fight, and you’ll fight hard. We all will. Because the moment we stop fighting is the moment we lose everything — our family, our Kingdom, everything. And I’ll be damned if the Empire or anyone else takes that from us." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword — but it was the faint glow of magic around his fingertips that spoke of his true power. "I may fight with magic, but I’ll fight until my last breath."

  Leonard met his brother's eyes and felt a flicker of the fire Stanley held inside. The war wasn’t just about duty. It was personal.

  Leo lay on his back in the courtyard, Stanley’s words still echoing in his mind. His chest rose and fell with the weight of uncertainty — but also with a slowly reigniting resolve.

  The air smelled of sweat, iron, and roasting meat wafting in from the plaza beyond the estate walls. Somewhere in the distance, music played — a lively flute accompanied by violin and drums.

  The city was already celebrating. Just hours to go until the fireworks painted the sky.

  Then it came — boom — low and distant.

  Leo barely reacted. Probably just a test round, making sure the highlight of the evening would go off perfectly.

  But then came the second explosion.

  BOOM.

  Closer. Louder. Clearly not meant for amusement — pure destruction. The courtyard trembled beneath him. A flash — brighter than the sun — lit the western skyline.

  The Academy.

  Then came the scent — somehow familiar. Blood. Gunpowder. Burned flesh.

  His heart pounded. His vision swam.

  Suddenly the laughter, the celebration, the heat of home blurred into the distant echo of helicopters. Blood and mud. A green uniform soaked to the knees.

  A voice — English. American. Barking orders inside his skull.

  His chest heaved. He couldn’t breathe.

  Not again. Not here, he begged, in a voice that never reached his lips.

  Then came the scream. High-pitched. Familiar.

  “Ellie.”

  He rolled onto his feet and sprinted, weaving through the hedgerow gap and vaulting a low stone railing. He found her just outside the atrium, barefoot on the tiled floor, dress half-burned at the hem. Her eyes were wide, arms shielding a younger maid who was sobbing uncontrollably. A black smear — ash or blood — streaked Eleanor’s cheek.

  "Leo!" she cried, relief breaking through her terror.

  Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up. "We’re going. Now."

  "Where’s Mom? Lauren?—"

  "I don’t know. We have to get to Dad."

  The corridors blurred past them. The estate was large, but not a fortress — never meant to be. Just enough guards to show status, not enough to hold a siege.

  They found their father in the inner hall, still wearing his indoor uniform — tunic half-buttoned, sabre belted awkwardly over his shoulder. His face was pale but calm, issuing orders to the guards with the same tone he once used to scold Leonard for muddy boots.

  "Leo!" he called the moment he saw them. He crossed the distance in long strides and knelt in front of Eleanor, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You’re safe. Thank the stars."

  Leo stepped back, panting, trying to catch up with his thoughts.

  "We need to go out there," he said.

  His father looked up at him, eyes narrowing.

  "You need to stay here."

  Leo shook his head. "I can’t."

  There wasn’t time to argue. Another explosion — closer — shook the floors. Dust rained from the rafters. Somewhere, a guard cried out in pain.

  His father stood up, pulling Eleanor to his side. “Then leave her with me and find your brother.”

  Outside, the estate grounds were already turning into a battleground. The city burned beyond the walls, and the sky over the plaza glowed orange. Screams. Magic flares. Sword steel against cobblestone. This was no raid — it was war.

  Leo found Stanley on the front steps, sword drawn, fingertips glowing with runes, a shield spell hovering faintly on his left arm. A group of younger guards clustered around him, looking more terrified than ready.

  Leo approached, breathing hard.

  Stanley turned to him — and for a moment, just a moment, there was relief in his eyes.

  "This is our city," Stanley said. "And they’re not just here for terror. They’re targeting things — the academy, the granaries, the barracks... and maybe even us."

  Leo swallowed. “Then we fight.”

  Stanley stepped close, gripping Leo’s shoulder firmly. “Fight like hell. For Mom. For Eleanor. For everything we still have.”

  Leo nodded. No hesitation this time.

  Stanley turned to the guards. “We move to the plaza. Lauren’s already there. Harold went ahead. We regroup and hold the line.”

  They reached the plaza at a sprint, feet slamming the cobblestone as the chaos unfolded around them. Smoke hung thick, firelight reflecting off the shattered stained glass of the nearby chapel. Corpses littered the square — Elshire soldiers, civilians, and attackers alike. Screams rang out from alleyways. Magic cracked like thunder.

  And in the middle of it all stood Harold and Lauren.

