Daylight slowly faded, leaving the sky stained a deep blue while the first stars began to flicker along the horizon. Lyciah sat wrapped in a blanket at the edge of her bed. Her stomach was empty, but hunger was the last thing on her mind.

  In her hands she held the photograph she always kept beside the headboard. Three figures smiled beneath a clear blue sky. At the center stood a woman with long, straight white hair that fell over her shoulders like a silver veil. Her golden eyes shone with quiet warmth, and behind her two wings spread wide with elegant grace. She was smiling. One hand rested gently on each child’s shoulder as she held close a pair of eight-year-old twins.

  The girl smiled shyly, as though she still wasn’t quite sure what to do in front of the camera.

  The boy, by contrast, tried to keep a serious expression—far too solemn for someone his age. But the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed the nervousness he was trying to hide.

  Lyciah brushed her thumb across the woman’s face in the photograph. Her mother. Misaha.

  “Lyciah, look at me.”

  She could still hear her voice.

  The garden had been dim that night. Misaha knelt so she was level with her children. Her smile was gentle, but something in her eyes carried a farewell Lyciah hadn’t understood at the time.

  “Mom… do you really have to go?” Sorian asked, his voice breaking.

  He already knew it wasn’t an ordinary mission. Misaha caressed his face, then did the same with Lyciah.

  “Listen carefully, both of you,” she said with that calm tone she used whenever danger lurked nearby. “No matter what happens, remember this: you are not weapons, and you are not puppets. You are free.”

  Lyciah blinked, confused.

  “But the queen said—”

  “The queen is not your life. And she does not own you.” Her voice hardened for a single moment before softening again. “Lyciah, I don’t need you to be powerful. I only want you to be free.”

  “Free?”

  Misaha smiled, but sadness was the only thing her expression conveyed.

  “Yes. Free to laugh without fear. Free to get angry over silly things. Free to cry when you need to. Free to go out with friends and talk about things that don’t matter. Free to fall in love, Lyciah.” Her voice trembled on that word, yet she kept going. “Free to feel so much that it seems like your heart might burst.”

  She pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her with desperate strength.

  “I want you to live. Do you hear me? I want you to live for real. Not as the future Dawnbringer. Not as a weapon. As my daughter. Just a normal girl.”

  Lyciah nodded as tears gathered in her eyes. Misaha smiled again and turned to Sorian, who stood there with his fists clenched in anger.

  “Protect her,” she said softly. “No matter what happens.”

  He swallowed and nodded.

  Behind them, Momoru watched in silence, aware that it was the last goodbye. That was the final time they saw her. Only Momoru returned days later, carrying Misaha’s lifeless body in his arms.

  The photograph trembled between Lyciah’s fingers.

  “Free…” she repeated with a bitter laugh. “I don’t even have wings. I suppose in the end I failed you too, Mom. I’m not happy… not free… not powerful the way the queen wants.”

  She placed the photograph on the bed and walked to the window. For a few seconds she gazed out over the gardens of Elyndra, now lit only by moonlight, until a faint click broke the silence.

  Her bedroom door opened, and a familiar voice slipped inside.

  “Lyciah.”

  The girl startled and turned abruptly, only to find her friend standing in the doorway.

  “Sel? What—what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  Seliane’s expression held none of its usual innocence. It was pure urgency. She stepped inside without wasting a second and headed straight for the wardrobe, already rummaging through the clothes.

  “No time for questions. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  Before Lyciah could react, Seliane tossed her a dress. She caught it awkwardly against her chest.

  “What?” she managed at last, staring down at the fabric. “What do you mean we’re leaving? You’re insane! If the guards see you—”

  “They won’t,” Seliane cut in. “Momo’s covering everything. He put the guards to sleep with his spells. It’s now or never, Lyciah.”

  She blinked in disbelief.

  “Sel… if we’re caught… they’ll kill you. Both of you.”

  “I know. But I’d rather die than leave you here waiting for someone to decide when you’re allowed to stop breathing.”

  Lyciah shook her head, clutching the dress against her chest.

  “No… I can’t let you risk your life for me.”

  Seliane grabbed her shoulders with small but firm hands. Determination burned in her eyes.

  “Listen to me, Lyciah. You’re my friend. My best friend. And I’m not standing by while they lock you into some rotten destiny. If you live, we live together. If you die, I die with you.”

  Something inside Lyciah cracked. She saw the shine in Seliane’s eyes—it wasn’t stubbornness. It was love. Raw, fierce love.

  “Please…” Seliane squeezed her shoulders harder. “Choose to live.”

  Lyciah lowered her gaze. She thought of her mother. Of the promise she had never managed to keep. Of the fear that knotted her chest whenever she thought about the fate awaiting her.

  And she knew she couldn’t stay anymore.

