[Sera's POV]
We left at midnight.
Kael insisted on a small group—just him, me, Davrin, and Princess Thalia, who'd refused to stay behind no matter how many times we told her it was dangerous. Master Eldrin remained to guard Luminara and the freed assassins. The city felt vulnerable without us, but we had no choice.
Five days to reach the Northern Clans. Five days to meet a mother who might not be real. Five days while Council armies marched toward everything we loved.
"Stop thinking so loud," Kael said, riding beside me. "I can feel your anxiety through the bond."
"Sorry. Can't help it." I glanced back at Luminara's walls, already disappearing in the darkness. "What if this is a mistake? What if we're abandoning everyone right when they need us most?"
"Then we trust Eldrin and Davrin's soldiers to hold the city until we return with Northern warriors." Kael's voice was steady, but I felt his own fear through our connection. "We can't win this war alone, Sera. We need allies."
"Or we're walking into a trap that gets us both killed."
Princess Thalia rode up between us, her copper curls bouncing. At sixteen, she was younger than both of us but somehow more fearless. "Stop being so gloomy! We're going on an adventure to meet your long-lost mother! This is exciting!"
"This is terrifying," I corrected.
"Same thing." Thalia grinned. "Besides, I've read all about the Northern Clans. They're warriors who ride giant wolves and fight with ice magic and have honor codes older than the Council itself. How is that not amazing?"
"Because they might be lying about our mother," I said quietly. "Because everything about our past has been a lie so far. Why should this be different?"
Davrin, riding ahead as our scout, called back: "Clear road for the next ten miles. We should make good time if the weather holds."
But the weather didn't hold.
By dawn, storm clouds rolled in. By midday, rain poured down in sheets. By evening, we were soaked, exhausted, and only halfway to the Northern border.
"There's an inn ahead," Davrin announced. "Small village. We can rest, dry off, resupply."
"Is that safe?" I asked. "What if someone recognizes Kael?"
"Then we don't tell them who he is." Davrin pulled his hood up. "Just four travelers seeking shelter from the storm. Nothing suspicious about that."
The inn was warm and crowded with other storm refugees. We took a table in the corner, hoods up, trying to stay invisible. Davrin ordered food while Thalia complained about her wet boots.
But I couldn't relax. Every person in the inn felt like a threat. Every glance in our direction made my hand move toward my blade.
"You're doing it again," Kael murmured. "The assassin thing. Calculating exit routes and vulnerable points."
"Can't help it. It's automatic."
"Try." He took my hand under the table. "We're safe here. Just breathe."
I tried. Really tried. But eighteen years of training didn't disappear in a few days.
A man at the bar suddenly stood, his eyes locking on Kael. My body tensed, ready to strike.
"You're him," the man slurred, clearly drunk. "The prince. The revolutionary boy."
The entire inn went quiet.
"You're mistaken," Davrin said smoothly. "We're just—"
"No mistake." The man stumbled closer. "I seen your face on pamphlets. Prince Kael Luminaris, the one who thinks magic shouldn't matter." He spat on the floor. "The one who's gonna get us all killed by the Council."
"We should leave," I whispered.
But the man grabbed Kael's shoulder. "My brother died in your city last night. The attack. The assassins. They killed him because YOU gave them a target. Because YOU made Luminara something worth destroying."
Kael's face went pale. "I'm sorry for your loss—"
"Sorry?" The man's voice broke. "My brother believed in your dream. Moved his whole family to Luminara for freedom. And now he's dead. His kids are orphans. All because you couldn't keep them safe."
The words hit Kael like physical blows. I felt his guilt surge through our bond—crushing, overwhelming guilt that this man's brother was one of the fifty-three who'd died defending Kael's vision.
"You're right," Kael said quietly. "It's my fault. I built something worth attacking, and people died for it. I carry that weight every day. And I'm sorry—truly sorry—that your brother paid the price for my revolution."
The man stared at him, tears running down his face. Then, unexpectedly, he dropped to his knees.
"Don't apologize," the man sobbed. "My brother died free. He died protecting something beautiful. That's more than most of us get. I just..." He looked up at Kael. "Don't let his death be meaningless. Don't let the Council win. Please."
Kael helped him stand. "I won't. I promise."
The man stumbled back to the bar, and conversation slowly resumed. But the damage was done. Everyone knew who we were now.
"We need to leave," Davrin said urgently. "Now. Before word spreads."
We grabbed our things and slipped out into the rain. But as we mounted our horses, I heard whispers following us:
"The prince is here... heading north... someone should tell the Council... there's probably a reward..."
"Ride," Davrin commanded. "Fast."
We galloped into the storm, leaving the village behind. But I knew the damage was done. By morning, Council soldiers would know our route. Would know we were vulnerable.
The hunt had begun.