  Harold fought like a bear — armor dented and stained red, greatsword cleaving through the enemy lines with brute strength. Blood sprayed in arcs as he smashed another assailant into the ground. Lauren danced beside him, quicksilver and steel, cutting down foes with elegant precision. Her twin daggers flashed like fangs — each step deliberate, each strike fatal. A ring of corpses surrounded them.

  Leo froze for a moment. A pile of bodies lay at their feet. Enemies. Armed, trained, and still dead.

  That could’ve been me, Leo thought, breath catching. I’ve always been the weakest. Always just watching, training half-heartedly while the others pushed themselves. What did I ever think I’d do when it came to this?

  The answer struck him harder than the explosions had.

  Whatever it takes.

  A scream tore nearby. One of the attackers, dressed in light armor with twin sabers, rushed him from the side — too fast. Leo barely raised his blade in time, steel shrieking against steel. He stumbled back, instincts kicking in, adrenaline making up for his lack of skill. The enemy slashed again — Leo ducked, clumsily parried, kicked out and missed.

  A third strike came — aimed at his throat.

  Leo twisted just enough, the saber grazing his cheek, hot pain blooming as blood trickled down.

  He stabbed forward wildly. A lucky hit. His sword pierced the attacker’s side — not fatal, but enough. The enemy collapsed.

  Leo staggered back, panting. I survived. Just barely.

  From a balcony above, Stanley’s magic lit the sky — bolts of searing light rained down, exploding in controlled arcs between enemies. Barriers shimmered over allies, his hands weaving precise sigils in the air. He wasn’t the strongest fighter — but he was their wall, their shield, their power source. His magic kept them all alive.

  Then it happened.

  A deep, shuddering sound — like a tree being split in two.

  Harold let out a grunt, then a choked gasp. He staggered — a long, curved blade embedded in his lower side, blood gushing out with every heartbeat. His sword dropped. His knees hit the ground.

  “Harold!” Lauren screamed.

  The moment froze.

  Stanley’s concentration broke for the first time — a flicker of panic in his eyes.

  Harold collapsed completely, unmoving.

  For a second, no one breathed.

  Then Lauren moved.

  She didn't scream. She didn’t cry.

  She changed.

  Her face twisted into something inhuman — not from magic, but from pure rage. Her eyes glowed not with spellcraft, but fury. She charged.

  The nearest enemy barely raised a weapon before her blade tore through his throat. Another turned — too slow — she disemboweled him with a single swipe. Blood sprayed across her face, her arms, her legs — she didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

  One after another, the attackers fell back, fear overtaking their formation. She hunted them down like animals, leaping across debris, stabbing into armor joints, kicking dying bodies aside. There was no elegance now — only violence.

  Even Leo — still panting, sword raised — felt a chill crawl down his spine.

  This was the same sister who used to braid Eleanor’s hair, who hummed lullabies when their mother came home too tired to speak. The same sister who always sat beside Leo at breakfast, who had patched up his scraped knees and told him he'd be strong one day.

  Now she looked like a storm given flesh.

  He saw one of the attackers — not even older than Leo — drop his weapon and run. Lauren caught him anyway.

  “Lauren!” Stanley’s voice broke through the haze. “That’s enough!”

  But she didn’t stop.

  Not until the last enemy in the plaza had either fled or bled out.

  Then, and only then, she fell to her knees beside Harold, her hands shaking, soaked in blood that wasn’t hers.

  Stanley was already rushing down from the balcony, sliding to a stop beside them, casting spell after spell in a panic.

  “He’s alive,” Stanley muttered. “Gods, he’s actually alive.”

  Leo stood still, trembling — not from fear of death anymore, but from the sheer weight of the night.

  His cheek burned. His muscles ached. And yet...

  He’d fought. He wasn’t useless. Not anymore.

  But as he looked at Lauren — her clothes soaked in crimson, her eyes unfocused — he realized something.

  We’re all changing. And this war is only beginning.

  Stanley pressed his glowing hands to Harold’s wounds, magic pulsing bright beneath blood-soaked armor. “Hold on. Just hold on, damn it.”

  Harold’s breaths were shallow, lips pale. A pool of blood spread beneath him, and even with Stanley’s best efforts, it wasn’t stopping fast enough.

  “I need more power,” Stanley muttered. “I can’t stabilize him here. I— I need a transport rune.”

  He slammed his hand into the ground, glyphs etching themselves into the cobblestone. A soft humming vibrated the air as the runic circle flared to life, glowing a sickly blue.

  “Stay with me, brother.” His voice cracked. “I’m not losing you too.”

