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【𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐯𝐨𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞】

The war table loomed before me, a grim monument to my conquest. The Fayndor continent was carved into its surface, the blackthorn wood etched with jagged ridges that mimicked the unforgiving terrain. Tiny figures, each marking an army, dotted the map. Thornmont's forces were represented by sword-like pieces of polished silver, strategically positioned throughout the empire and its provinces.

The green and black stained-glass of the domed building cast fractured light across the table, mingling with the rippling distortions caused by the waterfall cascading over the building outside. It's steady churning mixing with the murmur of councilmen.

In my hand, I held two additional pieces — one of delicate twisting vines shaped as a beast, the other of frosted glass. They were my hidden daggers, a calculated weapon to tip the scales.

It was imperative that I find the best position for these pieces.

Yet the only position I could think of was the one Raine and I had found ourselves in when we were on this very table just a month ago.

My mind betrayed me, drawn to the memory of her storm-gray eyes blazing with fury. Her presence lingered like a ghost, a distraction I couldn't shake. It was all I had thought of on my journey to Vrostvale.

I let my fingers graze the table's edge. I had tested her mettle, forced her into a corner to prove her control over the vylnir, and in doing so uncovered more of her hatred towards me.

She truly despises me.

The thought was both irritating and intriguing. Was it for her friend's death? For her diminished rank? For my ambitions?

No, her disdain was older, predating every slight I could name. 

From the moment we met, her scorn had been absolute. Not even my father had looked at me with such raw contempt — not until the day I severed his head from his shoulders.

So why?

What grudge does she carry that burns so fiercely?

It was a puzzle I couldn't leave unsolved, yet the closer I sought to get, the further she would retreat. She would sooner die than let me near.

My fingers brushed along my jaw as I considered the unspoken question.

Should I give her what she wants? 

Should I become the tyrant she already sees in me?

Briarvex, slung across my back, seemed to hum with anticipation, its weight a familiar reminder of its promise. Its whispers curled around my mind, urging me toward ruthless indulgence.

Take what you desire. Damn the consequences.

The more I listened to my sword's call, the more power I was allowed.

"Your Majesty, do you agree?"

The voice snapped me back to the present. I straightened, my gaze sharpening as I looked up at the war council.

The captain of my cavalry division, a veteran with greying hair tied tightly back, watched me expectantly.

"In regard to the unicorns we've bred," he continued. "We can field two thousand within the year. Should we march on Driftwoode with them at the forefront? Show our power?"

I turned my attention to the map. The rivers of Driftwoode were a natural fortress. Treacherous and prone to flooding in spring. I shifted the cavalry piece toward the edge of the river lands, just bellow Pineholt Province. 

"We're not marching on Driftwoode to show power," I said. "We are marching to conquer."

The veteran inclined his head, and I continued.

"Any steed will be slow crossing the rivers," I pointed out. "If we march in spring like I've prepared, the floods will delay us further. Rather than sending our foot soldiers through this terrain in a rush and tiring them out for the siege, we should use them to raid the surrounding towns and cities as we take our time to advance. We'll cut off the capital's food source and feed our armies in turn."

I jabbed a finger at the table which marked Driftwoode's capital, a city isolated by water save for a single strip of land connecting it to the continent.

"But we won't leave them to prepare an attack. We'll exhaust their navy while our army marches. With an attack from both the sea and land, Cape Saltmourne will be pinched in."

Norin, my naval advisor, frowned.

"Their fleet is unmatched, Your Majesty. And they have the kraken. Our ships wouldn't survive a direct assault."

"Our ships won't approach their shores," I replied, shifting the figures representing our navy. I placed them away from the capital's cape and closer to the open water. "We'll lure their fleet into the open and destroy it through other means."

I finally placed the two figures in my hands on the table, right in the middle of Driftwoode's navy.

A murmur rippled through my council as they seemed to understand.

"Your Majesty," Ser Bastian spoke up, his eyes dark as he regarded the table. "Even if we break their navy, a battle at sea will not be wise. You must not forget Thalrik Tidemere wields the cursed sword of tide. He'll have an advantage over Briarvex with the sea so close."

I nodded my understanding, running my finger over the ridges of Cape Saltmourne's fort.

"I will not deny that Cascadea could be a threat to Briarvex, but King Thalrik is a shell of a man. His sword's curse has hallowed him of want and desire. And a man who has nothing to stand for, will be swept by the tides. I have full confidence in my victory should he be forced to cross blades with me."

Understanding flickered in Bastian's eyes as he nodded, the other captains following suit.

"Spring will mark the beginning of the campaign," I said, my voice steady as stone. "But I want forces stationed in every province. We cannot afford to leave our flanks exposed. The wyrm will patrol Pineholt to cut off any incursions."

