Varyth nodded in return. “And I’m sure you noted that my court opposed it.”
Cold wariness crept in, but I held my composure. “I did.”
“I’m not surprised you did,” he said flatly. “But I think it’s important to understand that the war was not as simple as the books suggest. The court that led it, Nyxaria, had other intentions beyond their noble cause. They sought power, territory, expansion. They saw an opportunity to justify their ambitions and hid behind it.”
Varyth’s hand drifted toward a shelf carved from bleached bonewood, fingertips brushing over the smooth surface of a crystal orb nestled in a silver cradle.
“Words won’t do it justice,” he murmured. “See for yourself.”
I reached for the orb.
Cool glass met my fingers, smooth, inert. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
The orb pulsed once, then ripped the floor from beneath me.
Wind howled. Ash bit at my skin. Screams tore through the sky.
I was on a battlefield.
Mud churned beneath my boots, slick with blood. The scent of death was thick in the air, iron and rot and burned magic. The ground quaked with impact after impact, shockwaves rattling through my bones.
And there, at the centre of it all, stood Varyth.
The same silver hair swept back from his face, the same impossible calm written into the sharp lines of his body. Mist coiled around him, rippling with power.
Across from him, a Nyxarian commander. Devastatingly beautiful. Dark hair braided back from her face, her midnight black armour gleaming beneath the red-streaked sky. She looked like vengeance given flesh, and she was smiling as she raised her sword.
Behind her, Nyxarian soldiers surged forward.
They tore through Varyth’s forces like wildfire, like beasts. Soldiers in Luceren gold fell screaming, weapons clattering as they were cut down—burned, gutted, ripped apart by magic and blade alike.
I could hear them. The cries. The orders. The begging.
And over it all, the silence of Varyth’s stance.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t beg.
He watched.
The Nyxarian commander—gods, she didn’t look any older than me—lunged at him. Her sword wreathed in swirling ash.
Varyth caught the blade in his bare hand. It didn’t pierce his skin.
The woman faltered. Just for a second.
And in that second, the battlefieldshifted.
Mist exploded outward from Varyth, tearing through Nyxarian lines, howling like a storm made of rage. Soldiers screamed as they were hurled backward, their armour shredded, their magic drowned.
But it wasn’t enough. There were too many. And they didn’t stop. The slaughter continued. Even with his retaliation, even with the elemental violence that Varyth unleashed, the bodies of his soldiers piled high.
Luceren soldiers died with honour.
Nyxarian warriors killed withdelight.
There was no mercy here. No heroism. Only blood, ruin, and the brutal, unforgiving truth.
This wasn’t the noble war I’d read about in books. And I wasn’t sure whose side history had been written by… but I was beginning to suspect it hadn’t been his.
