Blood Bond

There was no time for a proper bath, only a hasty, vigorous scrub with a rough towel that left my skin feeling raw, and a change into more appropriate, though still simple, traveling clothes—a puffy, lace-edged blouse and riding skirt of deep Aethelgard blue. The borrowed sackcloth trousers were discarded with a look from Meris that suggested they might spontaneously combust.

A tray with fruit, cheese, and warm bread was waiting. I ate a few bites, the taste grounding yet strangely insufficient. A hollow, gnawing sensation remained deep in my belly, a hunger that food didn't seem to touch. It felt… different. Not my usual post-run appetite, nor my boredom with pastries. It was a deeper ache, unsettling and persistent.

Dismissing the tray, I followed Meris out. Kael fell into step behind us, his usual stiff posture betraying none of the morning's exertion. We reached the designated departure point, a paved courtyard adjacent to the main temple gates where the sleek, black hover carriage waited, its serpentine steeds pulsing faintly.

Prince Jarlen stood near the open carriage door, impeccably dressed, seemingly examining the intricate carvings on the doorframe. As I approached, I noticed his hand, held casually near his hip, fingers subtly weaving intricate patterns in the air. Tiny shimmering currents, almost invisible, swirled around his fingertips before dissipating.

"What is that?" I asked, curiosity momentarily overriding my unease.

Jarlen startled, his hand dropping quickly. A flicker of something—annoyance? Surprise?—crossed his fine elven features before being smoothed away by his usual condescending smile. "Ah, Princess Elara. Merely sending a final instruction." He waved a dismissive hand. "A simple mist sprite cantrip. Coordinating with retainers for our return—ensuring lodgings are prepared, schedules aligned. Minor details, you understand."

He elaborated further, naming specific aides and preferred travel comforts, the details piling up. He's lying, the thought came sharp and clear, my rational analysis cutting through an instinctive dislike. Why lie about something so small? Unless it wasn't small. My eyes narrowed slightly, but I held my tongue. Arguing would yield nothing.

"Ela, come on!" Astrid's voice cut through the air, sharper than usual. She strode towards the carriage, not in her gleaming armor, but in a practical yet elegant gown jacket and skirt, suitable for travel. Her face looked drawn, the confidence of the previous day replaced by a tense preoccupation. She didn't meet my eyes as she swept past me and into the carriage.

I climbed in after her. Prince Cassian was already seated opposite, idly examining the hilt of a dagger sheathed at his belt, his amber eyes giving me a cool, appraising glance. The luxurious interior felt suddenly confining. Kael took up his watchful position near the door, while Meris settled discreetly on a smaller side seat.

The carriage pulled away smoothly, gliding down the winding mountain road. Conversation was sparse and stilted. Astrid stared fixedly out the crystal window, her jaw tight. Cassian offered a few dry remarks about the temple priests, which Jarlen met with silky, noncommittal replies. I found myself looking out the window as well, scanning the roadsides.

There were definitely fewer pilgrims making their way up and down than the day before. Those that remained, their eyes… they didn't just glance at our carriage as it swept past; they stared, their gazes lingering with an unnerving intensity I hadn't noticed on our way up. A prickle of unease traced its way down my spine, the same bad feeling Theron's warnings had sparked. Deep in my gut, that strange, hollow hunger echoed the feeling, twisting into something that felt disturbingly like dread.

SCREEECH!

The sound of metal twisting and straining grated my ears as the carriage stopped dead, throwing me forward against the seat back. A piercing shriek of tortured metal followed, then the sickening THUMP-THUMP of bodies hitting the road outside. Chaos erupted – sharp commands lost in guttural cries, the brutal CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! of steel on steel, and then a series of deafening BOOMS that shook the very air and rattled the crystal windows.

My heart hammered against my ribs. The Aethelgard knights who were our escorts, our knights… they were out there. The door beside Kael was wrenched open with a groan, tearing me from my paralysis.

Vanda stumbled into the opening, her silvered breastplate cruelly dented, a crude metal bolt protruding obscenely from the pauldron just above the engraved Aethelwing sigil. Dark blood seeped around the wicked point, staining the polished metal. Her face, usually a mask of stern control, was chalk-white, contorted in agony. "Ambush!" she choked out, clutching the wound, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Your Highnesses… run! NOW!"

"Vanda!" Astrid cried out, her earlier preoccupation shattered. As she reached Vanda, she pried the bloodied sword free from the wounded woman's grasp, swinging the blade outwards as she tried to support her.

