Chapter 186

“What… what is that?”

A spark fell at their feet, small as a firefly. From the heavens, embers drifted like falling snow.

The glowing motes landed softly, taking root in the carnage below. The moment they brushed against the corpses, they caught and spread, growing greedily across armor and flesh. Fire consumed the dead first, then turned its hunger toward the living. Rihan staggered back in horror.

“This—this isn’t ordinary fire! It’s moving!”

“What nonsense are you spouting, brother?” Hannan snapped, his voice raw with irritation. He slashed his sword at the drifting embers that clouded his sight, sparks scattering into the air. But a heartbeat later, he too froze, eyes widening in disbelief.

No wind stirred. Yet the flames danced—alive, willful, writhing with purpose.

A scream tore through the air. “Aaah—!”

All at once, waves of fire surged upward, towering walls of flame that crashed like a living tide. The inferno recognized its prey and lunged. In moments, the Ugel soldiers were engulfed.

The world transformed into a sea of fire. Soldiers clawed desperately at the hooks they had driven into the earth to anchor themselves, trying to wrench them free. But the iron barbs were wedged deep into the rock, and the fire swept in before they could escape. It licked greedily up their legs, coiling like the tongue of a serpent, devouring flesh and metal alike.

Some never managed to move at all, their bodies igniting where they stood—living pyres frozen in agony. A few succeeded in severing their chains, but when they turned, there was nowhere left to flee. To reach the gates, they would have to pass through the raging inferno itself. The fortress had become a furnace.

Elise stood motionless amid the storm of heat. The wind whipped her hair against her cheek, searingly hot, but she did not flinch.

She stood tall and straight, watching as the barbarians flailed and screamed, their forms swallowed whole by the flames. Every wail, every shriek of despair reached her ears. She listened to them all.

The fire climbed higher, licking at the fortress walls. From the gorge below, all would see it—the Northern Alliance armies waiting in the valley, and even the Argan soldiers who had withdrawn from Riosa. It was the signal of their success.

Then Elise’s gaze shifted. Amid the roaring blaze, she saw a figure and, as if entranced, began to walk toward it.

Near the fortress well, a man was frantically lowering and raising a bucket, cursing as he went. Flames clung to one of his arms, crawling upward even as he struggled.

“Damn it—damn it all!”

But the well gave nothing back. No matter how many times he drew, not a drop came. The air itself seemed to boil. At the sound of footsteps, the man spun around. One side of his face was grotesquely blistered and charred; the other, untouched, still bore the unmistakable features Elise had come to know through hatred.

Her heart contracted sharply, her pulse quickening with fierce exhilaration.

“So,” she said softly, “you are Ugel’s first prince.”

Barnon had told her the truth: when Argan’s imperial capital fell, it was the two princes of Ugel who had led the torture of Andrei. They were the ones who gouged out his eyes, severed his tendons, and ordered venom poured into the wounds.

“You witch!” Rihan spat.

He dropped to one knee, groping through the dust until his hand found the scimitar he’d dropped. Fingers trembling, he clutched the blade and pointed it toward her.

“What the hell are you?” he growled. “Was it all a setup? The slaughter in the gorge—was that a trap? Did you let that old fool Bellator die on purpose?”

Elise tilted her head. “A lesson,” she said. “Not a trap.”

Her eyes gleamed as she lifted a hand. The unseen weave of the world trembled. The network of magic she had stretched across Riosa stirred like a living thing, and the fire bent toward her will.

Flames leapt from the air and struck Rihan square in the chest. He screamed as they spread over him.

“Don’t think,” he gasped between ragged breaths, “that killing me and Hannan means victory. The Kingdom of Ugel—ha!—is far greater than your arrogant empire ever imagined!”

Elise let out a quiet, mocking laugh. “Is that so?”

She raised the dagger she held, its blade glinting red with reflected flame. “Then it’s tragic, isn’t it? That someone so great should die in such a pitiful place.”

She had imagined this moment a hundred times over the past ten days. She had even written to Rezette through the messenger hawks, asking in dispassionate curiosity: When it comes to killing, which part of the body must be pierced to bring death swiftly?

Her soldiers, her knights, her brother, her husband—all had blood on their hands. Why should she alone remain unstained?

Elise drove the dagger into Rihan’s throat. The blade slid through flesh with a dreadful, yielding resistance. His eyes went wide, the whites bulging. She pulled the weapon free with all her strength, and a crimson jet arced through the air.

She watched the light fade from his eyes before turning away.

A short distance ahead, near the storage sheds once used for Argan’s water reserves, lay Hannan. She did not need to finish him herself. He was already gone—blackened beyond recognition, his body curled amid the smoking debris. The flames that had consumed him now devoured the wooden shed.

Elise stepped back out into the open before the structure collapsed. The heat pressed against her like a living weight, clinging to her skin. Without the protection of her barrier spell, she would have burned alongside them.

Everywhere she looked, there was only fire. No more enemies, no more voices—just the endless roar of flame.

It’s over, she thought. It’s finally over.

Her knees buckled, and a strange laugh escaped her lips, half hysterical, half relieved.

