Over the following months, Rune buried herself in the work — testing how Aethrian magic and Estoran tech might combine, weathering shadow attacks between explosive 3 a.m. experiments with Eliot that kept Vane, Alden, Velara, and even Percy on edge. Slowly, the black clouds over Estora began to thin.
One night, the Crown Prince rose for water and found an unfamiliar presence in the dark — Rune, wandering the ancient halls that housed Estora's history.
"What by Estora are you doing up this late? And how did you get past the guards?"
"With all this tech, no one notices someone walking casually," she said. "I even greeted a few knights on the way." Her eyes lingered on the empty stone frames where stained glass had once been. "I felt bad for you all, putting up with our explosions trying to make sense of this. Still haven't found what's missing."
"I don't know what you'll find," he said, quieter than usual, "but you've never once failed to surprise me these past months."
"Thanks, Your Maj—"
"Ronan," he corrected. "Just Ronan, when it's only us."
She studied the bare frames. "They're not just missing, are they? Your ancestors took them down."
His formal posture returned, though something softer stayed in his face. "Estoran history says the Aethria Isles brought the first shadow curse to Silax, to break the alliance. Ignia and Solaria funded the betrayal. My father's line refused to look at the symbols of kingdoms that tried to burn the world down."
Rune let out a short, cold breath. "And because of a centuries-old grudge, the blind spot got built right into your walls. Eliot's tech and my armor can't stabilize the clouds — because the equation is missing the very magic your family banished."
The following week, back at the Starling estate — "Keep experimenting until we know more," Rune reminded Eliot, a rare note of excitement in her voice over her armor's new upgrades: a built-in AI to sharpen her combat, defense, and analysis even away from the suit. She cupped his face. "And eat something. Drink water. Train, even a little, every day. In Silax we have a saying — the best devotion is the most consistent, no matter how small."
Alden and Percy both pulled identical faces of disbelief. "Still the same terrifying Silaxen knight," Alden muttered.
"I still can't get used to it either," Velara agreed.
"Alright, you two, that's enough," Ronan said. "It's not like you can't just talk to her over the helmet comms. I still don't fully get why you act like that with him, Rune."
"Probably because he reminds me of my brothers. Geeky. A little needy. Not a fighter — though Marshall's built about five times my size, and Hunter's twice it." She shrugged, heading for her tech-bike alongside a fully healed Vane and Percy.
Hours later, with Percy growing cranky and his magic sparking with exhaustion, they made camp for the night. Firelight flickered against their parked bikes.
"You and Percy should rest. I'll take first watch," Vane offered.
Rune didn't settle in — just kept sharpening her sword.
"Come on. You still don't trust me?"
"I didn't say anything. I'm sharpening my sword." Which was true enough — she worked better at night than he did; even his sentences seemed to start earlier in the morning than hers ever did.
"Still. Get some sleep. You can take the midnight shift." A little embarrassed at how well she already read him, after so little time.
She didn't argue. She settled into her bedroll, armor locked safely away, and by midnight took over the watch — training quietly, and, without a word, draping extra sheets over both Vane and Percy against the cold.
As midnight deepened, Rune felt something shift in the darkness. The campfire snuffed out in an instant, and her armor's AI flared into night vision, sharpening the dark into shapes.
"Vane! Percy! We're under attack!" She was already moving, fighting off the intruders before Vane had fully opened his eyes. At least the tech-bikes were unmovable to anyone they didn't recognize — small mercy.
But the thieves were fast. Before Rune could stop them, they'd stripped the camp of the brooch Princess Misthaven Faye had given Percy — his promise to return to her in Aethria Isles — his crystal ball, and worse, Rune's notes: the late Queen Ember Rune's research.
"No—" The word tore out of her as the smallest of the thieves snatched the bundle and bolted. The girl's face was hidden behind a mask as thick and unreadable as Rune's own helmet, and she moved with a flexibility Rune couldn't quite match. Still, Rune managed to plant a tracker on her before she vanished into the dark — a small comfort, since the notes carried one too.
She hopped on her bike and gave chase alone, leaving Vane and Percy behind.
When she circled back, she found them waiting, tense. "Tracker's on her," she reported, as clipped as any briefing. "But we've got a bigger problem — a Silaxen party, here in Ignia."
"What?" Vane's concern sharpened instantly. "What are they doing all the way out here?"
"Don't know. Don't care." A flicker of something colder passed through her voice. "But I'm not about to let them rough the two of you up on their way to handing me over to my father. It'd be a diplomatic disaster for both your kingdoms before we've even gotten the seven crowns in a room together." She shared the tracker's location. "Percy can move through Ignia freely — no armor means no one can place him. But the two of us walking around in full plate is a liability. And these traveling clothes—" she scratched at her scalp, a habit Vane had already learned meant she was chewing through a problem faster than she liked "—will flag us as nobility just from the fabric alone."
Percy twirled his staff, weaving a shimmer of light around the three of them. "Can't do much without my crystal ball, but this should get us past the border checks, at least. Ignia doesn't really track which kingdom's armor is whose — they just clock expensive tailoring."
Vane and Rune both blinked. "And Aethria Isles knows that because—?"