The council murmured their agreement, heads nodding like puppets on strings.

"We'll need provisions for three years," I continued, my gaze fixed on the carved map. "Raids alone won't sustain us."

Ser Bastian raised an eyebrow.

"Three years? You think the war will end so swiftly?"

"I don't think," I replied, my tone as sharp as Briarvex across my back. "I know. Mark my words here and now. Cape Saltmourne will be reduced to sea salt if that's what it takes."

A low ripple of approval ran through the chamber. One of the advisors bowed his head.

"As is your right, Your Majesty. You hold a conqueror's sword. Fayndor belongs to you and you alone."

I allowed myself another glance at the war table. My fingers traced over the mist-etched ridges of Drakfjord, then trailed southward to Pyree's fiery expanse. A shadow of a thought stirred, but I pushed it away. For now.

"Very well," I said, straightening. "This meeting is dismissed."

My cape billowed behind me as I strode from the war chamber, the cold air of Dornhold's courtyards brushing against my skin. Shadows pooled in the arches as the autumn sunlight above shone brightly. 

Servants and advisors swarmed in my wake, but it was Chamberlain Feldor, persistent as always, who scurried to the forefront.

"Your Majesty, regarding tonight's candidates..." Feldor began, his voice as thin as the wisps of hair on his head. "I have a list of seven concubines who—"

"You are relentless, Chamberlain," I sighed, my strides increasing. "I think I shall pass tonight."

"Y-Your Majesty!" he stammered, nearly tripping over his own feet. "You cannot keep skipping nights! This is becoming far too frequent."

We entered the grand dining hall, sunlight cutting through the high stone windows to illuminate the table already laden with food. Massive archways loomed above us, decorated with wild ivy and ancient vines.

"Bold of you to suggest what an emperor can and cannot do," I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

Feldor stumbled, then recovered, his voice taking on a desperate edge.

"Your Majesty, it is your duty to provide us an heir. Marching to war without one would cause great unease. What if something were to happen to you? There is no named successor—"

"Naming a successor would only hasten my demise," I interrupted with a smirk. "Too many vultures circle this court already."

"Then provide a child," Feldor urged, his tone trembling with sincerity.

I sat at the head of the table, reaching for the goblet of blackberry wine awaiting me.

"If not for my family's curse, I'd have given you all a dozen heirs by now. Without the need for a harem, no less. Blame my ancestors, not me."

"But you continue to neglect your duty," he pressed, his voice cracking under the weight of his own boldness. "I beg you, Your Majesty. It is for the good of Thornmont. Without an heir, there will be chaos."

The beginnings of a headache coiled behind my temples. Feldor's insistence grated against my patience, but his concern, however suffocating, was genuine.

The thought of being reduced to a stud for the court's ambitions disgusted me, yet I could not ignore the implications of an empty throne.

"Fine," I relented, setting the silver goblet down. "Let me see your list for tonight."

Feldor's relief was almost pitiful as he fumbled to hand me the parchment. I scanned the names, a chuckle escaping my lips.

"You know the saying about the harem, Chamberlain?" I asked, eyeing him like prey.

"W-What saying, Your Majesty?"

"It is not the concubines the emperor beds, but his noblemen," I laughed, tossing the parchment onto the table. "Look here: Duskrend, Grimsprig, Greenmead, and even Bronwyn Blacksteel. All conveniently last names of the very families whose patriarchs sat in my war council just a moment ago."

Feldor fidgeted with his moustache, his pallid face glistening with sweat.

"These ladies chosen are at their most... fruitful during this time of the month, Your Majesty. And their families have provided significant aid to the war effort."

"They can pay as much as they like," I said, cutting into my meal. "But the gods will decide the Empress of this empire, not gold."

Feldor bowed, his lips quivering with unshed words.

The doors opened again, and Ser Bastian strode in, flanked by knights. I glanced back at Feldor, who looked as though he might dissolve into a puddle of nerves. He had served my father before me and remained one of the few nobles who had retained their position through my ascension.

"I do recognize your efforts, Chamberlain Feldor," I said, my voice calm. "Do not fret. I will attend to my duties."

Feldor bowed deeply, a sigh of relief slipping from his lips like the last exhalation of a dying man.

"You honor me, Your Majesty."

I turned my gaze to where Bastian lingered at a respectful distance, knowing well my distaste for interrupted meals. The tension in his posture betrayed his impatience, but I let him wait as I continued dining.

"Chamberlain, is there other news?" I asked, lifting my goblet to my lips. "How fare my brides at the Harvest Festival? Any incidents?"

