Only the throne room.
Only the choice that had always been waiting.
Build or burn.
I chose to build.
Even if I had to burn everything else to its foundation first.
CHAPTER 25
SERIS
The resistance hit the capital’s outer defenses like a hammer striking glass.
Five hundred soldiers poured down the ridge in coordinated waves, moving with the kind of precision that only came from years of training against impossible odds. No war cries. No wasted breath. Just boots pounding earth and steel gleaming in the blood-dark light as we closed the distance between forest cover and stone walls.
I ran with Malzaun’s unit. Daemon ran to my left, Kane’s massive frame ahead, and Zephyr moved light and quick on my right. Twenty elite veterans forming a protective shell around the single point of failure in this entire plan.
Me.
The capital loomed closer with every stride. Smoke billowed from gaps in the battlements where defensive fires had spread unchecked. The gates remained closed. Heavy iron-reinforced oak met the frontal assault of warriors armed with desperation and fury.
Kaelen’s voice cut through the thunder of boots. “Battalions two and four! Flank positions! Cover the approach!”
The formation split cleanly. One hundred twenty soldiers peeled left, another hundred twenty right, moving to intercept the royal forces scrambling to respond. That left two hundred forty charging straight at those gates like a spear aimed at the kingdom’s heart.
Arrows darkened the sky before we’d covered half the distance.
The first volley fell in a deadly rain. Soldiers raised shields instinctively, but iron points found gaps. Bolts landed on necks, legs, and the space between helm and pauldron. Bodies crumpled mid-stride. The charge didn’t slow.
We stepped over the fallen and kept moving.
Climbers broke from the main formation. Twenty agile Fae carrying grappling hooks and rope, sprinting ahead to scale the walls before defenders could mass properly. They moved fast, throwing hooks with practiced accuracy, beginning their ascent before the second volley launched.
I watched a young woman with braided hair reach halfway up before an arrow punched through her shoulder. She fell backward, rope burning through gloved hands. She didn’t scream. She just hit the ground with a sound that made my stomach twist and didn’t move again.
“Seris!” Daemon’s hand caught my arm as I stumbled. “Stay focused!”
But I couldn’t stop watching the climbers die. Arrows found them one by one. They dropped like cut flowers, bodies tangling in ropes or striking stone with wet, final sounds.
We had to get past this, no matter what.
Zephyr stopped running. Planted his feet. Drew and loosed arrows in one fluid motion that barely seemed to involve conscious thought.
An archer collapsed on the battlements, an arrow through his throat.
He knocked another. Drew. Released.
A second archer fell backward off the wall.
His hands moved in patterns too fast to properly track. Each motion was economical and precise. There were no wasted movements or hesitation. Just arrow after arrow sailing upward to punch through leather armor, finding gaps in helms and eliminating threats with mechanical efficiency.
Bodies dropped from the battlements. The remaining archers scrambled for cover, defensive fire faltering as they prioritized survival over accuracy.
“NOW!” Daemon surged forward, Kael materializing at his shoulder like a shadow given deadly intent.
They hit the wall together. Daemon’s hands found a steady grip in the rough stone, and Kael moved up the wall with a fluid grace as effortless as someone walking down a road. Both ascended faster than seemed physically possible, using cracks and outcroppings invisible to anyone without years of training.
