--Arrival at the Palace--
The royal carriage stopped at the marble steps of the Grand Palace.
"This place always feels bigger when we come back after the academy…" Lucas muttered as palace attendants lined up to greet them.
Lucien stepped out first, posture straight, expression calm, eyes already scanning the courtyard bustling with servants carrying decorations, crates, and scrolls. Preparations for the diplomats' ball had already begun.
"Welcome home, Your Highness," the attendants chorused.
Lucien nodded once, already moving. "Where is Prime Minister Aldren?"
"In the Emperor's study, Your Highness."
"Then that's where I'll be."
Lucas hurried after him, still dragging his luggage. "Wait—Your Highness! I haven't even unpacked—!"
The Emperor's study was filled with the scent of sandalwood and fresh parchment. Emperor Alaric stood near the windows, hands clasped behind his back. Prime Minister Aldren bowed deeply to him, worry etched across his aged features.
"Your Majesty… are you certain about this?" the Prime Minister asked.
"These preparations are not simple tasks. They are complex, time-consuming, and traditionally overseen by the palace stewardess. To give all responsibilities to the prince at once—"
"Is it too much?" Emperor Alaric finished for him, one brow rising.
The Prime Minister swallowed.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty… but yes. Even for someone as capable as the Crown Prince, this burden is… excessive."
Emperor Alaric turned slightly, eyes calm and unreadable.
The Prime Minister stiffened.
"This is a woman's work, Aldren," the Emperor continued.
"Selecting fabrics, décor, arranging floor plans, diplomatic seating, menus… trivial details. If the boy is rattled by something this small, how will he fare when the burden of a nation rests on his shoulders?"
Aldren bowed deeply again. "…I understand, Your Majesty."
"Good."
"Your Majesty, Prince Lucien request to enter"
"Let him in"
Lucien entered silently, bowing. "Father."
"Lucien," the Emperor said. "You will oversee all aspects of the diplomatic ball. Consider this training."
"I expected as much," Lucien replied evenly.
Prime Minister Aldren sighed into his sleeve.
"Your deadline is one week," Emperor Alaric continued. "But if you finish in less, the credit is yours. You will have minimal assistance. Only the most essential staff."
Lucien lowered his eyes for a respectful moment.
"Understood."
The Emperor smiled faintly, a rare sight. "Let me see if you can exceed my expectations… as you always have."
Lucien nodded once. "I will not disappoint you."
The next morning marked the beginning of chaos.
"Your Highness, we need your approval for the banquet drapes—"
"Your Highness, the carpets have arrived from the northern district—"
"Your Highness, the florists require decisions on the centerpiece arrangements—"
"Your Highness, what of the seating chart? The ambassadors are sensitive about hierarchy—"
"Your Highness, the tasting for the menu—"
Lucas stood in the middle of the hall, pale and shaking.
"Your Highness… this is… this is worse than studying!"
Lucien skimmed through three documents at once, gave orders to five staff members simultaneously, and didn't even look winded.
"This is nothing," he said calmly.
"Focus on the list I gave you."
Lucas stared at the list.
It was longer than his family's entire lineage.
"I—I think I'm going to die," he whispered.
"You won't," Lucien said without looking up.
"I need you alive."
"Th-that's very comforting, Your Highness," Lucas said weakly and sarcastic.
Curtains, Carpets, Candles… and Chaos
For two days straight, Lucien and Lucas walked the length of the palace corridors, reviewing every detail.
Red or gold draperies?
Silk or damask?
White marble runners or crimson carpets?
Candelabras or floating lanterns?
Floral arches or crystal arrangements?
Lucas nearly broke down crying at the flower section alone.
"The orchids… they look the same…" Lucas whispered, horrified.
"They're not," Lucien replied, selecting instantly.
"This shade of white is purer. Use these."
"How do you know that!?"
"I have eyes."
"You have magic eyes, Your Highness!"
Next came deeper work.
Scrubbing the entire banquet hall from ceiling to floor.
Inspecting chandeliers.
Repolishing silverware sets older than the kingdom itself.
Finally reorganizing the nobles' resting chambers—each with its own theme depending on rank and status.
"This is too much…" Lucas muttered as he dragged a box.
"Is the Emperor trying to kill us?"
"No," Lucien said while reviewing documents. "He is training me."
"I don't think he's training me though!"
"He is."
"…I want a refund for my life."
Chefs from every region submitted dishes.
