Eryshae

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Ruwan

The Emberhold Estate

The study door slammed open so hard the hinges screamed. Scrolls toppled from shelves. A glass decanter shattered on the floor. A startled attendant barely had time to flinch before Ruwan's gauntlet-clad hand wrapped around his collar and slammed him back against the wall.

"They. Have. The Amber."

Each word came like a knife across granite. "And you let it happen." The man stammered, trying to explain, something about shadows, confusion, the guards distracted by a fire near the southern wing. But Ruwan wasn't listening. He didn't need excuses. He needed blood.

He released the man with a shove. The attendant crumpled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. The study, his sanctum, once so pristine, was a mess of half-scattered papers and rage. The pedestal where the Titan's Amber had rested was now cold and empty, its velvet wrap tossed aside like a discarded offering.

He stalked past it, cloak flaring behind him like smoke. Victoria was gone. Mira was gone. Vael was gone. And the Titan's Amber, his divine inheritance, was stolen from beneath his very nose.

His fingers twitched at his side. Not from fear. From wrath barely contained. Outside, the courtyard echoed with shouted orders. Ruwan didn't need subtlety now. Subtlety had failed. Mira had shown her true allegiance. Vael had chosen the Druid boy over the empire he'd promised her. And the Amber…

The Amber had chosen another. He stopped atop the balcony stairs overlooking the inner bailey. Dozens of guards filled the grounds below, armed, mounted, trembling with nervous energy. Every soldier Emberhold could spare had been summoned. Even the dregs, barely trained recruits, now stood at attention with swords rattling in their sheaths.

Ruwan stepped into view. The murmuring ceased. "You're all here because you failed to stop two women." His voice cut through the chill air like frostbite. "Two. Women."

A pause. No one dared move. "One of them you knew well." He bared his teeth. "Trusted, even." Another pause. Stillness. "And the other… was mine."

He held up a silver ring, Vael's shackles still attached, their links broken and half-melted. A symbol of defiance. A symbol of betrayal. "She stole from a god," Ruwan snarled. "From me. And now she has what was meant to make me divine."

A ripple of unease moved through the gathered men. "I want them found. I want the Druid carved open. I want Mira's head." He pointed toward the open gates. "Follow the riders I sent after them. Join them. Comb the forests, the old roads, the mines. Tear apart the Peninsula if you must."

His eyes gleamed, wild and golden in the torchlight. "Bring me my Amber. Bring me my prize. Bring me Vael." He turned sharply, his cloak whipping behind him. "And burn anything that gets in your way."

The scent of churned earth and burning torch oil clung thick to the wind as Ruwan vaulted onto his raccoon mount. The beast, a muscled, silver-masked brute twice the size of the others, snorted and shifted under his weight, sensing its rider's fury. Clawed paws tore at the dirt as Ruwan hauled the reins, eyes fixed on the forest path that cut through the night like a scar.

Around him, a flood of guards mounted up, standard-bearers, swordmen, archers, and brute-forged mercenaries hired from the eastern docks. Steel shimmered in torchlight. Crossbows clicked taut. Boots and claws kicked up clouds of dust. Dozens strong now, perhaps the largest force Emberhold had assembled in a generation, all under one command.

His. "Ride," Ruwan barked, and the mass surged forward like a thunderclap. The night swallowed them. Branches scraped against armor. Leaves fell like dying stars. The raccoons bounded in practiced rhythm, weaving between trees and tearing through undergrowth. Ruwan rode at the center, his cloak a whip of darkness, his eyes glowing faintly gold. Every muscle in his body coiled with singular purpose.

They followed the scent of smoke. The crackle of distant combat. Then, steel rang ahead. A shout. A scream. As the forest path curved sharply between two moss-covered ridges, the first line of Ruwan's soldiers pulled back suddenly, raising their weapons in alarm. Ruwan stood high in his stirrups and saw.

Mira.

Crimson blades flashed in her hands as she moved through a knot of his guards like a storm given form. Blood soaked the leaves. A dying soldier gurgled beside the base of a tree, hand outstretched in disbelief. Half a dozen of his men still fought her, poorly.

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One struck from behind. She turned mid-air, catching the strike with her offhand dagger and driving her knee into his throat. Another tried to shoot, but her spinning cloak tangled the bolt mid-flight. Two more rushed her at once, and one didn't rise again.

She was bloodied. Breathing hard. But still fighting. Still standing. Ruwan slowed to a halt at the edge of the clash. His mount growled, claws flexing. Soldiers flanked him, readying to rush in.

But Ruwan raised one gauntlet. "Wait." The forest trembled with the command. His voice was low, calm in a way that always meant something would die. "Mira," he called through the clash. "You never did know when to stay in your place."

She looked up, breath hitching. Her blade dripped red. And her eyes, dark and gleaming, met his. "You never earned mine," she spat, voice hoarse. Behind her, a guard lunged again. Mira turned with one motion, slicing a line across his throat.

Then she faced Ruwan again. "Come take it," she hissed. "If you think you can." Ruwan didn't speak at first. He simply watched.

