The cobbled streets of Hawn City were damp from an early morning rain, the gray sky casting a pall over the sprawling cityscape. Morrigan adjusted the hood of her deep crimson cloak, pulling it closer to shield her face from the light drizzle. The weight of her presence in this city was suffocating, every step feeling like a tether that dragged her further from the freedom of Velaris.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself as she reached the towering gates of the court's administrative wing. Her golden hair, tucked beneath the hood, seemed to itch with frustration, a reminder of how out of place she felt here. Hawn City might have been under her family's rule, but it had never been her home—not truly.

The guards at the entrance, stiff and mechanical, inclined their heads in acknowledgment. "Lady Morrigan," one of them said. She didn't bother to reply, her amber-brown eyes fixed ahead as she swept past them into the building. Her boots echoed on the polished stone floors as she made her way to the grand hall where Nala would undoubtedly be waiting.

Nala. Mor's lips tightened at the thought of the court's new ruler, according to Rhys' newest idea. Efficient, calculating, and impossibly dutiful, Nala represented everything Mor loathed about this place. The court of her father, Keir, was a cage, and Nala was now one of its many locks.

"Lady Morrigan," came the smooth voice as Mor entered the hall. Nala was already there, her golden hair swept back in a severe style, her amber eyes as sharp as ever. While the two might be able to be more casual in the freedom of Velaris, this were Hawn city and it demanded another level of formality.  She was poring over a series of ledgers and scrolls spread across a massive oak table. "You're late."

Mor bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. She didn't owe Nala an explanation for anything. Instead, she strode to the table and leaned against it, crossing her arms. "Rhys told me that I simply had to be here before nightfall and it's not yet nightfall."

Nala didn't look up from her work. "The court doesn't wait on anyone's whims. Not even yours."

A muscle ticked in Mor's jaw, but she forced a careless shrug. "Then let's get this over with. What mundane tasks do you need my help with today?"

Finally, Nala raised her eyes, meeting Mor's gaze with a steely calm that made Mor's skin prickle. "The merchants' guild is demanding more favorable tariffs, the northern borders require additional patrols after recent raider activity, and the estate's accounts are in disarray after years of being in your family's incapable hands." She gestured to the chaos of documents. "I thought you might enjoy using your sharp tongue to deal with the guild, at least."

"Enjoy" was a stretch. Mor glanced at the ledgers, the columns of figures swimming in her vision. She'd always despised the tedious politics of court life. Still, it was better than sitting in a room with Keir. "Fine. I'll handle the guild."

Nala's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Good. They'll be here within the hour."

"Perfect," Mor drawled, sarcasm dripping from the word. She straightened and paced to the window, looking out at the city beyond. It was vast and impressive in its own way, but it lacked the magic, the life of Velaris. Her fingers itched for a glass of wine at the House of Wind, for a stroll along the Sidra. Instead, she was trapped here, surrounded by her father's shadow and memories she'd rather forget.

"You don't want to be here." Nala's voice cut through the silence, startling Mor. "Your disdain is written all over your face."

Mor turned, arching a brow. "And you're thrilled to have me here, I'm sure. Why you said yes to Rhys' plan I'll never understand."

Nala's expression didn't waver. "My feelings are irrelevant. The court needs you, whether you like it or not. We must all do our part to make it through these dark times. "

"The court needs a lot of things," Mor snapped, her frustration spilling over. "Starting with someone who actually wants to run it."

Nala's gaze sharpened. "And yet here you are. If you despise this place so much, why did you come?"

The question hit too close to home. Mor's throat tightened, memories of Rhys's quiet plea flashing in her mind. "Because it's my duty," she said finally, the words bitter on her tongue.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Nala returned to her ledgers, her voice as crisp as ever. "Duty is rarely pleasant, Lady Morrigan. But it is necessary."

Mor turned back to the window; her hands clenched into fists. She'd do what was necessary, but her heart remained in Velaris, where freedom and light waited beyond the shadows of her past.

***

The air was sharp with tension, thick with the scent of lingering rain. Nala stood in the center of the Darkbringer camp, her golden wings folded tightly against her back, muscles coiled beneath her armor. Around her, the Darkbringers moved with a deadly precision, their forms blurred by the low-light of the misty evening.

Captain Vaelen, a figure of cold authority, stepped forward, his voice sharp and commanding. "You fight with wings, Nala. Good. But know this—control is power. Precision is everything."