"This boar is over-seasoned," Lucien said after one bite. "Fix it."
"The sauce lacks depth," he added to another. "Add citrus."
Lucas, after tasting the fourth plate, lay dramatically on the floor.
"Your Highness, I can't taste anymore… the flavors… they've blended into one…"
"Then stop eating everything," Lucien said without sympathy.
By the morning of the fifth day, the palace had transformed.
Curtains hung elegantly.
Carpets laid perfectly aligned.
Lanterns fitted, tested, and polished.
Silverware gleamed.
Floral arrangements matched theme, lighting, and season.
Menus finalized.
Wine chosen.
Chambers ordered.
Banquet hall spotless.
Prime Minister Aldren walked into the hall with trembling hands.
"This… this is perfection," he whispered.
Lucien, reviewing the last report, spoke calmly:
"Finish the final polishing and we can begin the diplomatic placements tomorrow."
"You Highness…" Aldren swallowed. "You finished in five days."
Lucien looked up.
"Father gave me one week."
"Yes," Aldren croaked. "And you finished in five days."
"Good," Lucien replied. "Then I'll take the remaining two days to rest."
Lucas collapsed beside him. "YES PLEASE—"
"Not you," Lucien added.
Lucas sobbed silently.
--
The Emperor had been watching Lucien more closely these past week—far more than anyone realized.
The boy who once acted on impulse now spoke with precision; the prince who once bristled under pressure now carried responsibilities with steady hands. His growth was undeniable, unmistakable.
And deeply concerning—to someone.
In the Empress's private chambers—silk-draped and scented faintly of crushed lilies—her expression was nothing short of unsettled.
She had seen the shift in Lucien too.
And she hated it.
Not because she disliked competence.
Not because she didn't want a strong ruler.
But because Lucien had never been hers to control.
Not as a child, not now, and certainly not when he would ascend the throne.
Her younger son? Yes. She could shape him, influence him, bend him where she pleased.
But Lucien… Lucien was the Emperor's creature, independent, sharp, and far too unyielding for her taste.
She would not allow a son she could not manage to rule her empire.
"Is everything done?" the Empress asked, seated before her mirror as her lady-in-waiting tightened the pearl combs in her hair.
Ana bowed deeply.
A fallen noblewoman—one the Empress had rescued from ruin.
A loyal dog, grateful and obedient.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Everything is arranged as you instructed."
The Empress's lips curled upward, the expression too thin to be called a smile.
"Good," she murmured. "Then make sure the rest proceeds exactly as we planned."
Ana bowed again, almost trembling.
The Empress brought a gloved hand to her lips, tapping once—lightly, thoughtfully.
Lucien may be rising… but I will not allow him to rise above me.
--
The late afternoon sun soaked the grassy field behind the western wing in warm gold. The willow branches swayed lazily, their shadows dancing on the prince's boots as Lucien lay back on the grass, arms crossed behind his head. Lucas laid on the grass beside him, legs stretched out, chewing noisily on an apple.
"You're sure nothing will go wrong tonight, right, Your Highness?" Lucas asked around a mouthful, sounding more anxious than he looked.
"Nothing will go wrong," Lucien replied, eyes half-closed, tone completely calm.
Lucas squinted at him.
"You sound awfully confident."
"I prepared everything myself. Checked every corner twice. If something goes wrong, it'll be because the gods delight in irony."
Lucas snorted.
After a moment, he said casually, "Do you think Ms. Faelwen will attend?"
Lucien paused for a brief beat.
"…Why do you care if she attends or not?" Lucien asked, turning his head slightly, voice unexpectedly sharp and annoyed.
Lucas jumped, flustered. "I-It's not like that! I just thought—since you keep pestering her every day—you might like her or something! And if she attends, then Lady Melende—HUH?! I MEA—!"
He choked on his apple.
Lucien raised a brow. "Oh? So the one you like is that friend of hers—the one always following her around?"
Lucas went red instantly. "W-WHAT!? No! That's not— Your Highness!"
Lucien leaned back again, an odd, subtle relief loosening his shoulders—something he didn't quite understand.
Lucas jabbed a finger at him. "You say that, but you're the one following her everywhere!"
"When did I do that? Never," Lucien said firmly.
Lucas shot him a look.
"She's just… interesting. That's all."
"Mm-hm," Lucas muttered. "Whatever you say."
--
The palace gleamed.
