Beneath the Sacred Castle of Akasa, the corridors stretched dark and unending, their stillness broken only by the flicker of low flames that cast restless shadows on the cold stone walls. The air was dense, thick with an almost tangible weight, as the two Fulmenians made their way deeper into the labyrinthine passages. The elder paused for a moment, her sharp eyes glinting like embers as she glanced at her daughter. Her voice, though soft, carried the gravity of her guilt.
"Does it hurt less now, Masha? I know it will take time to heal fully. Forgive me." As she spoke, she draped a wing over the young one's shoulders, pulling her close in a gesture both tender and apologetic.
Masha leaned into her mother's warmth, though her muscles tensed at first without meaning to. Her ribs still ached from the blow, and no matter how many times she told herself she was fine, her body hadn't quite caught up.
She wanted to pull away. Wanted to snap, to ask why—how her mother could look at her like that, like an enemy. The image of that fury, that surge of raw magic lashing out without hesitation, burned behind her eyes. It hadn't been training. It hadn't felt like love.
But as the silence settled, and her mother's wings stayed steady around her, something shifted. The anger softened, dulled by exhaustion, by the old ache of wanting to be understood. Masha drew in a shaky breath.
Maybe she had lost control. Maybe they both had.
"I'm fine, Mom," she said at last, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'm strong. I'll heal quickly."
There was a pause before the next words came—heavier, quieter.
"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You… you did what you thought you had to do. To protect me."
She hesitated, then let her head rest gently against her mother's shoulder. A small, brave smile curved her lips, but the shadow hadn't fully lifted. That part would take longer. The memory still lingered, waiting at the edge of her thoughts. But for now, she let herself lean in.
Her mother's desperation told her how dire the situation had been. Masha's mind churned with questions she dared not voice. What did her mother see in Ayzat when she'd quarreled with Aqasha? Could it be tied to what had just transpired? The unanswered questions clawed at her, a persistent unease. But her concerns were forced aside when the hallway ended at a heavy door—the threshold to the underground dungeon. Her heartbeat quickened, her thoughts turning now to her friends. She prayed Mei was safe, clinging to fragile hope.
Leyla reached for the iron handle, her movements brisk but deliberate. The door groaned open, and as she stepped inside, the air hit her like a tide. The dungeon reeked of sorrow and despair, emotions so thick they seemed to cling to her feathers. Her keen ears caught the sound of muffled sobs, and her gaze quickly found their source. Yua was crumpled against the bars of a cell, her shoulders heaving as she wept bitterly for her sister beyond the cold steel barrier.
Leyla's eyes moved further, alighting on two familiar figures. Xuefeng stood motionless, her head bowed and her face hidden, as though the weight of what had transpired pressed her into the earth itself. Nearby, Aren remained close, his presence quiet but grounding, offering what little comfort he could. The sight struck Leyla harder than any words could. She needed no explanations; the scene told her all she needed to know.
And the truth of it filled her heart with dread.
Her daughter, still young and unseasoned in the ways of the world, could not fully grasp the weight of what was unfolding. Worry gnawed at her, and before reason could hold her back, the young Fulmenian rushed forward. Her wings swept wide as she wrapped one protectively around Yua, whose anguished cries filled the somber air. The sound pierced her heart, but it was Kolibry, sitting quietly beside Yua, who drew her attention next. His wide eyes lifted to meet hers as she approached, and though she had yet to ask, the answer was already written in the sorrow etched across his small face.
"The Ardenian narrator…he's dead," Kolibry said at last. His voice, once full of its trademark chirp, now carried only the weight of grief, low and heavy as a bell tolling in the distance.
Masha's breath hitched, but her reaction betrayed her ignorance. "Oh…" she murmured, her tone laden with sadness but devoid of understanding. The loss of the Ardenian struck her as tragic, but the depth of its implications was a chasm she could not yet see. Ardenian laws, Luxian laws—those were tales told to her in passing, and her grasp on them was tenuous at best. Yua's tears had slowed to a stop, but her face bore the raw marks of grief, her bloodshot eyes glimmering with despair as she turned her gaze to Masha.
"The…the laws between Ardenia and Luxia," Yua began, her voice cracked and hoarse, every word a struggle. "I told you about them, didn't I?"
Masha nodded hesitantly, the memory faint but present. "Yes, you mentioned them. That if a Luxian hurts an Ardenian, would it be in Luxia, in Ardenia or anywhere else, they're subject to Luxian laws," she replied, her voice steady but unsure. Yet, as she spoke, she felt the shift in the room's atmosphere—a suffocating heaviness she couldn't ignore. Her mother's uncharacteristic silence hung over them all like a storm cloud. Something was wrong. Something more than she could yet piece together.
Yua's body trembled, her voice faltering as she pressed on. "If…if a Luxian kills an Ardenian…" She swallowed hard, the words lodging in her throat like shards of glass. "The punishment…is death." She said it at last, though the very act of voicing the truth seemed to rob her of strength. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, but no weeping could ease the torment in her heart. It was a law she had known her entire life, one she wished now with all her being to unmake. Her sister—her beloved sister—stood condemned by it, and not even their mother, the Fifth Paladin herself, could rewrite what was carved into the stones of their world.
Masha felt the breath leave her lungs. Her wide eyes darted to her mother, seeking denial, a shred of hope. But Leyla's expression was unyielding, her sorrow speaking louder than any words. She met her daughter's gaze and gave a solemn, heavy nod. The truth was immutable, and there was nothing even she could do to save Mei.