Nala nodded, adjusting her footing. She'd trained in flight with Azriel and Cassian, learning how to twist, dive, and strike with the fluidity of a predator. Now, against the Darkbringers, she had to elevate that to something more lethal—deadly precision combined with tactical dominance.

Vaelen's warriors surged forward, moving as a coordinated unit. One leapt into the air, his blade flashing towards Nala. She rolled her shoulders, her wings snapping open as she soared backward with ease, evading the strike. Her talons extended, a swift counter aiming for his neck. He twisted mid-air, deflecting her blow, but Nala adjusted her trajectory, slicing her talons across his side before shooting upward.

"Too predictable!" Vaelen's voice barked through the night as another Darkbringer came at her. This one aimed low; a dagger aimed for her legs. Nala pivoted mid-air, folding her wings slightly to catch the gust of wind beneath her. She surged sideways, slamming her talons into the attacker's arm, forcing him off balance. His weapon clattered to the ground as Nala struck again—ripping through his armor with calculated precision.

"Finesse is just as important as force," Vaelen growled, watching from the ground as Nala hovered above. "Think beyond what your eyes see. Anticipate your opponent's weaknesses—not just in battle, but in flight."

Nala's gaze sharpened, her wings slicing through the air with controlled power. Another Darkbringer lunged from her left, and she blocked with a sweep of her talons, knocking his blade off course. She shifted her weight mid-flight, pivoting into a rapid spiral. Her wings pumped harder, guiding the wind beneath her, sending a blast of air that knocked her attacker back several feet.

"You rely too much on momentum!" Vaelen shouted again, his voice cutting through the battle noise. "Force alone won't win a fight in the air. Control it! Master the currents—you are a weapon, but a weapon of precision."

Nala narrowed her eyes, absorbing every word as she pivoted sharply to the right, her wings curving to disrupt the airflow around her opponent. She angled her body, striking with a downward slash, her talons gleaming as they tore through leather and flesh. The warrior fell in a silent heap beneath her.

Another swooped in, faster this time, blades spinning. Nala angled her wings for maximum lift, soaring high into the sky. She spiraled, keeping her momentum controlled, using the air as her ally. As the Darkbringer closed the gap, using their magic and rune to follow her into the air, Nala dove down, forcing her wings to catch a strong gust that propelled her straight into her target's flight path. Her talons slashed across his armor, breaking through with ease.

"You adapt well," Vaelen mused, watching her. "But you must anticipate more than just physical strikes. In battle, flight and air manipulation are as lethal as a blade."

Nala's breath was steady, her mind racing with the techniques Azriel and Cassian had drilled into her. Momentum, manipulation, and control—those were her tools in the skies.

Another wave of Darkbringers charged, and Nala didn't hesitate. She flew into the chaos, her wings beating in rhythmic precision, guiding the air like a weapon. Strikes came fast and sharp, her talons and blade weaving through the battlefield with deadly fluidity. Her control over the currents allowed her to dictate the pace, forcing her enemies into vulnerable positions with ruthless efficiency.

Vaelen watched in silence, his gaze fixed on Nala as she led the skies with dominance. "You are learning," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But mastery takes time—and discipline."

Nala hovered above the battlefield, her wings spread wide, her breath steady. The air hummed around her, alive with energy. She had learned what the Darkbringers taught her—control, precision, and mastery of the skies.

And together with the teachings of Azriel and Cassian, she would not only survive—but conquer.

She spent the entire night and the following day with the Darkbringers, training and perfecting her movements in the air. 

***

The throne room was vast, its stone walls lined with banners bearing the insignia of Hawn City. The flicker of torches cast flickering shadows across the marble floor, adding an air of majesty and authority to the grand space. Atop a dais sat Nala, her black wings folded neatly behind her as she gazed down upon the room. The throne, large and imposing, was hers— given by her chosen brother but held through strength and mastery.

Before her stood Keir. His once-proud frame was bent and weakened, his body bruised and battered from Nala's latest punishment. His defiance had crumbled, leaving only a hollow shell of the man who once ruled with an iron fist. His head was bowed, eyes cast downward, unable to meet the gaze of his successor.

Nala's voice was calm, yet commanding. "Keir."

The name was sharp in the silence of the throne room. A single word, yet it carried weight—the end of an era.