Everything—the polished obsidian floors, the shimmering chandeliers, the gold-filament banners—reflected the meticulous planning of Lucien himself. Not a detail was out of place. Nobles filled the hall in waves of color, jewels glittering like stars caught in motion.
Lucien stood in his chambers, adjusting the final clasp of his attire:
White ceremonial garments threaded with gold, a crimson cape flowing behind him like a trail of liquid fire.
He looked every inch the imperial heir.
"Are you ready, Your Highness?" the Emperor's attendant asked at the door.
"Yes," Lucien said, straightening. "Tell my father I'll be there shortly."
The attendant bowed and hurried off.
When Lucien arrived, the Emperor gave him a rare nod of approval.
"You've done well."
The Empress's eyes tightened at the corners.
The second prince, standing at her side, said nothing—though he watched Lucien with something between admiration and envy.
Together, the imperial family entered the hall.
Everyone bowed down.
"Greetings to the Empire's Reigning Sun, Your Majesty the Emperor"
The nobles greeted in unison.
"You may all lift your head."
"Welcome to our annual Diplomatic Banquet, You may all enjoy yourselves."
The Emperor welcomed all the nobles.
Lucien scanned the ballroom under the guise of inspecting the hall—but he was looking for someone else entirely.
He said internally
It's not like I'm looking for her. No way! I just want to see if everything is in order!
And then,
Across the hall, he found her.
A slender figure in pale lavender stood by the edge of the crowd. Veyra Faelwen. Cool, elegant, collected—unaffected by the swarm of nobles already admiring her poise.
Just seeing her made something inside him settle.
He didn't know why.
He didn't want to think about why.
Veyra felt his gaze before she saw him.
Her eyes lifted—calm, unreadable—and met his.
Lucien lifted a hand and waved in greeting.
She responded with a simple nod before returning to her conversation with Lady Melendez.
"I guess some things don't change." Lucien chuckled
"What change?"
Lucien jumped. "Can you stop creeping behind me?"
"I was here the entire time!" Lucas insisted.
"Sure you were."
"Oh—Lady Faelwen is here." Lucas said observing how Lucien would react.
"Hm," Lucien replied, feigning disinterest.
"And so is that lady," he added pointedly, glancing at Lady Melendez.
Lucas nearly combusted. "Your Highness!!"
Lucien smirked.
--
The orchestra began the opening notes.
The Emperor and Empress took the floor first—by tradition—slow, regal movements that set the tone for the night.
Then came the nobles.
And the women.
One by one, they approached Lucien.
And one by one, they fled after receiving his frigid glare.
"Harsh," Lucas mumbled. "Terrifying. But impressive."
Lucien crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, eyes sweeping the room.
He was looking for her.
"Where is she…?" he muttered.
"Lady Faelwen?" Lucas said.
"There."
Lucas pointed.
Veyra stood encircled by young men, all speaking to her at once. She barely reacted—only nodding politely, her expression neutral.
Something twisted in Lucien's chest.
He pushed off the wall and strode toward her.
The hall went silent.
Every conversation halted.
Every eye turned.
Lucien stopped in front of her, bowed slightly, and extended his hand.
"Faelwen," he said, voice steady, "may I have this dance?"
Gasps spread like wildfire.
"Who is she…?"
"The prince asked her?"
"Unbelievable…"
Count Faelwen, startled but knowing better than to deny a prince, gestured quickly for his daughter to accept.
Veyra's heartbeat fluttered—but her face remained serene.
"My pleasure, Your Highness," she said softly, placing her hand in his.
They walked to the center of the ballroom.
Lucien's hand slid to her waist; she nearly froze.
"I'm not skilled at dancing," she murmured, voice low. "Do forgive me if I step incorrectly."
"Don't worry," Lucien said. "Just follow my lead."
The music swelled.
And they moved.
Like swans gliding over a still lake.
Like wind weaving through spring leaves.
Like two stars pulled into the same orbit.
Veyra's movements were light but controlled—her instincts guiding her perfectly in sync with the prince's steps. Lucien's lead was firm, confident, and impossibly gentle. When he spun her, her dress flared like silvered mist; when he drew her close, the audience held their breath.
It wasn't just a dance.
It was a declaration they didn't understand.
A harmony neither had intended.
Even the Emperor paused mid-conversation.
Even the Empress's jaw tightened.
And when the final note faded, the two bowed to each other with the kind of grace found only in paintings.
The hall erupted in applause.
"Magnificent…"
"Like art come alive…"
"Imagine them when they're of age."
