Aira's body screamed for rest.
Her legs quivered like reeds in a storm, barely able to hold her weight. Her lungs burned, every breath like glass dragged through her throat. Blood crusted on her skin, thick with dirt and sweat and the reek of death. Her arms bore cuts she could no longer feel. Her ribs ached where bruises bloomed beneath torn flesh. But none of that mattered.
Every part of her begged her to stop.
To fall to the earth and let it swallow her whole.To sleep forever and forget the nightmare that had stretched for days.
But she couldn't.
Not yet.
Not while there was still hope. Not while her sister might still be waiting.
She had made it back.She had survived that hell.
That cursed castle, with its iron jaws and screaming walls. The stench of blood soaked into stone, the inhuman eyes that gleamed in the dark, the twisted smiles of monsters pretending to be men.
She had escaped it.
And now—she had a chance.
A chance to save her.
Aira pushed through the exhaustion, dragging herself into the camp like a ghost of war. Around her, the world buzzed with low murmurs and wary glances. The mercenaries were busy cleaning up the corpses of the slaughtered dogs—mangled beasts, their throats torn open, their lifeless eyes still locked in fury. The hounds had been hunting her not long ago, teeth snapping at her heels, howls echoing in her bones.
Some of the men looked up as she passed.
Stared.
She caught their whispers. She came back alone.Gods, look at her—she's half-dead.No way she made it out of there.
But Aira didn't care.Their eyes meant nothing. Their pity meant less.
Her gaze swept the camp with frantic purpose—searching, needing.
And then she saw him.
The mercenary who had given her the job.
Tall. Broad. Scarred.His armor still bloodstained from the dog attack. His expression unreadable.
Aira's heart lurched violently against her ribs.
She ran, nearly stumbling, the world swaying beneath her. She reached him and clutched his arm, her fingers shaking so hard she could barely grip.
He turned. His eyes widened, narrowed.
"You… you're alive." His voice was rough with disbelief.
"I— I need to talk to you," she gasped, barely able to speak. "I have information. I saw things. That castle— it's not what they think. There are people— prisoners—experiments—gods, the things I saw—"
The words poured from her in a broken stream, jagged and breathless. But he didn't react. Didn't lean in. Didn't ask questions.
Instead, he laid a hand on her shoulder.
It was heavy.
Too heavy.
And the moment he opened his mouth, the world began to tilt.
"Aira… you're too late."
The air went still.
Her breath caught.Her heart stopped.Her soul staggered.
"What?"
His eyes, once steely, now held something darker. A sorrow that wasn't his own. A finality like frost.
"Your sister died three days ago."
Aira froze.
It didn't feel like words.It felt like an axe buried in her chest.
"No," she breathed, the sound barely human.
This wasn't real.It couldn't be.
She had fought through hell. She had clawed her way back here. She had bled for every step.
"No. You're wrong. I just saw her. She was alive. She was waiting—"
"She fought hard," he interrupted softly, gently. "But the fever… it took her."
"No. No, no, no—"
"She didn't make it."
The world blurred around her. The sky dimmed. The camp faded to shadows and noise, none of it registering.
Aira's legs gave out. The ground rushed up to meet her, and she collapsed. Dirt filled her mouth. Her fingers clawed into the earth. Her whole body trembled.
Somewhere, something in her snapped.
And in that snapping, in that moment of perfect stillness beneath the sky, a spark was born.
A flicker of dark excitement beneath the mountain of grief.
Aira heard her voice whisper again, but this time not in sorrow. Not in disbelief.
So that's how it ends, is it?
She had failed.
She had fought, and she had lost.
But then… why was she still breathing?
She had nothing now. No reason left. No family. No purpose. No home.
And with nothing left to lose—
Did that not make her the most dangerous thing alive?
Her breath shook as she looked up at the mercenary. Her face was smeared with dirt and tears, but her eyes were changing.
No longer just shattered.
Now: focused.Sharp.
Rage and clarity danced in her pupils, like lightning behind storm clouds.
"Where is she?" she whispered.
The man hesitated, sensing something was shifting.
He pointed toward the outskirts of the camp.
"We buried her. Gave her a tombstone."
Her stomach twisted. Her heart was a crater. But beneath it, something darker began to bloom.
Not vengeance—not yet.
Something older. Hungrier.
She would go to the grave. She would kneel beside her sister one last time.
And then?
She would decide who deserved to pay.