Kaedan went limp.
Completely limp.
His full weight collapsed into Ariaxa’s arms, his skin fever-hot, blood soaking her hands, his breath shallow and fading.
“No, no, no—Kaedan!” she choked, shaking him.
But he didn’t respond.
Not even a twitch.
Behind her, the battlefield churned—screams, fire, steel, magic.
Riven skidded to her side, panting, his eyes wide with horror.
“Emperor—no—Kaedan—!”
Ariaxa could barely breathe. “Help me—get him out of here—now!”
Riven barked orders to nearby soldiers.
A small guard squad rushed forward, forming a shield line around them.
But Ariaxa didn’t move.
Not yet.
She lowered Kaedan gently to the ground, her fingers brushing his cheek.
His eyes stayed closed.
Her heart shattered.
Then she stood.
Covered in Kaedan’s blood.
Shaking with fury.
And staring at the battlefield like a living star about to explode.
A wind swept across the field—hot, golden, unfamiliar.
The Triarch soldiers paused.
The Vharon legions froze mid-strike.
Even the beasts snarled uncertainly.
Riven whispered, “Ariaxa… what are you doing—?”
She stepped forward, blade in hand.
Her shoulder wound glowed gold.
The air shimmered around her.
Her magic rose like a sun being born.
The Solar mage—Lorian—looked up with terror and awe.
“She’s awakening—by the gods—Ariaxa, STOP—!”
But she wasn’t listening.
She was becoming.
Riven shouted over the roaring wind, “Soldiers—PROTECT THE EMPEROR!”
Four guards lifted Kaedan’s unconscious body, retreating toward the palace gates.
Ariaxa watched them go for a single heartbeat.
Then she turned to face the entire Triarch army.
Her blade burned white-gold, the sunlight pouring from her skin, her hair, her eyes.
She raised the sword high.
“VHARON—”
Her voice cracked the sky.
“—TO ME!”
The battlefield trembled.
Her call echoed for miles, shaking dust from ruined walls, rippling through armor, striking the hearts of every soldier who still lived.
“TO ME!”
Vharon’s legions roared as one.
They surged forward, weapons raised, voices thundering across the plains.
Ariaxa charged at their front, magic exploding at her heels. Waves of gold light spiraled outward, slicing through enemy spells, shattering shadow chains, blinding assassins, repelling beasts.
Every step she took created a radiant shockwave.
Every swing of her blade cut through darkness like a new dawn.
Behind her, the guards carried Kaedan’s limp body into the palace, protected by a radiant barrier she cast instinctively—the shield holding like a dome of sunlight around him.
She didn’t even turn to look.
But she knew.
He was protected.
Because she would die before letting him fall.
The tide of battle shifted like a river reversing.
Triarch soldiers stumbled backward.
Shadow beasts howled and fled.
Vaelen’s assassins shielded their faces.
Even the sky seemed to brighten.
Ariaxa felt her magic rising too fast, too wild, but she pushed harder.
She became the weapon.
She became the shield.
She became the sun in Vharon’s darkest hour.
“FOR VHARON!” soldiers cried behind her.
“FOR THE EMPEROR!”
“FOR THE SUN PRINCESS!”
Ariaxa cut down another wave of mages, breath burning, heart blazing.
Just then—
A ripple.
A chill.
A shadow falling across the battlefield.
Ariaxa stopped mid-stride, chest heaving.
Through the scattering soldiers and fleeing beasts… a single figure stepped forward.
Tall.
Draped in living shadow.
Crowned in crimson and gold.
A smile as cold as winter steel.
Queen Rhaelle.
She walked calmly, unhurried, like she was strolling into a throne room—not into the middle of a war.
Ariaxa’s breath faltered.
Rhaelle lifted her head, her eyes blazing with ancient power.
“You think you are a queen,” she said softly, voice carrying like death on the wind.
Ariaxa raised her glowing blade, electricity roaring through her veins.
Rhaelle smiled.
“Your crown, Princess…”
She extended a hand.
Shadow curled around her fingers.
“…is mine.”