Rhaelle’s moonblade arced downward—
Fast.
Deadly.
Unstoppable.
Ariaxa’s body screamed with pain. Her magic stuttered. Her vision blackened.
Kaedan… I can’t… I can’t die… not like this…
The blade neared her throat—
And something in Ariaxa broke.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
A sound ripped from her chest — half sob, half roar — and the magic in her blood detonated.
Light exploded from her palms.
Not controlled.
Not trained.
Not shaped.
PURE.
SOLAR.
FURY.
A pulse of golden fire blasted outward in a ring so bright, the battlefield turned white.
Rhaelle screamed — a sound sharp enough to split stone — as the solar blast slammed into her. Her enchanted armor began to smoke, then glow, then melt against her skin.
Ariaxa didn’t see it.
She didn’t see anything.
The light consumed her, roaring from her fingers like she had opened her chest and let the sun burn through.
The shockwave ripped across the field, tearing up soil, shattering weapons, flinging soldiers backward like ragdolls. Even Riven was thrown to his knees. The enemy beasts howled and fled. Shadow magic evaporated into sparks.
When the flare finally dimmed, Ariaxa stood at its center—
Alone.
Alive.
Her hair glowed molten gold, levitating around her shoulders.
Her eyes burned like twin suns.
Her fingertips dripped with light.
Her breath crackled in the air.
The battlefield had gone silent.
Utterly, horrifyingly silent.
Rhaelle staggered back, clutching her half-melted armor, blackened skin smoking, eyes wide with fury and fear.
“Impossible…” she rasped. “You—You are no princess—what are you?”
Ariaxa couldn’t speak.
Her entire body shook from the blast.
Her palms smoldered.
Rhaelle’s gaze flickered wildly.
“Fall back!” she shrieked. “ALL OF YOU—FALL BACK!”
Her army obeyed instantly.
The Triarch lines retreated in chaos, dragging Rhaelle with them, her scream of rage echoing across the scorched earth.
But Ariaxa barely noticed.
Because behind her—
Every soldier of Vharon was kneeling.
Riven bowed his head, sword pressed to the ground.
Spellcasters dropped to one knee, shaking.
Archers lowered their bows in awe.
Whispers rippled through the stunned ranks:
“She’s the Sunborn…”
“She’s a Queen…”
“No—she’s more…”
“She saved us…”
“She saved him…”
Ariaxa swayed on her feet, dizzy, the last remnants of the solar pulse crackling over her skin.
She felt like she might collapse.
Then a messenger sprinted toward her, breathless, face pale with terror.
“Princess Ariaxa!”
She turned slowly.
“Kaedan—”
The messenger choked, clutching his chest.
“Kaedan isn’t waking.”
Her heart stopped.
“He’s—he’s fading.”
Ariaxa’s world shattered.
She didn’t wait for another word.
She ran.