Dawn had barely touched the sky when the village began to stir. Smoke rose from chimneys in thin gray threads. Doors creaked open. Children emerged to feed chickens, their laughter soft against the morning mist. Alix Teardom watched it all from the guest house window, the restored tablet still strapped securely to her back. The weight of it felt heavier today, as if it knew what was coming.
Donstram Donovan slept fitfully beside her, the bandage on his shoulder stained but no longer bleeding. The bond carried the steady rhythm of his breathing, calm now, but edged with the pain he refused to acknowledge. She brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead, careful not to wake him. He murmured something unintelligible and turned toward her touch.
A soft knock at the door.
Alix tensed. "Who is it?"
A young voice answered. "It's Lira. Elder Mara sent me with breakfast and news."
Alix crossed the room, unbarred the door, and let the girl in. Lira was perhaps fourteen, with wide violet eyes and the faint shimmer of latent magic around her fingers. She carried a tray: fresh bread, cheese, a pot of herbal tea, and a small bowl of honey.
"Elder Mara says the wards held through the night," Lira said, setting the tray down. "But she asks you to leave soon. The king's men are moving faster than expected."
Alix nodded. "We'll be gone before the sun is fully up. Tell her thank you."
Lira hesitated. "And... thank you. For the hunter. My brother was the one he killed. If you hadn't come out..."
Alix touched the girl's shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Lira's eyes filled but didn't spill. She bobbed a quick curtsy and slipped out.
Donstram stirred. "Trouble?"
"Only the usual kind." Alix poured tea for both of them. "We leave at first light."
He sat up slowly, wincing. "Good. This place is too comfortable. Makes you forget the road."
They ate in companionable silence. The bread was still warm, the honey sweet. Simple things that felt like luxuries after weeks of flight.
When they finished, Donstram stood, testing his shoulder. "I can ride. We take horses if they offer them."
Alix began packing their few belongings. The tablet's soft glow pulsed faintly, almost reassuring.
A shout from outside.
Then another.
Then screams.
Donstram grabbed his sword. Alix was already at the door, shadows coiling around her hands.
They stepped out into chaos.
Royal soldiers. Not scouts. A full platoon, at least thirty strong, armored in silver plate, banners snapping in the wind. They had ridden straight through the wards, as if guided. Torches were already lit. Houses burned.
At the center of the square stood Tomas, one of the village hunters who had welcomed them the night before. He held a heavy purse in one hand, eyes downcast.
The captain of the soldiers pointed at Alix and Donstram. "There! The witch and the traitor prince!"
Tomas looked up. Met Alix's eyes. Shame and defiance warred on his face.
"I did it for my family," he said hoarsely. "The bounty will save them from starvation."
Donstram stepped forward, voice cold. "You sold your neighbors for gold."
Tomas swallowed. "You brought death here. I only made sure it paid."
The captain raised his hand. "Take them. Alive if possible."
The soldiers advanced.
Alix felt the bond flare with Donstram's rage. She matched it with her own cold fury.
They met the charge together.
Shadows exploded outward in a dark wave, slamming into the front rank. Soldiers staggered, blinded. Donstram charged through the gap, sword flashing. He took the first man through the throat, spun, parried a spear thrust, drove his blade into the next soldier's chest.
Alix moved like smoke. Vines burst from the earth, wrapping ankles, dragging men down. She lashed out with shadow whips, cracking against helms and shields. A soldier swung at her; she ducked, shadows coiling around his legs, yanking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard. She finished him with a vine through the heart.
The villagers fought too. Pitchforks, axes, kitchen knives. Elder Mara stood at the center, staff raised, weaving protective wards that shimmered purple. But they were farmers and craftsmen, not warriors.
A soldier broke through, blade aimed at Mara.
Donstram intercepted, sword meeting sword in a ringing clash. He drove the man back, then cut him down.
Alix felt every blow through the bond, every bruise, every shallow cut. Pain shared, strength shared. They fought as one.
But the numbers were too great.
A crossbow twanged. A bolt took Lira in the shoulder. She fell with a cry.
Alix screamed. Shadows surged wildly, uncontrolled. The ground cracked. Vines erupted in a frenzy, crushing soldiers, pulling them into the earth.
Donstram reached her side, grabbing her arm. "Control it! You'll bring the whole village down!"
She gasped, reining the power back. The shadows retreated, trembling.
The remaining soldiers fell back, dragging wounded comrades. The captain shouted retreat. They rode out as fast as they had come.
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of burning thatch and the sobs of the wounded.
Alix dropped to her knees beside Lira. The girl was pale, breathing shallow. Alix pressed her hands to the wound, shadows flowing into healing light. The bleeding slowed.
Elder Mara knelt beside them. "She will live. But many will not."
Alix looked up. Bodies lay everywhere. Smoke rose from ruined homes. Children cried for parents who would never answer.
Tomas stood at the edge of the square, purse still in his hand. No one moved toward him. No one needed to.
Donstram walked over. Stood before him.
"You thought this would save them?" he asked quietly.
Tomas looked at the dead. "I thought... it would be quick."
Donstram sheathed his sword. "It never is."
He turned away.
Alix stood, Lira in her arms. The girl stirred, eyes opening. "I'm sorry..."
"Shh," Alix whispered. "Rest."
Elder Mara approached. "You cannot stay. The king will send more. We will rebuild. But you must go."
Alix nodded. "We will."
Donstram helped her carry Lira back to the guest house. Villagers who could still walk began to put out fires, tend the wounded. No one looked at Tomas.
Inside, Alix laid Lira on the bed. The girl fell into exhausted sleep.
Donstram leaned against the wall, eyes shadowed. "We brought this."
Alix crossed to him. Took his face in her hands. "No. Greed brought this. Fear brought this. We tried to protect them."
He rested his forehead against hers. "How many more?"
"As many as it takes," she said fiercely. "Until the king is on his knees."
He kissed her then, hard and desperate. She kissed him back, pouring every ounce of grief and rage and love into it.
When they parted, he whispered, "We leave at full dark. We take the survivors who want to come. The rest... we warn them to scatter."
Alix nodded.
Unique insight settled over her like ash: Every choice to protect others costs lives you never intended to claim. And the only way forward is to keep choosing, even when the cost breaks your heart.
Outside, the village burned quietly.
The road waited.
And the war had claimed its first true price.