The forest air was thick with blood and bark-smoke, the copper tang of violence woven through the mist like incense from some ancient rite. Fireflies trembled in the distance, too afraid to come closer. The moon, half-curtained in clouds, bled pale light over the clearing where Mira danced through death.

And it was a dance, inelegant, savage, desperate. Her cloak was torn. Her leathers dark with blood. One of her blades had been snapped, leaving only a jagged shard clenched in her off-hand. Yet she moved like someone with nothing left to lose. And Ruwan drank in every detail. Every breath. Every feint. Every flash of defiance in her eyes.

Traitor.

He tasted the word like poison on his tongue, though part of him could almost admire her. Almost. You were a blade I forged myself, Mira. Perfect. Precise. Cold. And you've thrown it all away, for what? A girl in chains? A dead man with roots in his chest?

He felt his jaw tighten. His hands curled on the reins. The Titan's Amber was gone. She has it. That glimmering relic, that sacred seed of resurrection, had been nestled under his study floor for barely a fortnight, and now it was stolen.

And Mira had delivered it into their hands. That betrayal will cost her everything. She took down another guard with a fluid sweep of her arm. The soldier screamed, blade falling from his grip as blood arced through the air. She was slowing now, he could see it. Her shoulders sagged. Her steps lost rhythm. But her fire hadn't dimmed.

If anything, she burned brighter. Ruwan exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. Beautiful. And foolish. He raised one hand, black gauntlet glinting with the seal of Emberhold, flames carved into obsidian.

"Capture her." His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Alive. I want her on her knees before me." A dozen soldiers surged forward at once.

Mira turned to face them, panting. Her stance faltered, just a heartbeat, but enough. She gritted her teeth and lunged again, blades whirling. She struck one down with a scream. Parried another. Twisted to avoid a blade to the back and drove her elbow into a jaw.

But they kept coming. Steel rang. Blood sprayed. Her cloak caught on a bramble and she ripped it free, spinning, gasping, slashing. Her foot slipped. She caught herself. A sword glanced off her ribs, too close.

Then, A sap-slicked spear handle slammed into the side of her head. She staggered, blinking, and another soldier caught her from behind. She twisted, snarling, but the second blow came fast, too fast. A mailed fist to her temple.

Darkness claimed her before she hit the ground. She crumpled, knees folding. The broken dagger rolled from her hand. Silence fell over the clearing, heavy and breathless. The remaining soldiers stepped back, panting and bloodied, surrounding her crumpled form. One lifted her by the shoulders.

Ruwan dismounted slowly, boots thudding against the soft moss as he approached. Her blood stained the forest floor like spilled ink. Her braid had come loose. Her face, so defiant just moments ago, was slack in unconsciousness.

He crouched beside her. Eyes cold. Smile thin. "You should've stayed in my shadow, Mira," he murmured. Then he stood, turning toward his men. "Bind her," he said. "Bring her back to Emberhold and report to the Amir."

He paused. Voice darkening. "And if she wakes up before you get there, break her legs." The breath in the clearing held still, reverent almost, as Mira's unconscious form slumped in the arms of the soldiers. The same hands that once held Emberhold's secrets now hung limp at her sides, fingers still twitching from reflex or memory. Her blade, one of Ruwan's personal gifts, clattered softly to the ground beside her.

He knelt beside her, gauntlet trailing just above her face. So close. Close enough to feel the heat still rising from her skin, the last of her fury burning out. "You could have had everything," he whispered.

He lingered for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Then rose. "Lieutenant!" he barked. A tall soldier stepped forward, one hand pressed to a wound just below the collarbone. Blood soaked through the cloth, but he didn't flinch. "Sir."

That name drew uneasy glances. The soldiers stilled for a heartbeat, just long enough to feel it in their spines. Even the mount nearest to Ruwan stamped its claws nervously. The lieutenant's brow tightened. "You want… the Amir to handle her?" "I want him to see her," Ruwan said. "I want her to understand who's shaping Emberhold now."

He stepped closer, voice nearly a growl. "Tell him: the Titan's Amber is in play. That the Druid, Magnolia lives after all. That the Eryshae bloodline might still rise against us. And that this, " he pointed to Mira's unconscious form, "is what happens when we show mercy."

The lieutenant saluted stiffly, turned, and barked orders to his squad. Within moments, they had Mira lashed to a mount, her limp form draped forward, her head hooded and bound. Ruwan mounted again, the silver-masked raccoon growling beneath him.

He watched them ride, six guards escorting Mira through the brush and shadows, heading east toward Emberhold's hidden gallows and darker halls. Toward the Amir. Toward the next phase of his rebellion.

Ruwan turned his mount toward the distant scent of scorched bark and the whispers of Druid magic still coiled in the forest air. "Vael," he muttered, teeth bared. "Let's see if you still have your fire when I rip him out of your arms again."

Then, to the rest of his forces, "Fan out. I want every root, every hollow, every sacred tree combed by dawn. And when you find Vael, don't kill her." He smiled then, slow and thin as poison. "Bring her to me. Alive. So I can show her how gods truly bleed." And with that, he kicked his mount forward, the hunt surging on behind him like a storm baptized in fury.