Lunara did not rise because she wanted to.
She rose because someone had to stand.
The border city was still repairing its walls when the next warning came. Scouts arrived breathless, clothes torn, voices shaking as they spoke of movement beyond the hills. Aethros forces were shifting again. Not a full assault—yet.
The commander looked around the room.
Most of the officers were tired. Some were afraid.
"Lunara," he said, breaking the silence. "You take the eastern sector."
A few heads turned.
She was young. Born to servants. No title to her name.
But no one argued.
Lunara bowed once. "Yes, sir."
She moved quickly through the streets, gathering soldiers and volunteers. She placed archers where they could see far, not where they could boast. She ordered barriers moved closer to homes instead of wide-open ground.
"Protect people first," she said. "The wall can be rebuilt."
When the first clash came, it was brief but violent. Aethros scouts pushed too far. Lunara's unit held the line, forcing them back without chasing.
A young soldier beside her hesitated when an enemy fell.
"Stay with me," Lunara said, steady and calm. "You're not alone."
The soldier nodded and kept fighting.
By the time the clash ended, no civilians were hurt.
Word spread.
Not loudly. Not with praise. But with trust.
"She keeps people alive," they said.
Later that night, Lunara sat on the steps of a watchtower, cleaning her blade. Her arms ached. Her hands were sore. She felt every bruise.
Her father found her there.
"You don't have to do this forever," he said quietly.
Lunara looked up at him. "If I don't, someone else will."
He said nothing more. He understood.
The next morning, she was summoned to the inner hall.
The Nyvoria king did not smile when he saw her. He studied her instead, eyes sharp, thoughtful.
"You fight differently," he said. "You defend."
"That is Nyvoria's way," Lunara replied.
The king nodded slowly.
Outside the hall, whispers followed her steps. Some were proud. Some were fearful. Power always made people uneasy.
As Lunara returned to her post, she felt the same restless pull she had felt days before. The spirits were quiet now—but not calm.
She looked toward the border, toward the land she had never crossed.
Somewhere out there was the one she had crossed blades with.
She did not know his name.
But she had not forgotten him.