“It’s over, Andrei,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Is this the picture you wanted me to paint?”

Her hands were slick with blood—warm, heavy, undeniable. She scrubbed them against the ground, trying to wipe the stickiness away. Her fingers trembled. Then, deep within her belly, a sharp pull seized her.

“Ah…”

The child inside her shifted, curling and pressing against her ribs. No matter how many times it happened, the sensation always startled her—the undeniable, uncanny proof of life. It almost felt like morning sickness again, as though her body rejected the violence that lingered in the air.

Elise crouched low, breathing carefully through the pain.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s over now. We’re going back to your father soon.”

But the strange stirring did not fade. Cherry had never moved like this before. It wasn’t distress—it was excitement, agitation. Elise could feel it, a fierce pulse echoing her own heartbeat. Her forehead grew damp with cold sweat.

The stench of blood and burning flesh filled the air.

No, she thought, it can’t be.

But if the unborn child could sense it—if the baby could smell the blood, could feel the thrill of the hunt in her veins…?

She pressed a hand to her abdomen. Dragonborn were known to react to the scent of human blood. And the child was half dragon.

“Maybe,” she whispered, “it’s not just the smell. Maybe it’s me.”

They said unborn children could sense their mother’s emotions. The elation, the fierce satisfaction thrumming in Elise’s chest—what if all of that was pouring into the child, igniting something deep and primal?

If Cherry could hear her—if she was listening—then Elise had to speak.

“This is justice,” she said, her voice shaking. “They wronged us, so I answered in kind. But you—you must never stain your hands as I have.”

Her throat tightened. “Don’t learn this. Don’t ever feel what I’ve felt. Don’t know what it is to cut into living flesh.”

Another kick answered her, high beneath her ribs—sharp, insistent. The baby did not agree. The movement was wild, almost furious, as if she were ready to tear free from the womb that confined her.

“It hurts—ah… Cherry, it hurts.” Elise’s breath came short.

It was the first time she had truly understood what they said about dragonborn births—that they clawed their way into the world, tearing their way out of their mother’s body.

And suddenly, through the pain, she understood something else.

You’re like him.

This child, her child, carried the same curse Rezette despised in himself—the same uncontrollable nature, the same blood that burned with madness. She could feel it in her bones.

“Be careful, Elise,” Sameshita had once warned her, voice echoing like a memory. “Madness runs in your veins, in your husband’s, and in your child’s. Don’t forget that.”

“No,” Elise whispered.

She shook her head violently, refusing to accept it. No. It’s not that. It’s only because I showed her this.

She remembered the stories from Norella, of dragonborn children driven to bloodlust by the hatred and pain of their mothers. Rage, resentment, despair—those were the poisons that bred madness. But Cherry had not been conceived in such darkness.

“You’re different,” Elise said aloud. “You weren’t born of hate. You came to me when I needed you most. You’re my hope, my future. You’re part of me—and part of the man I love. You’re not the child of monsters.”

Her voice softened as she spoke, and gradually, the turmoil within her eased. The baby’s movements slowed, the tension in her belly melting away.

“You hear me, don’t you?” Elise whispered. “You’ve always heard me.”

Her breath left her in a sigh of relief.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

The shout carried faintly through the smoke. Elise turned her head toward the sound. Survivors—Argan soldiers calling for her. She heard their voices break into joyous cries when they finally caught sight of her.

A surge of elation filled her chest. They made it. They’re alive.

It was over. They had won.

All that remained was to escape this place.

Elise straightened, forcing strength back into her legs. Two teleportation circles remained—one for her soldiers, and one crafted by Andrei himself for her return.

I have to go to Rezette, she thought. He’ll be waiting. Once I finish here, I’ll return to him.

He had promised to hunt down the remaining Ugel forces once her safety was assured. She had to reach him before the flames claimed what was left of Riosa.

She raised her hand and beckoned to the soldiers. “Gather the survivors! Quickly! I’ll send you out of here! Barnon—where’s Barnon?”

But before she could finish, a shadow fell across her. It stretched long and dark over the scorched ground, swallowing the light. A chill ran down her spine.

Elise looked up—and froze.

Andrei stood before her, eyes gleaming like molten gold.

“The conditions,” he said softly, “have been fulfilled.”

Her throat constricted. She swallowed hard, the taste of ash sharp on her tongue. Her fingers moved automatically, completing the last strokes of the teleportation sigil. In an instant, the desperate voices of the Argan soldiers vanished, carried away to safety beyond the reach of Sameshita’s influence.

Elise exhaled, trembling. “It’s done,” she whispered. “Now I’ll go to the capital and give you what you—”

Andrei smiled faintly. “Then,” he said, “it’s time for you, Elise, to fulfill the condition your twin demanded of you.”

Sameshita brushed aside Elise’s voice as one might dismiss a distant echo. With a languid sweep of his hand—an elegant motion more suited to a conductor guiding a symphony than to a dragon summoning power—the world around them rippled and began to melt away. Space itself seemed to dissolve. Before Elise could even reach for her magic, the spell had taken hold.