Veyra stepped away first, composure returning as she sought fresh air.
Lucien followed moments later.
The night was cool, the moon brushing the gardens with silver.
Veyra stopped just past the terrace steps, exhaled softly, and stopped as Lucien approached.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Outside," she replied simply.
She paused, then added in a quieter tone,
"…Thank you, Your Highness."
"For?" Lucien tilted his head.
"For getting me out of that situation."
She met his eyes. "I appreciated it."
A faint smugness lit his face. "Aren't you grateful for me now?"
Veyra blinked once.
Then she sighed.
"But please leave me alone now."
She stepped around him and walked quickly down the path.
Lucien stood there, watching her go, utterly confused with himself.
And—for once—completely speechless.
Why was I annoyed when those men approached her?
Even now, why did I follow her?
He commanded a shadow guard to follow Veyra out of worry and went back in the banquet.
At ground level, Lucas nearly shoved his way through a cluster of diplomats just to reach Lucien.
He jabbed an elbow into the prince's side—bold, but tolerated only because he was Lucas.
"Well?" Lucas asked with a grin too wide for his face.
"Was the floor enchanted or something? Because the way you two were gliding—"
Lucien shot him a cold look.
"Lucas."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Stop talking."
"Can't. It's physically impossible."
Lucien exhaled sharply, but there was no real annoyance in his expression—only confusion he refused to admit to.
Lucas hummed. "You don't dance like that with just anyone."
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"The only person you've danced with is your cousin,and you were forced nonetheless"
"It was a dance. Nothing more."
"Mm-hm," Lucas said. "And my hair is blonde."
--
Despite the breathtaking dance, the night wasn't for leisure.
The diplomats from various regions approached Lucien one by one, each offering praise or subtle political probing.
Lucien answered with precision, charisma, and a formality that came effortlessly to him despite his young age. Not once did he slip, tire, or falter—despite the grueling five days he had spent preparing the entire palace for this event.
Everything displayed tonight was the result of his work.
The deep blue curtains trimmed in gold.
The carpets laid flawlessly along the hall.
The enchanted floral arrangements that shifted fragrance subtly.
The banners of each visiting territories hung in immaculate symmetry.
The carefully curated menu, which nobles were already praising.
An attendant drifted beside him, carrying a clipboard with lists of everything that still needed to be checked:
Noble resting rooms, refreshment circulation, the temperature of the hall, rotation of servers.
"It never ends," Lucas muttered.
"It does," Lucien said. "When the last diplomat leaves."
"Which is…?"
"Hours from now."
Lucas groaned.
--
As the final notes of the orchestra faded and the guests dispersed toward the refreshment halls, the palace staff moved with practiced precision.
Among the nobles, only two were quietly guided away from the crowd—Count Faelwen and Marquess Delacroix. They alone held the golden invitations, a privilege that granted them a private audience with the Emperor in his drawing room.
It was quiet.
—too quiet for a night meant for celebration.
Thick carpets muffled footsteps, and a long table of polished walnut reflected the soft glow of the fireplace.
Count Faelwen bowed lightly and placed a sealed ledger on the table.
"Your Majesty," Count Faelwen said gently, placing a ledger before him, "I wished to present this only once I was certain of its success. My southern holdings have produced a full and thriving sugarcane crop. With sugar scarce throughout the continent, demand has never been higher. Should the Empire approve its refinement and export, we could secure a dominant position in the market."
The Emperor's eyes brightened the moment he opened the ledger, his attention fully captured by the numbers before him.
"A venture of this scale…" he murmured, almost impressed. "Count Faelwen, you may have just handed the Empire its next major export."
"You never disappoint, Count. I will review the full details after the banquet." the emperor said with a grin.
Marquess Delacroix stepped forward, clearing his throat.
"My proposal remains the same, Your Majesty. The river trading route we discussed—once constructed—will reduce transport times by nearly half. Merchant guilds are ready to invest the moment you grant approval."
The Emperor nodded again, but his focus was already drifting.
"Both proposals are promising. I will allocate time tomorrow to examine them properly."
Everything was calm.
Too calm.
--
The ballroom shimmered with warm lantern-light and polished gold, yet Prince Lucien barely had a moment to breathe. Lucas tugged his sleeve, face drained of color.
An attendant hurried towards the two.
"Your Highness—those flowers lining the western archway," the attendant whispered urgently. "They're wilted. Completely. " he added.