The young Fulmenian's heart sank into despair as tears filled her own eyes. Her gaze shifted to Yua's sister, silent in her cell yet burdened with the weight of fate's cruel hand. For the first time, Masha truly understood the fragility of the bonds that held their world together—and the unforgiving cost of their breaking.
Mei sat in silence within the confines of her cell, her back pressed against the cold iron bars that separated her from her younger sister. The dim light barely caught the shimmer of her pale eyes, which gazed at Yua with a longing she could never fully express. Beyond the bars, the two coatls, Momo and Yui, entwined their slender forms in a desperate embrace. Their low, mournful chirps filled the suffocating stillness, their small bodies trembling as if trying to shoulder the grief that their companions could not speak aloud.
The weight of the punishment was a tangible thing, oppressive and cruel, and it bore down on all of them. Xuefeng, who had stood stoic for as long as she could, felt her composure begin to crack. The Fifth Paladin's hooves scraped against the stone as she turned toward the door, her movements brisk, her breath uneven. She glanced back at Mei, her expression riddled with guilt, wishing for the thousandth time that there was some way to undo what had been done, to rewrite this tale of tragedy. A single tear slipped once again down her cheek, glistening like a shard of broken glass, before she turned her gaze to Yua, hateful and full of disgust.
"It should have been you."
The words cut through the air like thunder, striking Yua with a force no weapon could match. Her ears flattened against her head as her entire body flinched. The pain and anger in her mother's voice were matched only by the agony in her own heart. Without waiting for a reply, Xuefeng stepped through the door, the sound of it closing behind her ringing like the final toll of a bell. She left her daughters behind, one condemned by fate, the other by the judgment of her own mother.
Leyla's ears twitched at the words, her shock giving way to anger. Her gaze snapped to Yua, who stood trembling, her small frame shuddering as she fought to hold back the flood of tears threatening to spill. The Third Paladin strode toward the young Luxian, her movements deliberate, and wrapped her wings around her gently but firmly, offering the comfort and solace that Yua so desperately needed. The embrace was warm and steady, a silent declaration that even in the midst of despair, she would not let her crumble.
A keening cry from Yui broke the stillness, a sound that echoed Mei's unspoken anguish. Yua's resolve finally shattered, and her sobs came in waves, shaking her small form as she buried herself in Leyla's embrace. Mei pressed her forehead against the bars. She ached to reach her sister, to hold her, to whisper assurances that all would somehow be well. But the bars might as well have been an ocean, an insurmountable distance she could never cross.
Sensing the pain that suffused the room, Yui unfurled its wings and glided to Yua, Momo following close behind. The two coatls coiled themselves gently around Yua's neck, their bodies of light pressing against her like a second embrace. Yui spread its delicate wings, draping them across Yua's shoulders in a gesture as close to a hug as it could muster. It was a small comfort, but in a moment like this, even the smallest kindness felt monumental.
***
Xuefeng strode away from the cell, her steps echoing hollowly against the stone walls, each one a sharp counterpoint to the cries of her daughter behind her. The sound clawed at her heart, but her thoughts were a tumult of sorrow and fury, consumed by the specter of losing Mei. Never before had she felt so utterly powerless. Not since the days before her rise, when she had been nothing more than the lightless sibling, struggling to find her place in a world that always seemed just out of reach.
She had clawed her way to the Fifth seat of the Paladins, earned every shred of respect with blood, sweat, and relentless determination. And yet now, all her strength, all her rank, meant nothing. Her daughter—her Mei—was doomed to the death sentence for a crime Xuefeng knew in her soul Mei could never commit. It was a cruel twist of fate, and it left her feeling like that powerless child once more.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of measured footsteps behind her. Turning her head, she found Aren approaching. The High-Priest of Ardenu, who had left the room earlier, now stood before her, his expression one of cold, simmering fury. His eyes burned with anger, and his ears flattened back against his neck, a physical testament to the storm within him.
"How could you say those words to your own daughter?" Aren's voice was sharp as steel, the authority in it unmistakable, though rarely wielded so openly. The anger he usually held in check now blazed like a forge unquenched.
Xuefeng's ears flicked at the challenge in his tone. She turned to face him fully, her own anger rising to meet his. "I am a Paladin, and you—" she began, her voice hard and edged, but it faltered, caught in her throat. Her words failed her as her eyes met Aren's. His gaze was unyielding, filled with a fire that refused to be extinguished.
"You are the Fifth Paladin," Aren said, cutting her off with a voice that was as commanding as it was furious, "but I am the High-Priest of Ardenu. Do not think to silence me with your rank. My strength is [i]at least[/i] equal to yours, and I will not be bullied into submission." His words carried not only anger but also a profound weight, like the heat of a furnace that could scorch the unwary.
For too long, he had watched Xuefeng's treatment of Yua without speaking, but now her callous words had been the spark that ignited the dry tinder of his restraint. "You will regret what you said to Yua," he continued, his tone fierce and unrelenting. "Not only will you lose Mei, but you will lose Yua as well. And Mei loves her sister. With those words, you've pushed her away too. Think deeply on your actions, Xuefeng, for they will cost you more than you realize."
With that, Aren turned and walked away, his steps firm with purpose. He had said what needed to be said and now had to check on his own daughter, leaving Xuefeng alone in the corridor.
She stood there, her chest heaving with unspent rage, her eyes still alight with defiance. But the embers of her anger smoldered against the undeniable truth of Aren's words. She could not lash out, not at him, not at anyone, for deep down she knew—every word he had spoken was true.