SHIIING!

Kael had his own sword out, its surface shimmering with the steady blue light of his soul seed as he planted himself in the doorway, a shield between us and the unseen battle. Meris moved like smoke, silent and fast, her green eyes narrowed, taking in everything. Cassian scrambled back from the door, his dagger flashing in his hand, his usual arrogance replaced by wide-eyed shock. And Jarlen… Jarlen simply shifted his weight, an unnerving, almost curious detachment on his fine features as he watched the scene unfold.

My breath hitched. "Astrid, no!" I wanted to scream, but the sound caught in my throat. Trembling, I forced myself to follow her out, Kael and Meris moving instantly to flank me, Cassian and Jarlen emerging uncertainly behind us into the unfolding nightmare.

The air hit me, thick with the coppery tang of blood and the acrid smell of discharged magic. The narrow mountain road was a slaughterhouse. Our knights, proud in their Aethelgard blue and silver just minutes ago, lay sprawled in the dust, their armor breached, their lives spilling onto the unforgiving stone. Dark-clad soldiers moved among them, swift and brutal, dispatching any who still stirred. Blocking the path ahead stood a phalanx of hostile warriors, their armor varied – dark iron plates on one giant of a man, gleaming segmented armor on another, intricately engraved lighter plating on a woman—all radiating menace. And their weapons… The wrongness of them sent a chill down my spine. It wasn't just their auras but the impossible combinations. One massive axe spat arcs of lightning through wreaths of flame. Rays of light shone out from points over living vines coiled around a spear. Around another long, curved sword, shards of ice and tendrils of shadow swirled together.

Four figures detached themselves from that wall of death, stepping forward with the chilling weight of command. The huge man in iron armor hefted his fire and lightning axe. "Stonehand..." Kael breathed beside me, the name a choked whisper of recognition. Lord of the Ironfell kingdom, I've heard tales of him. Beside him stood the spear-wielder, ramrod straight in his legionary gear. "General Valerius!" Kael gasped, horror dawning in his voice. The woman in fine coastal armor watched us, her stance poised, predatory. "Commander Corin of Serephos..." Kael identified her, his voice barely audible. And a fourth man, older, severe, in the familiar armor of Rodinar, placed his hand on his sword pommel. "And Marshal Quintus... Rodinar's fist." Kael's voice cracked. "All of them? Here?"

Panic seized me, cold and absolute. Ironfell. Veridia. Serephos. Rodinar. Four of the most powerful kingdoms in the Concord, and perennial rivals. But they were here, together, instead of at each other's throats—a coordinated coup. Treason at the highest levels. My eyes flew to Astrid. She stood protectively over the wounded Vanda, holding the borrowed sword, her elegant traveling jacket a pitiful defense against these butchers. Her own Soul Crystal flared, but the halo: It was gone. They don't know, the thought screamed into my fear. They still think she's the one! She has to face them, stripped of her Chosen powers, alone.

Astrid raised her chin, her voice ringing out, sharp and clear, cutting through the din. She directed her fury at one of the approaching figures. "Valerius! Have you gone mad? Treason! To raise arms against Aethelgard? Against the Chosen?" She stressed the title, a desperate gamble.

Beside Valerius, the giant warrior, Stonehand, laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Times change, Princess," he growled, and charged.

Astrid swung Vanda's sword to meet him head-on. Flames ignited along her blade, roaring to life. Stonehand's axe, already wreathed in that unholy marriage of fire and lightning, came down like judgment from the sky.

KZZBOOM!

An explosion of violent energy erupted where the axe met the sword. Plumes of ejected flames roared outwards as arcs of electricity sizzled over them. Sparks flew like shrapnel. Astrid cried out as the borrowed blade twisted and then snapped in her grasp, the force throwing her backward, sending her sprawling hard onto the dusty road, her flames instantly extinguished. She lay there stunned, holding on to a bladeless hilt.

"Your flames aren't what they used to be, eh?" Stonehand sneered, advancing. "That's what happens when you spend all your time polishing the wardstone and waiting for demons. Weapons have advanced while you stagnate in this Age of Strife." He gestured with the weapon. Its impossible blend of flames and electricity pulsated malevolently.