Keir lifted his gaze, his eyes dull and lifeless, his pride shattered. "You've taken everything from me," he rasped, his voice weak.

"I've only taken what you abused," Nala replied coolly. Her tone held no venom, just a simple truth. "You ruled through fear and greed. You built nothing but destruction. Your time is over."

Keir's breath hitched, and for a moment, there was a flicker of defiance in his gaze. But it was fleeting—washed away by the reality of his defeat.

Vaelen, standing behind Nala, stepped forward. "You wield more than a crown, Keir. You wield the power of a ruler—but you chose to squander it. Your reign was built on weakness, not strength."

Keir clenched his fists, his breathing ragged. He wanted to fight—to resist—but his body betrayed him, still recovering from the punishment Nala had delivered. His arrogance had been his undoing, and now, he had no choice but to submit.

Nala's gaze softened slightly, her voice quieter now, though no less powerful. "You stand before me, but you no longer hold sway over Hawn City. The Darkbringers answer to me now—trained, disciplined, united. And I will not allow them to follow a ruler who seeks only to control through fear. Those who refused me have meet their end, because that is how you eradicate weakness, Keir."

Silence stretched, the weight of her words settling over the room. Keir's shoulders slumped; his strength gone. He was no longer a threat—not physically, and certainly not politically.

Nala rose slowly from her throne, her wings unfolding gracefully. "You may live, Keir. But your power is finished. You will find no sanctuary here. Your place is beneath the ashes of your own rule."

Keir bowed his head again, his silence speaking volumes. There was nothing more to say.

Vaelen turned back to the gathered court, his voice resounding throughout the chamber. "Nala has shown us the true meaning of leadership. Not through the abuse of power, but through strength, through mastery, and through the respect of those who fight for her."

The crowd, once loyal to Keir, now shifted in favor of Nala. Their gazes met hers with newfound respect, understanding that their city would thrive under her guidance—not as a tyrant, but as a leader who fought alongside them, for them.

Nala descended the dais, her steps measured and deliberate. She paused before Keir, her expression calms yet firm. "You may live," she repeated, "but Hawn City will be no place for you to reclaim your old power. It's mine now."

Keir remained silent as Nala turned her back, her black wings shimmering softly in the torchlight. The throne room was hers—completely stripped of Keir's influence.

And as Nala reclaimed her place as ruler, the future of Hawn City began anew—one of strength, unity, and purpose.

Mor

From her place near the back of the court, Mor watched in silence, her heart racing. She knew Nala's power now extended far beyond Hawn City. She had bent the Darkbringers to her will, earning their loyalty through mastery and strength, not through manipulation or fear.

But as much as Mor recognized Nala's dominance, a deep sense of unease crept into her thoughts. This wasn't the power of a ruler who sought peace. This was something darker—a power built on control and precision. And it scared her.

Mor's gaze flicked between Nala and her father. Keir, broken and weak, his defiance drained from him, now seemed like a distant memory. He had fought and lost to a force far greater than he could ever have imagined. But what frightened Mor most wasn't just Nala's might—it was the fact that she wielded that power with a ruthless, calculated precision.

And what terrified her most was what Nala might do next.

What if Rhys is next? Mor thought, her chest tightening. What if Nala turns her attention to him?

She couldn't deny the bond between Nala and Rhys. There was history there—a shared understanding, a trust forged in battle and sacrifice. But Mor had seen how ruthless Nala could be, how focused she was on achieving her goals. Power had a way of shifting even the closest alliances, and Nala wasn't one to share her dominance.

Mor's eyes locked onto Nala once more. There was a calm strength to her—an unshakable confidence that seemed almost otherworldly. She was no longer just a ruler; she was a force of nature, a tidal wave ready to consume everything in her path.

If Nala turned that precision toward the Court of Dreams, toward Rhys, there would be nothing left to hold her back.

The thought sent a shiver down Mor's spine. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let her brother become another casualty to Nala's hunger for power.

The throne room was silent, but Mor's mind raced, trying to understand what this new world meant for the future. If Nala bends Hawn City to her will, what will happen when she turns her gaze beyond its borders?

Mor knew she couldn't stand by and watch. She had to prepare. She had to protect Rhys—at all costs.

Her father's defeat had shown her one thing: Nala's strength wasn't something to be ignored. It was something to be feared.