"Ignia doesn't shoot at our agents the way Silax does, and Estora's got that anti-magic barrier up," Percy said breezily. "Unlike some places, they let us actually float around and take notes. Now — let's go get my princess her brooch back, and get grumpy here her save-the-world notes."
The illusion held. They crossed into Ignia without incident, and even once the spell faded, no one seemed to notice that Rune's quartz armor carried a distinctly Silaxen silhouette — three faint symbols worked into the plating now, though only the original Silaxen crest stood out clearly beneath the Ignian sun. Vane's obsidian Estoran armor drew no attention either. Small relief.
They'd barely begun searching the crowded market when a Silaxen knight's eyes locked onto her. "You! It's her — the third princess! The fugitive!"
"Oh, ships," Rune muttered — terrible place, terrible timing. There was no picking a fight here without turning half the bazaar into collateral. They ducked into an alley as the shouting spread.
"Vane, take Percy and follow the tracker. I'll draw them off."
"What—?" He wanted to argue.
"They want me," she cut him off. "But that doesn't mean they wouldn't use you two as leverage if they got the chance — and that's a threat to both your kingdoms we can't afford. I know how the Silaxen army moves. Better than they do." He forced a nod, swallowing the protest.
Percy tore a hole into the ground, and he and Vane dropped through it, out of the search party's path. Rune took one breath and broke from cover, letting the market's chaos swallow her — small enough to slip through gaps the larger knights couldn't follow.
She thought she'd lost them, right up until she nearly ran straight into a carriage. A hand caught the back of her armor and hauled her clear just in time.
Sir Logan. Impossible to miss, even in a crowd — the only knight she knew with skin, hair, and eyes all the same deep, unbroken dark, a face she'd known since childhood, back when Duke Sam still counted as a friend.
Logan glanced once at Kaelen behind him, said nothing, and pulled her clear of his own patrol's search.
They found a quiet corner where Kaelen caught up to them. For a long moment, none of them spoke — the silence louder than words. Before Rune could protest, Kaelen pulled her into a hug, entirely unbothered by how stiffly she took it, like she was some cat that hadn't asked to be held.
Elsewhere in Ignia, the thieves argued over the pawnbroker's rejection — the goods they'd risked everything to steal from their last mark had turned out worthless.
"This is all your fault, Cassidy!" one of the older boys snapped.
"Why does everything land on me?" she shot back. "I have a family to feed too, you know!"
"He's got a point," another added. "Every time we bring you, something falls apart. All those fine things those people had, and we walk away with nothing."
They dumped the rejected goods at her feet. Cassidy's shoulders sagged as she fought back tears, stinging more from the unfairness of it than the loss itself. She wiped her eyes, smoothed down her messy orange-pink hair, and picked up the notebook she'd stolen earlier — not yet knowing the line she was about to read would change everything.
She made her way down to the crumbling neighborhood beneath Ignia's polished streets.
"Welcome back, Miss Auram," someone called.
"Rough day?" another asked. Cassidy only nodded, too tired for words.
At her family's corner, a boy of twelve or thirteen looked up — the same deep blue eyes as hers. "Welcome home, sister!" Behind him, a girl no older than four, with red eyes and silver hair, toddled forward to hug her sister's legs.
Cassidy knelt and pulled them both in. "I'm glad to be back. And I promise — things are going to get better."
The little girl's eyes lit with hope. "Really? Will Flint finally get to play with me and Leo? Is your work finally paying off?"
Leo smiled down at her, though his eyes carried something heavier — he was the only one who understood exactly what it cost Cassidy to keep them fed.
"Actually — yeah," she said. "I've got a meeting scheduled with the King. If we're lucky, he'll be generous enough to help Flint get back on his feet, so he can finally play with you too, Dotty."
Flint had been bedridden for years, and this notebook might be her one real chance at proper medicine — a real meal, even. She and Leo exchanged a look. He always wore that same quiet worry beneath his hope, not because she'd ever broken a promise, but because he knew their situation too well — some things simply felt too good to be true.
That night, once her siblings were asleep, Cassidy studied the stolen notes by candlelight — one of the rare children in Ignia's slums who could actually read. Most here were too consumed with surviving the next day to ever learn.
A sound outside made her jump. She pulled the sheets tighter over her siblings, knowing it still wasn't warmth enough.
She held the notebook closer to her chest, fingers trembling faintly against the worn leather. The handwriting inside was dense — half tactical shorthand, half research notes, in a hand far too refined for the streets of Ignia. But two phrases stood out clearly enough to read twice: Shadow Curse. The Seven Crowns.
The candlelight stretched long against the wall. Wood creaked outside. Cassidy's heart jumped — she stepped in front of the makeshift bed where Leo, Dotty, and Flint slept, and reached for the rusted iron poker by the hearth, knuckles white around it.
"Who's there?" she whispered, sharp but hushed, careful not to wake the children.
The door didn't burst open. It simply clicked — the lock sliding free with the soft, unmistakable chime of high-grade magic.
It swung inward, revealing two silhouettes against the dim, misted air of the slum.
The first was Percy. "We didn't come to fight," he said quickly. "We just want our things back."
Comments (0)
See all