"I swear they were fresh an hour ago." Lucas sprung in suprise.
Lucien exhaled sharply, scanning the entrance.
"They shouldn't be. Those are frost-preserved orchid blooms. They last three days without even touching water."
He massaged his temples.
"Fine. Let's fix it. We can't have the diplomats walking through a dead garden."
The two moved briskly through the hall, issuing quiet orders to servants to replace the wilted decorations. As Lucas hurried off to fetch replacements, Lucien glanced toward the main doors—the faint memory of Veyra slipping out earlier tugged at him for a reason he refused to acknowledge.
But for now, the banquet had to remain perfect.
---
Meanwhile, in a secluded withdrawing room...
The Empress sat before a tall mirror, her reflection haloed by flickering candlelight. She traced a fingertip across her jeweled collarbone, expression cold, lips curved.
"Is everything prepared?" she asked without turning.
Ana, dressed in a maid's uniform today, bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. The scent vial has been applied."
"And the girl?"
"Lady Veyra Faelwen is outside. Alone."
A slow, elegant smile lifted the Empress's lips.
"Good. A perfect banquet is useless unless it reveals imperfection. The Crown Prince has been far too comfortable, and his reputation… too untarnished."
Her gaze sharpened.
"If a beastlike wolf breaks free during his debut as heir, the court will whisper how his oversight nearly killed dozens."
Ana hesitated.
"And the girl, Your Majesty? The prince seems to—"
"That," the Empress interrupted, "is precisely why she is suitable bait."
She rose, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves.
"A single maid approaching a noble lady will stir no suspicion. Spill the drink. Leave her marked with the scent. The beast will do what it was trained to do."
Ana bowed again.
"As you command."
Then she slipped out silently, vanishing into the corridors like a shadow.
---
Veyra sat on the fountain's marble ledge, cooling her hands under the moonlit water. The banquet hall's music drifted softly through the open doors, muffled and distant.
The sky was serene. The lanterns warm. The breeze gentle.
For five peaceful minutes, nothing seemed wrong.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A pair of footsteps approached.
"My Lady?" a soft voice called.
Veyra turned. A maid—one she didn't recognize—approached holding a silver tray with sparkling drinks.
"I noticed you had been outside for some time," Ana said with a polite bow. "Would you like a refreshment? The hall is quite warm tonight."
Veyra smiled politely. "That is kind, but I'm fine—"
Suddenly the tray jolted, tipping forward. The drink spilled directly onto Veyra's gown—crimson liquid blooming across the pale fabric like a spreading wound.
"Oh! I—I'm so terribly sorry!" Ana gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Let me fetch a towel, my Lady—please, stay here!"
"It's alright, really—" Veyra tried to reassure her.
But Ana was already running.
Her hurried footsteps vanished down the corridor.
Veyra sighed, brushing fruitlessly at the wet stain. "It's fine… no need to panic," she muttered.
But then—
A sound froze her spine.
A low, echoing howl.
Not the howl of a regular animal.
The howl of something colossal.
Her pulse stuttered.
"What..."
A second howl split the air, deeper—closer.
Then the courtyard erupted into chaos.
From the far archway burst a beastlike wolf—massive, silver-furred, muscles rippling under ceremonial armor that had been torn loose. Its eyes burned wild with fury.
Knights shouted and scrambled behind it. A servant screamed.
The wolf shattered a stone bench with a single swipe, sending splinters flying.
"What is a beast doing here!? It should be locked in the stables—" Veyra whispered.
It's out of control.
A usually calm beast is running amok.
This is not normal .
Then the wolf sniffed.
Its head jerked toward her.
Its pupils shrank.
The knight who was hiding jumped out to interfere.
"Get behind me My Lady!" the knight shouted.
Its lips peeled back, revealing fangs the size of daggers.
It had scented the spill on her dress.
The laced drink.
The wolf roared and charged.
---
Just as the Marquess finished speaking, the room suddenly vibrated—an echoing tremor, like something heavy striking the courtyard stones.
The Emperor's brows furrowed. "What was that?"
Before anyone could speculate, the doors were thrown open with a violent crash.
A knight stumbled inside, armor dented, breath ragged.
"Y–Your Majesty!" he gasped. "A beastlike wolf—loose in the courtyard! It's gone berserk!"
The Emperor shot to his feet.
"A beast?! How did this happen?"
The knight's voice shook. "It—It isn't responding to commands! It's attacking the outer grounds—destroying property—injuries are likely—"
Behind them, Count Faelwen's face drained of color.
