Smoke still hung over the Northern Fort when dawn arrived. The air reeked of blood and iron; the banners that once bore the council's crest now dripped black soot. We had won—but victory never felt so fragile.
Reiss moved among the wounded, issuing orders. "Fifteen dead, eight too hurt to fight," he reported. "Supplies won't last a week."
"Then we take what the council left behind," I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone older, colder. "This fort is ours now. Make it livable."
He hesitated. "And if they come back with an army?"
I looked toward the horizon, where thunderclouds gathered like waiting beasts. "Then we'll greet them the same way we did the first wave—only louder."
Sera found me later in the tower hall, sleeves rolled to her elbows, bandaging a soldier's arm with steady hands. Her shoulder wound had healed, but her eyes were tired—too much magic, too little rest.
"You should be lying down," I told her.
"And let these men die from infections?" she countered. "Not happening."
I leaned against the wall, watching her work. The faint blue glow of her healing spell lit the room, softening the jagged edges of broken stone. "You're different after a fight," I said. "Calmer."
"I've seen enough death to hate it," she replied quietly. "Magic can kill; I'd rather make it heal."
Her words struck deeper than I expected. I remembered the Sera from the novel—ambitious, selfish, easily bought. This one risked her life for strangers. Maybe my presence had already started to change her story.
When she looked up and caught me staring, she flushed slightly. "What?"
"Just thinking," I said. "Maybe I misjudged you."
"Or maybe you're starting to see properly."
That night, the storm returned. Rain drummed against the windows, steady and cold. I stood at the parapet, staring at the valley below. Flames from the enemy camps flickered in the distance—scouts marking our position for the next strike.
Footsteps approached behind me. "Couldn't sleep either?" Sera asked, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders.
"Too quiet," I said. "After battles, silence feels heavier than noise."
She joined me at the wall. "You're bleeding again," she murmured, reaching to wipe a streak from my cheek. Her fingers lingered a moment too long before she pulled back. "You push yourself too far."
"Every breath in this world is borrowed," I said. "Might as well spend it."
She sighed, turning to face the storm. "You sound like someone who doesn't expect to live long."
"Maybe I don't," I admitted. "But I'm trying to give this world a reason I existed."
Lightning flashed, and for an instant her silver hair glowed white. "Then promise me something, Lucien Vale," she said. "If you die, it won't be because you stopped fighting for that reason."
I looked at her, really looked. The rain slid down her face like tears that weren't hers. "I promise," I said.
She nodded once, then stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth beneath her damp cloak. "Good," she whispered. "Because I'm not planning to lose you."
For a heartbeat, everything slowed—the rain, the thunder, even the weight of the curse inside me. I wanted to reach for her, to close that last inch between us. But the sound of shattering glass below broke the spell.
We ran down to the courtyard. A soldier lay dead by the gate, arrow through his throat. Another staggered in, clutching a parchment. "Message—f-from the capital—" he gasped before collapsing.
Reiss grabbed the parchment and unfolded it, face darkening as he read. "The Council declares Lucien Vale an enemy of the Crown. All who aid him are traitors. Execution on sight."
"Expected," I said grimly. "But what else?"
He hesitated, then handed me the rest of the message. My blood went cold.
The mage Sera Wynne is hereby sentenced for high treason and forbidden research on forbidden mana. A bounty of ten thousand crowns for her capture alive.
Sera's face paled. "They found out."
I looked at her. "About what?"
She turned away, voice trembling. "Before I met you, I… studied the curse. The council called it heresy. I ran before they could hang me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would you have trusted me if you knew?"
I didn't answer. The silence spoke for me, and regret burned in her eyes.
"I wanted to believe helping you would redeem me," she whispered. "Now I've just made you their enemy too."
I stepped forward and caught her hand. "You didn't make me anything. I chose this path long before you."
She tried to pull away. I didn't let go. "Listen," I said softly. "The council fears you because they know what you can do. That means we fight on equal ground now."
Her gaze lifted to mine. "You're insane."
"Probably," I said, smiling faintly. "But we'll be insane together."
Slowly, her tension eased, and her fingers curled around mine. "Then we win together, too."
"Always."
By morning, the rain had stopped. The fortress still smoked, but a new flag flew from the tower—black with a silver flame, the symbol of rebirth through ruin. My men bowed as I passed, some out of loyalty, others out of fear. Either worked.
Reiss joined me on the wall. "If we hold the fort, we can rally the border towns. You'd have an army within a month."
"Then send the word," I said. "The world thinks the villain died. Let's show them he's just getting started."
He grinned, savage and proud. "Aye, my lord."
When he left, I turned toward the east, where the capital lay hidden beyond the mountains. Somewhere out there, the author of this world—the fate that hated me—was watching. Waiting for me to fall again.
I smiled into the rising sun. "Not this time."
That night, as the fires burned low and the men sang of victory, Sera sat beside me on the parapet. The wind tangled her hair, carrying the faint scent of smoke and rain.
"You really think we can change the story?" she asked.
I looked at her, the cursed light of the moon painting her silver. "I already have."
For once, she didn't argue. She leaned her head lightly against my shoulder. "Then let's see how far we can rewrite it."
Below us, the fort's torches shimmered like stars that refused to die. And for the first time since I'd awoken in this world, I let myself believe in something dangerous.
Hope.