Three days of hard riding followed. We avoided villages, slept in forests, ate cold rations. The bond between Kael and me grew stronger with each mile—I felt his determination, his fear, his hope. He felt my constant vigilance, my mistrust of everything, my desperate wish that our mother was real.
On the fourth day, we reached the Northern border.
The landscape changed dramatically. Green hills gave way to snow-covered mountains. The air grew colder. And in the distance, we saw them—the Northern Clans' watchtowers, carved from ice and stone, magnificent and terrifying.
"We made it," Thalia breathed. "We actually made it."
But before we could celebrate, warriors appeared.
Dozens of them, riding massive gray wolves, surrounded us with weapons drawn. They wore furs and ice-forged armor, their faces painted with blue war marks.
"State your business," their leader commanded. She was tall, scarred, with white-blonde hair and eyes like winter storms.
"I'm Prince Kael Luminaris," Kael said, pulling back his hood. "This is my sister, Sera. We received a message about our mother—"
"We know who you are." The warrior dismounted, studying us both with intense scrutiny. "The twins. Shadow and light. The ones the prophecy speaks of." She circled us like a predator. "Your mother has been waiting eighteen years for this moment. Preparing. Training. Hoping you'd both survive to stand before her."
"Then she's real?" I asked, hardly daring to hope. "She's actually alive?"
"She's alive." The warrior's expression softened slightly. "And she's been counting the days until you came. But..." She hesitated. "You should know something before you meet her. Something that might change how you feel about everything."
"What?" Kael demanded.
The warrior looked between us. "Your mother isn't just alive. She's our chieftain. She leads the Northern Clans. And she's been building an army for eighteen years—an army specifically designed to destroy the Continental Council." She paused. "When she hears you invoke the blood oath, she won't just send warriors to defend Luminara. She'll march south herself and start the war she's been preparing for since the day they took her children."
My blood ran cold. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying your mother isn't some helpless exile waiting to be rescued. She's a warrior queen who's been planning revenge since the night you were separated. Calling on her means starting a continental war that could reshape the entire realm." The warrior mounted her wolf again. "So before we take you to her, answer honestly: Are you ready for that? Are you ready to meet the woman who gave birth to you and turn her grief into a weapon?"
Kael and I looked at each other, the bond between us thrumming with shared uncertainty.
We'd come looking for our mother. For answers. For the missing piece of our broken family.
But we'd found a warrior queen with an army and a grudge.
"We don't have a choice," I said finally. "The Council is already marching on Luminara. If we don't accept her help, everyone dies anyway."
"Then follow me," the warrior said. "Your mother awaits."
We rode deeper into Northern territory, and with each mile, my anxiety grew. What kind of woman could lead warrior clans? What kind of mother let her children suffer for eighteen years while she built an army?
And most terrifying: What if she looked at me—at the killer Mordain had created—and decided I wasn't worth saving?
The stronghold appeared suddenly—a fortress carved from a mountain, with ice towers that reached toward the sky like frozen fingers. Warriors lined the walls, hundreds of them, all watching our approach.
We dismounted at the main gates. The warrior escort led us through corridors of ice and stone, past training yards where fighters sparred with brutal efficiency.
Finally, we reached a throne room.
And there she sat.
Our mother.
She looked like us—platinum hair streaked with white, storm-gray eyes that had seen too much, a face that would have been beautiful if not for the scars. She wore warrior's armor and a crown of ice. But when she saw us, when her eyes locked on first Kael, then me, her entire expression crumbled.
"My children," she whispered, standing. "My babies. You're alive. You're real. You're here."
She moved toward us, and I saw tears streaming down her scarred face.
But before she could reach us, before we could speak, alarms shrieked through the fortress.
A warrior burst into the throne room. "Chieftain! Council soldiers at our southern border! Thousands of them! They followed the twins here!"
Our mother's grief vanished, replaced by cold fury.
"How many?" she demanded.
"Five thousand. Maybe more. They're demanding we surrender Prince Kael and Lady Sera or they'll attack."
I felt sick. We'd led the Council army straight to our mother. Straight to the one place that might have helped us.
Our mother looked at us, then at her warriors, then back at the messenger.
When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of eighteen years of planning:
"Tell the Council this: I am Lyanna Stormborn, last of the First Mage bloodline, mother of the prophecy twins, Chieftain of the Northern Clans. They took my children. They destroyed my family. They made me watch from exile while my babies suffered." Her eyes blazed with silver light. "Now they've brought an army to my doorstep, demanding I surrender my children again?" She smiled—cold, terrible, final. "Tell them I choose war."
She turned to her generals. "Mobilize every warrior. Every wolf. Every weapon we've spent eighteen years forging. The Council wanted to destroy the prophecy?" She placed one hand on my shoulder, one on Kael's. "Instead, they just united it. And now they'll learn why you never threaten a mother's children."
The throne room erupted with war cries.
And I realized: We hadn't just found our mother.
We'd just started the war that would reshape the continent.