The Emperor didn't hesitate.
"Alert every knight. Seal all banquet hall exits. Do not let the nobles scatter."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" The knight ran out.
Inside the Banquet Hall
Conversation died in an instant.
Every noble froze at the blood-chilling howl.
"What was that?"
"Is it an attack?"
"Are we under siege?"
A decorated vase rattled violently upon the next explosion of noise outside—something crashing, breaking, shattering.
The Emperor strode toward the hall with Count Faelwen and the Marquess following behind, confusion and fear etched on their faces.
As soon as he entered the main hall—
Screams erupted.
Nobles clustered together, trembling. The chandeliers flickered as another crash shook the outer walls. Servants whispered in panic. Some ladies near the windows clutched their skirts and cried.
The Emperor raised his voice over the fear-filled chaos—
"Everyone stay calm. Do not leave the hall!"
Knights at every doorway drew their swords, sealing exits.
Lucas ran to Lucien, breathless. "Your Highness, something's wrong—a beastlike wolf, it's running wild outside!"
Lucien's heart slammed against his ribs.
Veyra!.
He sprinted toward the doors, but two imperial knights crossed their spears before him.
"What are you doing!?" Lucien barked, voice trembling with fury.
"Let me out!"
The knights remained like stone.
"I said move!"
"Lucien."
The Emperor's voice cut through the air like a blade.
Lucien turned, chest heaving.
His father looked at him with absolute authority—and a silent command.
Do not move.
"You are still the heir," the Emperor said sternly.
"If anything happens to you out there, the throne is jeopardized."
Lucien's jaw clenched. His fists trembled. He wanted to scream.
Veyra is still out there.
But he could not disobey.
Not here.
Not now.
He stood frozen, helpless, staring at the double doors that separated him from the chaos outside.
Not far away, Chandria rushed toward another exit, panic flooding her face.
"My friend is outside! Please—I have to go to her!"
"I'm sorry, my Lady," the knights said firmly.
"We cannot risk your safety."
"You don't understand—she's all alone out there!"
"It's an order from His Majesty, Please stay inside." the knights insisted.
The doors stayed sealed.
And the banquet hall remained a terrified cage.
---
Outside — The Courtyard
The knight tried his best to fight it off but it's impossible to do it alone.
The beast is known for its toughness making it the perfect mount during wars.
But not as an opponent.
He swung and swung his sword but to no avail. The beast did not back down.
The knight blocked another heavy blow, boots sliding back as the beast snarled inches from Veyra.
He swung again, desperate to drive it away—but the wolf's claws swept across his chest, tearing through metal and flesh alike.
He hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath him.
Still, he lifted his head, eyes locking onto Veyra with fierce urgency.
"My Lady… go! Run!"
Ribs,
Foot,
Hand,
all broken.
He's bleeding all over but none of that matters.
He couldn't even save one person.
"I need to tell the Prince"
--
Veyra didn't scream.
Didn't freeze.
Didn't collapse in fear, though the wolf was close enough now that she felt its breath scorch her back.
Don't run into the hall, she thought.
There are too many people. I can't let the beast hurt them.
She bolted—not toward safety, but toward the far gardens.
Toward the forest path that led to the lake beyond the cliff.
The wolf thundered behind her, claws tearing deep gouges into the earth.
Her breath came sharp, but her steps remained steady. She dodged a toppled lantern, leapt over a fallen pillar, darted through hedges as the beast's jaws snapped inches behind her.
A pillar shattered as the wolf slammed into it.
Stone fragments cut her cheek.
Still she ran.
Already battered from flying debris.
She kept going.
The path narrowed—the trees thinned—the distant roar of the cliffside waterfall grew louder.
"Just a little more," she whispered, swallowing hard.
"If I can reach the lake… there'll be no people there. No one else will get hurt."
The wolf howled again, shaking the very ground.
The cliff came into view.
The lake shimmered far below, silver like a mirror under the moonlight.
Wind whipped at her hair.
The chase was narrowing to a deadly line—one misstep, and she would fall.
The wolf lunged—
She stumbled—
Her foot slipped—
And her body pitched forward toward the cliff's edge.
The wolf's shadow loomed over her.
And then—
Darkness.
A massive blur.
A sudden impact.
Someone shouting her name—
She couldn't tell whether it was real.
Is it just her imagination?
Or simply the wind swallowing her whole.
No Veyra!-
---