"Ah!" Feldor perked up, fumbling for another parchment hidden within his coat. "The festival proceeds splendidly, Your Majesty! A few brides have distinguished themselves — Lady Isolde, for instance, spent three hundred gold on merchants and donated another two thousand to the folk. She's earned an ivy wreath from the people. Lady Bronwyn, Lady Cerys, and even two Rose-ranked brides have achieved similar feats."

I nodded, though my interest barely flickered. The names were predictable, their performances part of a well-rehearsed dance. The festival served its purpose: to coax coin from greedy families eager to elevate their daughters' ranks. A calculated ploy, feeding the people's coffers where nobles would otherwise not.

"There was only one incident," Feldor continued, his tone darkening. "A band of men attempted to rob some Dahlia ladies. They were swiftly dealt with — executed by the Briarbound knight assigned to them."

I hummed in acknowledgment, my attention waning as I finished my wine. While a servant refilled my cup, I dabbed the corners of my mouth with my handkerchief before glancing down at the design.

Such a crude little canary.

I'd discovered the discarded handkerchief after that mess with the vylnir at the Royal Hunt. And I'd been compelled to keep it with me. In all honesty, it was the most amusing design presented. I would've chosen it, if it would not have been such an insult to the other ladies.

"Oh, there is another matter, though I'm unsure how to describe it," Feldor said hesitantly.

"What is it?" I asked, folding the handkerchief and setting it aside.

"The weather, Sire," Feldor said, his brow furrowed. "It's... peculiar. Rainclouds have gathered over the city."

"Clouds?" I glanced toward the windows, where sunlight spilled unbroken across the stone floor. "You deem clouds worth reporting?"

"Mmm," he murmured, nodding. "Rumors have spread that the Goddess of Harvest herself has appeared. Though vague, the whispers grow louder."

"A goddess, you say?" I mused, a faint smile curling my lips. "Well, I must see this goddess for myself."

I rose, leaving Feldor blinking after me as I strode toward the doors. Bastian inclined his head in silent greeting as he fell into step beside me.

"Captain," I said, glancing at him. "I noticed your cousin on tonight's list of prospects."

He sighed.

"Your Majesty, Lady Bronwyn regrets her actions. She believes she could fill the vacant Nightshade position once again."

"I think not," I replied coldly. "Were you not my most trusted captain, I would've relegated her to Clover. What I granted was far too lenient."

"And Princess Raine?" he pressed, his voice dropping. "I still do not trust her. How does she speak to the vylnir? It's unnatural, Your Majesty — suspicious."

I could not deny his fears. Elves had long since been wiped from the world as so many creatures have. Records regarding them dated over two thousand years ago. So, for her to suddenly speak High Elvish...

Has she perhaps discovered the eternal sword of legend?

No, rumors of that sword say its whereabouts are somewhere in Thornmont, not Drakfjord. And even if she had found it, surely she'd ask for something more ambitious than learning a forgotten language.

"I know it is odd," I said, my tone softer. "I've thought of it. But if she proves useful in war, what does it matter? Until she gives me reason to punish her, she remains."

"You favor her," Bastian said bluntly. "That's why you skewed the trial to her advantage."

I let out a low hum of amusement.

"I am merely curious, Captain. Nothing more."

"Is that why you rushed your return from Vrostvale?" Bastian's voice held a dangerous edge, one I had grown accustomed to from him. "Princess Griveen noted your haste. She wondered why you were so eager to return and leave her to complete the journey on her own."

It was true — I had been eager.

But why?

Griveen's incessant chatter had grated on my patience, yet it was unlike me to let such trivialities dictate my actions. A thought coiled in the back of my mind, persistent.

Was it truly Raine who spurred my haste?

"You overstep, Captain," I said.

The conversation fell silent as we reached the stables. My silver steed, the unicorn I had claimed from the blood-soaked battlefields of Flynmoore, awaited me. Without hesitation, I mounted her.

"Follow if you must," I called to the guards, before spurring the unicorn forward.

We plunged down the serpentine paths of the mountain, leaving the towering shadows of Dornhold's walls behind.

The city unfolded below, a living tapestry of light and sound. Banners of green, black, and silver writhed in the wind, their hues darkened by the encroaching storm clouds. The streets were choked with stalls — jewels that glimmered like stolen starlight, pastries dusted with snow-white sugar, and cauldrons of spiced wine. Laughter and music intertwined with the crackling energy of the festival.

But my focus narrowed, drawn to the city's heart where the anomaly Feldor had warned of brooded. Over the square, the skies churned unnaturally, dark and turbulent, as if some ancient force had disturbed the heavens.

It smelled of magic.

The streets emptied before me. Citizens stepped aside, their eyes wide with a reverence that bordered on fear. Whispers rippled through the crowd, too faint to catch but heavy with unease. My guards flanked me in tense silence, their presence a shield I neither wanted nor needed. With a sharp gesture, I ordered them to stay back.