My eyes locked onto the axe head itself. I could see runes on the blade, no, what looked horrifyingly like actual soul crystals: a glowing orange-red crystal with the symbol of crossed arms ending in fists inside—a berserker rune, a bright yellow crystal containing a sunburst symbol—an evoker rune. They have somehow managed to weld soul seed crystals on an inanimate object—a weapon. Who could have done this? Magic, weapons, expertise. My gaze shot to Jarlen, standing calmly amidst the carnage. The arms dealer. The lies with the mist sprites. This had to be his doing. The elves must be behind this. I backed away from him.

Suddenly, an arm clamped around my waist like a steel band, yanking me off balance. Cold metal pressed against my throat.

"I'm sorry." Cassian's breath was hot against my ear. My eyes darted back toward him, but he refused to meet them.

Astrid scrambled to her feet, seeing the dagger. She froze. Kael and Meris went utterly still.

General Valerius stepped forward then, his expression unreadable, his voice calm but inflexible, meeting Astrid's gaze squarely. "High princess Astrid. We hold no disrespect for the Chosen, nor the legacy of Aethelgard. But power must be wielded. Your father's inaction courts ruin for us all." His gaze flicked towards me, then Vanda, who was groaning softly against the carriage wheel. "Help us convince him. Lay down your arms and come with us. Your protector will receive aid, and your sister can go free once you are secure."

The words hung in the air. There was no choice. Astrid's eyes swung between me, helpless with Cassian's dagger at my throat, and Vanda, bleeding out. The fire in her expression didn't die, but banked, overshadowed by a terrible, weary understanding. The fight drained out of her.

"Cassian," she said, her voice dangerously low, locking eyes with the prince holding me hostage. "You swear? Swear on Rodinar's honor that she will be kept safe? That she will be released?"

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His grip tightened around my waist. The dagger remained pressed firmly against my skin. "I swear it."

Astrid held his gaze for a moment longer, then let the bladeless hilt fall to the ground. The fight was over.

"Very well," she said, her voice hollow. "I will come."

—

Two of Marshal Quintus's soldiers stepped forward briskly, producing a set of heavy-looking manacles forged from dull, grey metal etched with faint, pulsating blue lines—power dampers, clearly. As they reached for Astrid's wrists, I cried out, surging instinctively against Cassian's hold.

"No! You can't!"

"Ela, hush." Astrid's voice was low but firm, cutting through my panic. She didn't resist as the cold metal clicked shut around her wrists. She turned back to face me, her eyes filled with a fierce, protective urgency that eclipsed her own fear. "Valerius," she addressed the General, her voice regaining some of its command, "Allow me a word with my sister. Alone."

Valerius hesitated only a moment, then gave a curt nod. The soldiers stepped back. Cassian pulled back as well, though the cold spot where his dagger had pressed against my throat lingered.

"No! You can't do this!" I repeated. "This can't be happening, please..." My eyes tried to avoid hers, to look any which way but at her. I looked up.

High above the ravaged roadside, a lone Aethelwing carved slow, somber circles against the bruised sky, its cry a hollow echo over the scattered remains of what once was the pride of Aethelgard.

Astrid closed the distance between us, her manacled hands reaching out to gently cup my face. Her touch was startlingly warm against my cold skin. "Listen to me, Ela," she whispered, her voice urgent, pitched only for my ears. Tears pricked my eyes, blurring her face. "You have to be strong now. Stronger than you've ever been."

"Astrid, I—"

"No, listen!" she insisted, her grip tightening. "That halo, only those of royal blood can see it. Remember that." Her hands rested upon the base of my throat over my high collar. "No matter what happens, no matter what they ask, you cannot reveal what you are now. That thing, let them think it's damaged, useless, anything! Swear to me, Ela. Swear you'll keep it hidden." Her eyes bored into mine, desperate. "Your life depends on it. Everything depends on it."

The weight of her words, the sheer terror beneath her command, crushed the air from my lungs. I am Chosen. Her words echoed Theron's confirmation. There must be deeper meaning to this title, something more than the amplification of a rune that I don't possess. I nodded frantically, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. "I swear," I choked out.

A flicker of relief crossed her face, though the sadness remained. "Good girl." She pulled me into a fierce, brief hug, the cold metal of the manacles pressing against my back. "Be brave, little sister," she murmured against my hair, then pulled away before I could cling to her.

She turned, squared her shoulders, and walked towards Valerius and the others without a backward glance. Vanda, supported by the robed attendant who had applied healing, limped determinedly alongside her. The main body of soldiers – Ironfell warriors, Veridian legionaries, Serephos troops, and the bulk of the Rodinar contingent under Quintus – closed in, forming an escort. They guided both Astrid and the injured Vanda to the hover carriage – our carriage – that had brought us down the mountain in what felt like another lifetime. The attendant helped the still-weak Vanda aboard, and then Astrid followed, stepping into the carriage with her head held high. The door clicked shut behind them.

