The moon hung low, veiled in silver mist, watching the world like an ancient god grown weary of mortals.
Evelyn stood at the edge of the Blackened Forest, her boots sinking into the frost-covered earth. Behind her, Elara adjusted the strap on her swordbelt. She wore no crown now—only resolve.
Lucien emerged from the shadows, his cloak dusted with snow. "Scouts found traces of her power two miles west. Burned trees. Dead silence. And the smell of blood."
"She's close," Evelyn murmured.
Elara raised an eyebrow. "And when we find her?"
Evelyn looked forward. "We end her."
The path to Seraphine's last known stronghold twisted through ruins and broken ground. Bones jutted from the soil like the spines of a long-dead beast. The trees here didn't whisper. They screamed in silence.
Lucien walked beside Evelyn, their fingers brushing occasionally. His presence grounded her, but even his warmth couldn't chase away the cold curling around her spine.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm ready," she replied. But her voice shook slightly.
Elara, several steps ahead, paused suddenly. Her eyes narrowed.
"Trap," she said.
A second later, arrows flew.
The ambush came fast and cruel.
Figures in crimson cloaks emerged from the trees—Seraphine's personal guard. Eyes glowing red, fangs bared, they struck with supernatural speed.
Lucien moved to shield Evelyn, blades flashing.
Elara's hands surged with dark energy, flinging enemies back.
Evelyn drew in a breath—then screamed.
But not in fear.
In power.
The ground split beneath them, a wave of violet light erupting from her chest. The magic tore through trees and flesh alike, sending the attackers flying.
When the dust settled, only three guards remained.
One turned to flee—but a dagger pierced his back.
Elara stepped forward, her face a mask of fury. "Coward."
The last two hesitated.
Evelyn raised her hand—and the earth swallowed them whole.
After the battle, Evelyn dropped to her knees.
Lucien crouched beside her. "You didn't lose control. That was you."
"I felt her," Evelyn whispered. "Seraphine. Watching."
Elara looked to the horizon. "She wants us to follow. This was a message. She's luring us in."
"Then we don't make her wait," Evelyn said, standing.
By twilight, they reached the ruins of the old cathedral—Seraphine's fortress.
It had once been a place of worship. Now it was a nest of nightmares.
The spires twisted upward like claws. The stained glass glowed faintly, not with sunlight—but with magic pulsing from within.
"Welcome," a voice echoed through the stones.
Seraphine stepped out from the shadows, her gown like a storm cloud stitched with lightning. Her eyes glowed amber, ancient and cruel.
"Elara," she purred. "You brought your little sister. How… quaint."
Evelyn stepped forward. "We're not here to play."
Seraphine smiled. "But you've always been such a good puppet, Evelyn. Dancing between rage and mercy."
Elara moved to Evelyn's side. "Not anymore."
Seraphine's smile faded. "So the daughters of the flame think they can strike down the mother?"
"You're not our mother," Evelyn growled. "You're the monster who took her from us."
Something flickered in Seraphine's eyes. Regret? Pain?
Gone in an instant.
"So be it," she said coldly.
The battle was unlike anything Evelyn had ever known.
Seraphine didn't fight with blades. She fought with memories.
Visions erupted around them—scenes from Evelyn's past: her mother's death, Kaelith's final breath, even the moment Lucien first tried to kill her.
Each memory twisted, poisoned, made worse by Seraphine's magic.
"You can't win," Seraphine whispered, her voice inside Evelyn's mind. "You're just a frightened girl pretending to be strong."
"No," Evelyn said through clenched teeth. "I'm a storm you taught to fear—but now I know how to rise."
She summoned every shard of grief, every thread of anger, every flicker of love—and unleashed it.
The magic that burst from her struck Seraphine full force.
Elara followed, hurling black fire, her betrayal turned into fury.
Lucien drove his blade into the cathedral floor, breaking the spell-web Seraphine had built.
And at last—
Seraphine screamed.
The force of their combined power drove her to her knees.
Her cloak burned away. Her mask of youth shattered.
She was old.
And afraid.
"I made you," she whispered to Evelyn.
"No," Evelyn said, stepping forward. "I made me."
Evelyn raised her hand—and for a moment, the world held its breath.
Seraphine knelt before her, broken. Defeated.
Lucien spoke gently. "She's yours."
Evelyn looked at Elara. "What would you do?"
Elara's voice trembled. "I don't know. But I trust you."
Evelyn's magic gathered, pulsing with light and shadow. Then—
She stopped.
"No," she whispered. "Killing her ends her. But leaving her ends her power."
She stepped back. "Strip her magic. Banish her. Let her live with what she's done."
Seraphine stared, stunned.
"You've already lost," Evelyn said. "Now you get to remember it… forever."
The cathedral fell silent.
Then the stained glass shattered.
And the stars returned to the sky.