The Cyprian’s magic pulsed through her veins, and Alena called for her Gift. She understood now what the goddess had meant.
The Omega wasn’t just a warrior—she was the light after years of darkness. The beacon of hope the Achaeans had lost after the Megarian massacre, when King Pandion and the last of the Achaean League had fallen.
The Twelve had chosen her to end the devastation the Rasennans had wrought on Achaean lands for far too long.
And today, she would bring their reckoning.
The air crackled with magic, raw and wild, as Alena strode forward. Light erupted from within her, blood red and fiery orange swirling around her like the first blaze of dawn.
The nearest soldiers turned first, their faces blanching as the glow spilled across the battlefield like sunrise heralding a storm. One by one, heads lifted, awe and confusion rippling through the Rasennan ranks.
The weight of her torn tunic and battered chain mail fell away, replaced by the Cyprian’s Gift. Mother-of-pearl scales unfurled across her chest, cascading like water over her skin. Each scale gleamed iridescent as they locked into place, forming an impenetrable shell that clung to her body like a second skin. They climbed upwards, encasing her shoulders in protective armour that glowed from within, the pink and orange hues blending like fire and dawn.
A hush swept the battlefield. Even the Rasennans felt the shift in the air. The Achaeans, moments ago cornered and near defeat, stared at her as if they’d glimpsed a miracle—despair giving way to awe.
“Surrender,” she called out, knowing the carnage that would follow if they refused. “Drop your weapons, and you’ll be spared.”
The soldiers hesitated, tension thickening like a gathering storm. Some shifted, fingers loosening on sword hilts, eyes flicking to their comrades as if waiting for someone else to yield first.
Then movement stirred on the watchtower. A man stepped into view—broad-shouldered, red armband vivid against his dull armour. He shoved past the archers, leaning over the edge, his face twisted with fury.
“Don’t listen, you idiots!” he bellowed, his voice cracking like a whip over the camp. “The Emperor wants her alive. Bring her to me, and he’ll reward you beyond your dreams!”
At his command, the shield wall shifted like a single living thing. Dozens broke rank, roaring as they charged, sandals pounding the earth, the ground trembling beneath the force of their advance.
Above, a flurry of arrows sliced through the air from the watchtower, their tips aimed at her legs.
Alena didn’t flinch. Far from the woods, the South Wind’s magic stirred against her skin once more. She lifted her hand, summoning it fully—gusts of scorching air whipped around her, tearing through the volley and hurling the arrows off course.
All but one.
A single arrow, hidden in the shadow of the others, broke through, angling for her shoulder.
Time seemed to slow. Alena’s breath caught.
The arrow struck—but instead of biting flesh, it vanished into the shimmer of her mother-of-pearl armour. A heartbeat later, it shot back the way it had come, hurtling with even greater speed until it slammed into the watchtower as if repelled.
Alena stood untouched, chest heaving, a grin curling her lips.Impractical,Phoebe had called the armour.
But the charging Rasennans gave her no time to savour the moment. Their war cries rose, boots drumming across the muddy camp as they rushed her.
Alena’s grip on her sword tightened.
It was time to end this.
At her silent command, the Huntress’ hounds exploded forward—an unrelenting black wave with silver eyes fixed on their prey. Fangs flashing, they crashed into the Rasennans, scattering them like leaves in a gale. Flesh and armour tore beneath their jaws, the pack’s fury a force no shield could hold.
The courtyard became a slaughterhouse, screams and steel ringing together in a single, terrible chorus.
Through the chaos, Alena spotted Leukos—still kneeling, unmoving. Nik stood beside him, one hand pressed to his forehead in disbelief at the monstrous hounds, while Pelagios threw back his head and laughed, his joy almost jarring against the carnage. The Achaeans staggered, wide-eyed, as the pack carved a crimson path through the enemy ranks.
At the gates, panic shattered the Rasennans’ formation. Some turned and bolted for the open fields—only to be run down in moments. Others fled for the woods, unaware they were running straight into the nymphs’ waiting arms.
Two bold soldiers charged at Alena, weapons drawn. She parried one blade with precision, but the other struck her abdomen. Instead of cutting through her armour, the blade disappeared through the mother-of-pearl scales, only to reemerge in the next heartbeat, carving down the first soldier in a brutal arc.
The second soldier staggered back, beads of sweat dripping down his tanned face as he stared, wide-eyed, at the Rasennan sword still trembling in his grip. Before he could muster another attack, a spear pierced his chest. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, and with one last shuddering breath, he crumpled to the muddy ground.
Alena whirled to see Phoebe, bloodied and panting, her arm trembling from the throw. “Go!” she urged, waving towards Nik and Leukos.