I watched it go, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. Astrid. Gone. Taken. And Father, Mother, Theron… where were they? Had they reached the Keep? Did they even know what was happening? The image of the airship descending earlier flashed in my mind – had they flown straight into another trap? My family, scattered and vulnerable, while I stood here, useless, a prisoner myself.

Cassian remained behind with a small detachment of Rodinarian soldiers, his expression still conflicted as his gaze flicked between the departing carriage and our small group—me, Kael, Meris.

Jarlen stood to the side, looking detached and bored as before, like nothing at all had happened. Behind him, was another group of soldiers that looked rag-tagged and less disciplined than the others. They were lounging about, their armor mismatched and the stale scent of cheap ale drifting from their ranks. Are they sell-swords?

Cassian turned to me. He was about to speak when the air next to Jarlen rippled and shimmered. A figure materialized from the distortion, moving with unsettling silence. Dressed head-to-toe in tight-fitting grey cloth that blended with the dimming light, only the sharp ears protruding from the full head covering betrayed its race. A ninja elf?

Jarlen frowned after a few words were whispered into his ear, then he palmed his head. "It looks like we have trouble back at the temple. Those robed imbeciles won't take our offer from my men. It seems that they don't wish to dirty their hands by taking gold from peddlers." He looked pointedly at Cassian as another figure materialized and handed him a leather satchel. "It seems that someone of nobler blood is needed."

Cassian frowned. "I don't take orders for the likes of you." His gaze focused back upon me. "I had given my word."

"Really? You're going to jeopardize what our betters have worked on for years, just so you can… what? Play at pretend chivalry?" Jarlen sneered, the venom dripping in his voice.

Cassian grimaced and then snatched the satchel from Jarlen. "Give me that. And don't you dare lay a finger on her, elf. There will be consequences."

Jarlen merely inclined his head, a picture of false deference. "Yes, yes. She will be quite safe, awaiting your triumphant return, Prince."

With a final, hard look towards me, Kael, and Meris – a look that carried both warning and perhaps a shred of helpless responsibility – Cassian turned sharply. He gave a curt command to his small detachment, and they moved quickly, heading back up the mountain path towards the temple, leaving us behind.

Jarlen watched them go, that cool, calculating smile returning to his lips as his gaze settled back on me.

He glided closer, his silent grey-clad elves flanking him like extensions of his shadow, the mercenaries shifting restlessly behind them. The air grew thick, coiling with malice now that any pretense of alliance with Cassian was gone. Jarlen circled me slowly, his purple eyes narrowed, taking in my disheveled state.

"Now then, Princess," he purred as he stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint, cloying scent of exotic spices clinging to his fine clothes. "Without your little smitten puppy drooling over you..."

His hand shot out, faster than I could react, fingers hooking into the high collar of my tunic. With a sharp rip, the fabric tore open, exposing the deep red sphere nestled against my skin just below my collarbone.

Kael stiffened instantly, his hand dropping instinctively to the hilt of his sheathed sword, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Meris went utterly still, her eyes hardening, her weight shifting onto the balls of her feet. I flinched back from Jarlen, hand flying protectively towards my chest, but my eyes darted to Kael and Meris, then flickered over the impassive grey-clad elves and the leering mercenaries numbering at least twenty. No, the thought was sharp and clear, don't give them an excuse. I gave a tiny, almost invisible shake of my head, a silent plea for them to stand down. Kael froze, his knuckles white on his sword hilt, but held his ground. Meris relaxed fractionally, though her eyes remained dangerously alert.

Jarlen hadn't missed the exchange. A cruel amusement danced in his eyes as he saw my silent command and their reluctant obedience. He turned his attention back to the exposed sphere, peering at it closely. His initial curiosity shifted to open disappointment. "Hah," he sneered, stepping back. "So it is just a dull red bump after all. Like the rumors said." His gaze swept over me with utter contempt. "You're just worthless."

Having satisfied himself, his gaze flicked towards Kael and Meris. He sighed theatrically. "Such loyalty." He nodded towards a burly man in front of the mercenaries. The man's prominent buck teeth were stained a sickly yellow, jutting over a perpetually sneering lower lip. "Trevor is it? Kill the attendants. No witnesses, no excess baggage." He scoffed, adding with a glance back up the path where Cassian had disappeared, "I made no promises."