"Remain quiet," I murmured, my tone leaving no room for defiance. Whatever awaited, I needed to face it without disruption.

As we neared the square, the atmosphere thickened. A stringed instrument sang a wild melody ahead, accompanied by the murmurs of the crowd.

"It's the goddess!" a child gasped, his voice trembling with awe. His small hand clutched his companion's, their wide eyes fixed on the square before vanishing into the throng. "I told you, didn't I?"

The word lingered in the air.

Goddess.

Whatever had earned such a name waited ahead.

I dismounted, handing the reins of my steed to a waiting servant. Though the sun still burned somewhere beyond the rooftops, shadows cast by the clouds pooled here like ink, forcing the lanterns to be lit prematurely.

The guards flanked me, but as we neared the square, I raised a hand, halting them with a subtle gesture.

"No commotion," I ordered. "I'll see this myself."

The crowd yielded reluctantly, stepping aside with wide, fearful eyes as they recognized me. The faint gleam of my armor caught the lamplight, a silent declaration of my presence. With every step closer to the square, the world seemed to narrow, until finally I reached the front of the crowd.

And then I saw her.

This... goddess.

The square was a stage, transformed into a sanctum for her alone.

A vielle's wild melody wove around her — the goddess draped in stormy blue, her gown alive with motion that mirrored the roiling clouds overhead. Lantern light kissed her bare shoulders, highlighting the contrast between her delicate frame and the weapon she wielded.

The dagger was unmistakable, its blade alive with a gleam that captured every stray flicker of light.

I recognized it instantly.

I had given Raincatcher to her.

This was no goddess.

It was Princess Raine Stjorme.

She moved like a tempest given form, each motion a collision of grace and ferocity. Her bare feet skimmed the stones of the square, her body weightless yet brimming with raw, unrestrained energy.

The dagger danced with her, an extension of her arm that sliced through the air in mesmerizing patterns. She spun, leapt, and bent with a precision that seemed tocommand the charged air around her.

My heart raced as the melody reached a crescendo, and so did she. Her arms rose, the dagger suddenly pulsing with a strange light.

And as her arms fell, so too did the sky.

Rain crashed down in a sudden, violent torrent. The sky itself seemed to kneel before her dance, unleashing its fury in perfect synchronization with her every move. At the edges of the square, the crowd stood untouched by the water, as if an invisible barrier had been drawn, marking the boundaries of her dominion.

The downpour consumed her and her alone, darkening her storm-blue gown until it clung to her frame like a second skin.

Yet she did not falter.

She reveled in it.

Her grin was a lightning strike, sharp and electric, defiance etched into every curve of her lips.

The storm elevated her dance into something beyond mortal comprehension. Each step sent water splashing outward, a symphony of liquid and light playing to her rhythm. The dagger in her hand gleamed brighter in the downpour, its edge pulsing with a storm-forged light I'd seen in Drakfjord's gems.

Every motion of her body commanded the storm, the rain twisting and trailing her movements like a loyal servant.

It was no dance. 

It was a ritual, a declaration of power. 

The ground beneath her glistened, a slick stage yielding to her mastery, and when she spun, the storm itself seemed to orbit her.

My chest tightened, a slow, burning ache that spread as I watched her. I could not look away, trapped in the pull of her performance, her presence. The air around her seemed charged, heavy with something more than magic. 

Her control, her beauty, her raw, unrelenting force. It was overwhelming.

And yet felt unexplainably familiar.

Like a memory from a life I am yet to live.

Desire stirred within me, sharp and consuming. The need to claim her, to make her mine, took root like Briarvex's vines, a compulsion as reckless as it was undeniable.

ɆVɆⱤɎ₮Ⱨł₦₲ ł₴ ɎØɄⱤ₴.

₴ⱧɆ ł₴ ɎØɄⱤ₴.

Raine reached the crescendo of her dance with a final flourish, the dagger slicing upward to catch a single drop of rain. It clung to the blade for a heartbeat, glimmering like a star, before she brought it down in a motion so sharp, so final, it seemed to sever the storm itself.

The rain slowed, falling now in gentle whispers, as though it too had been subdued by her. She stood in the stillness, chest heaving, her face tilted skyward.

And then, she turned, her eyes locking with mine.

There was a flicker there. A moment where she looked at me as though this was the first time our gazes had met. And perhaps she did not hate me.

But it was quickly replaced by a fearful scowl. The unshakable confidence that had guided her moments ago faltered, replaced by something fragile and mortal.

Yet even that vulnerability only deepened her allure. Drenched and radiant, she looked more like a goddess than ever.

And I'd conquer the whole world.

If it meant I could have her.

***