  A surge of mana tore through the air. The runes flared — and in a blink, Stanley and Harold vanished, teleported to a crowded field hospital near the barracks. The healer halls were full. This was their only shot..

  Leo and Lauren stood in the eerie silence that followed. The plaza, now a graveyard.

  Lauren's blood-covered blades hung loosely in her grip. Her breath still came quick, shallow — but the wild look in her eyes had dulled.

  “I…” she began, voice hoarse. “We almost lost him.”

  Leo nodded, still staring at the space where Harold had lain seconds ago.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, gently. “We need to find the others.”

  Ravenmark Residence – A few minutes later

  The estate was in ruins.

  Smoke clung to the air like a shroud, curling from scorched beams and crumbling stone. The once-grand hall was torn apart — walls blackened, ceilings collapsed, the Ravenmark crest shattered and buried in rubble. The garden, where they once played as children, was now a scorched crater of upturned earth and smoldering trees.

  Leo’s boots crunched on glass and burnt tile as he walked, numb and dazed, Eleanor’s weight still fresh in his arms. Lauren moved beside him, silent, her eyes wide with shock but jaw tight with effort.

  The courtyard was red.

  Too red.

  More than skirmish. This was slaughter.

  Then they saw them — near the shattered doorway of the eastern wing.

  Elisabeth and Stannis Ravenmark.

  Their mother’s body lay near the base of the old iron stairwell — robes torn, arms curled around a child-sized silhouette in ash. She had fallen protecting. Her face was frozen in a fierce grimace of defiance, even in death.

  A few steps ahead of her, just in front of the heavy doors that led deeper into the estate, lay Stannis. His body was slumped over, blood pooling beneath him, but he had not fallen back — he had clearly died standing. His blade, that unmistakable longsword etched with the Lionborne crest, was driven through the chest of a burnt enemy beneath him. Still intact. Still glowing faintly.

  He had made his last stand here.

  Lauren stopped in her tracks. Her breath hitched.

  Leo staggered forward and dropped to his knees between them.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. His fingers just brushed the hilt of his father’s sword. It was warm.

  Then, the scent hit him — blood, fire, burnt hair, and gunpowder — and the world seemed to blur.

  Ash became smoke. Smoke became haze. For a heartbeat, the scorched ground beneath Leo’s knees felt like a jungle floor — humid, heavy, slick with blood. The air thickened. Screams rose in his ears, not from here… not from this life. He blinked.

  No.

  Not again.

  "Leo," Lauren whispered, kneeling beside their mother. Her voice was shaky now — not the calm, lethal warrior from before. Just a girl. A sister. A daughter.

  "They fought here," she said. "Together. Protecting..."

  "Her," Leo breathed.

  They turned. Deeper inside the broken residence, past blasted walls and collapsed beams, was the drawing room.

  What was left of it.

  Couches turned to ash. A melted chandelier. Three corpses — or what might have once been — fused into the floor, their armor twisted and scorched beyond recognition.

  And in the middle of it all, tucked behind the shattered remains of a grand piano, was Eleanor.

  She was unconscious, her small body curled tight, arms rigid. Blood marked a deep gash along her shoulder, and her skin was smudged with soot. Her fingers were dug into the scorched floor like claws.

  Lauren gasped and rushed over.

  Leo followed and knelt, gently placing two fingers on Eleanor’s neck.

  "She’s alive," he whispered. "Barely."

  Lauren’s eyes swept the room — and widened.

  The destruction… it wasn’t from the attack. The blasts had come from inside. From this room. From her.

  The walls were melted inward. All three enemy bodies — obliterated. There were no signs of weapons. No struggle. Just pure devastation.

  “She saw it,” Leo muttered.

  Lauren nodded slowly. “She was here. She saw them die.”

  And in her grief — her rage — she lost control.

  From the threshold, Leo turned once more to look outside. Two bodies. A broken home. And no sign of Winfred.

  Not even a trail.

  Minutes later, outside the ruined gates

  Leo carried Eleanor in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. Lauren walked beside him, blades sheathed but knuckles white from the grip.

  Behind them, smoke curled into the sky, rising from the remains of the once-proud Ravenmark estate.

  No more warm laughter. No more training matches in the garden. No lectures at dinner, no quiet evenings by the fire.

  And for the first time in years, there were no parents waiting to welcome them home.

  Just the shattered remains of what once was.

  As they crossed the threshold of what was no longer home, Leo looked once over his shoulder.

  The sword at his side felt heavier now.

  He didn’t know how… or when… but someone would pay.