Trevor grinned, hefting his broadsword as the mercenaries advanced.

"No, no, please don't," I pleaded with Jarlen. Kael's hand flew to his hilt and then Meris stepped forward and slammed her palm onto the dusty road.

CRACK!

A jagged wall of rock surged upwards before us, blocking off Jarlen's group. One of the Ninja Elves blinked into view atop of the wall, but then a sharpened vine shot up from the ground near Meris and impaled his throat. Meris grabbed the vine and yanked him down atop of another elf that had appeared out of nowhere. She kicked the ground, sending an explosion of dirt, sand, and pebbles toward a group streaming in around the closer end of the wall.

"Kael, take the princess! Run!" she shouted, her voice sharp with command, before she dove into the cloud of dirt and sand. A few more gurglings of blood and cries of pain sounded, then Meris appeared on the other side of the cloud and disappeared into the trees.

"That wench!" Jarlen shouted in that chaotic jumble of dirt and men, his voice laced with a sudden, eager intensity. "After her! Quick! Take her alive!" A few more shadowy figures flashed toward the forest.

Kael, sword drawn now, grabbed my arm, yanking me hard in the opposite direction. Terror and adrenaline warred with the bone-deep exhaustion from my earlier run. My legs felt like lead weights. The silk slippers I'd changed into offered no purchase on the rough ground, twisting under my feet. I stumbled. Kael hauled me upright, forcing me onward.

But the mercenaries, having gotten past the wall, were right behind us. They crashed through the underbrush, their harsh shouts echoing. We burst into a small, rocky clearing – a dead end, the path blocked by a sheer cliff face.

Trapped.

Kael spun, shoving me behind him again, his face grim, sword held ready. The mercenaries spilled into the clearing, led by Trevor. They fanned out, blocking the only way back.

"Nowhere left to run, kids," Trevor grinned, licking his lips as he advanced, sword held low.

Kael met the first charge, his blade sheathed in a coat of ice that radiated wisps of menacing steam. He parried a clumsy swing, spun inside another mercenary's guard, and ran him through cleanly. The man crumpled with a grunt. Another charged, and Kael sidestepped, using the man's momentum to send him crashing into a third, then dispatched the first with a swift counter-thrust. Blood pooled from the man dying right beside my feet. As I watched the dark stain spread, that hollow hunger inside me pulsed, sharp and demanding, a sickening counterpoint to the bile rising to my throat at the sight of life draining out of his face.

But Kael was tiring, bleeding from a shallow cut on his arm, facing too many. Trevor waited, then lunged as Kael was momentarily occupied. The scarred man's heavy blade clashed against Kael's lighter one. Sparks flew. Kael blocked, parried, but Trevor's relentless assault forced him back. With a final, brutal swing, Trevor's broadsword sliced deep across his stomach.

Kael cried out, a wet, gurgling sound, stumbling back, clutching the horrific wound as blood poured between his fingers. He collapsed to his knees, his sword clattering uselessly on the stone.

Trevor pulled his bloodied sword back, and aimed the point downwards for a final stab right into Kael's chest.

"NO!" The scream tore from my throat. Raw instinct, a desperate need to intervene, surged past the paralyzing terror. Before I could think, I threw myself forward, trying to shove Trevor away, trying to get between the descending blade and Kael's prone form.

Trevor, startled or simply uncaring, couldn't halt his thrust entirely.

There was no clash of steel this time. Just the wet tearing of flesh.

Agony. Blinding agony exploded in my chest, stealing my breath, stealing everything. I gasped, looking down. The wide, stained blade was buried deep in my chest, right where my sternum was. Impossibly. Horrifically.

Blood welled up around the steel, soaking the front of my tunic in an instant. A cough ripped through me, hot and metallic, spraying crimson into the air.

"Princess!" Kael croaked from behind me.

This is it. The thought echoed in the sudden, roaring silence that descended as the pain overwhelmed everything. I'm dying. Utter despair washed over me, cold and absolute. Images flashed behind my eyes—Maya laughing, Mom smiling tiredly, Naomi's earnest gaze, Astrid's fierce hug, Father's booming laugh… fading, all fading… I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry.

There, alongside the encroaching darkness, and the torrent of pain, something else surged with impossible violence—that deep, hollow, gnawing hunger. It wasn't just an ache now; it was a ravenous void ripping through me, demanding, screaming for something even as my vision blurred, my knees buckled, and the world turned to agonizing fire.