  She didn’t answer. She simply nodded, lips pressed tight. Seliane released her shoulders and nodded firmly in return, though a bead of cold sweat slid down her temple, betraying the nerves she was trying to hide.

  Lyciah dressed in haste, though her trembling hands turned something as simple as putting on a dress into a clumsy struggle.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  When she finished, she allowed herself one last glance around the room. The bed, perfectly made. The books, lined up with meticulous precision on the shelves. An entire life locked inside a cage. It was time to break those chains. She turned and stepped through the door without looking back.

  When they reached the gardens, everything was silent.

  “Are they… all asleep?” Lyciah whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “Asleep and blind. Not deaf, though. So be careful.”

  They moved toward the portal connecting Elyndra to the human world. Lyciah’s heart lurched when she saw it: a liquid mirror twisting the darkness among the trees. Beside it, Momoru knelt with his hands spread against the ground, trembling.

  “Finally!” Seliane gasped, pulling Lyciah along. “How much longer can you hold it?”

  Momoru lifted his head, panting.

  “Not long,” he rasped. “The palace… can already feel it. They’re waking up.”

  Lyciah froze for a moment, staring at the mirror that pulsed like a living heart. On the other side, unknown shadows waited. The human world. Freedom… or perhaps a worse trap.

  Seliane squeezed her hand tightly.

  “Now, Lyciah. There’s no turning back.”

  Behind them, something tore through the night. Bells. Shrill and relentless, ringing like the judgment of a god. Elyndra had awakened.

  “GO!” Momoru shouted.

  There was no time to think. Lyciah jumped. The world folded in a whirl of light. The cold marble vanished behind her, and Elyndra disappeared.

  Incense burned slowly in the throne room when the bells shattered the night, warning the queen. A soldier burst in, gasping.

  “Your Majesty… the guards in the eastern wing… all asleep. No signs of struggle. Just… a spell.”

  Heliora showed no emotion. Her voice remained as flat as ever.

  “What kind of spell?”

  “A… sleeping one. Complex. Not a lumen spell.” The soldier swallowed. “Only a kitsune could—”

  The queen’s staff struck the floor with a crack like thunder, cutting him off.

  “General Sorian.”

  Sorian stood behind the queen, still catching his breath. He had come as soon as the bells rang, fearing something terrible had happened. Stepping forward, he bowed his head.

  “Go to the Dawnbringer’s residence,” she ordered. “Confirm whether she is still there.”

  For a moment Sorian hesitated. But he knew disobedience was not an option.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  He bowed and withdrew. His steps remained steady as he crossed the hall, though doubt and dread churned in his mind. Deep down, he already suspected who was responsible for this chaos.

  His sister.

  Heliora turned her head slightly. Her icy gaze settled on the other man.

  “General Eryon.”

  “My queen,” he replied, his voice soft as silk… and sharp as a dagger.

  “Go to the portal. Now.”

  Eryon bowed in the same manner before leaving. Once his back was turned to the queen, a malicious smile curled across his lips.

  The air changed. It was thick, damp, almost sticky—nothing like the sharp purity of Elyndra. Lyciah collapsed to her knees on soft earth. She gasped, lungs burning, heart hammering against her ribs. For a moment she heard nothing but her own breathing. Then everything rushed in at once: the smell of wet soil, the shrill chorus of insects, the whisper of wind through branches.

  “Lyciah.”

  Seliane’s voice pulled her from the haze. Lyciah blinked, still dazed, and looked up.

  “By the gods…” she murmured.

  “Lyciah!” Seliane repeated, louder now, yanking her arm. “No time for sightseeing.”

  She staggered to her feet. The three of them ran. They knew pursuit would come quickly in the human world.

  Lyciah’s dress snagged on branches as though the forest itself wanted to swallow her. She clenched her teeth and kept running despite the fire burning in every muscle. Because she knew the truth: if they caught her, it wouldn’t only be her life that ended. Seliane and Momoru would die as traitors.

  The portal clearing was a storm of fading energy when Eryon arrived. The air still throbbed with fresh magic, and the crushed grass told the story without words: a desperate escape.

  “Well now… what a charming mess you’ve left behind,” he murmured.

  He glanced at the liquid mirror and smiled.

  “I do love a good chase.”

  Without hesitation, he stepped through the portal. And the hunt began.

  Run. That was all Lyciah could do. Seliane ran ahead. Momoru followed close behind, visibly weaker now. Lyciah wanted to ask if he was all right, but there was no time. A roar ripped through the night. It wasn’t human: it was deep, visceral. Then another. And another. Shapes moved in the shadows.

  Monsters. Real demons.

  Nothing like the neat illustrations in Elyndra’s books. These creatures looked as though darkness had tried to play god—and failed. Gray skin. Long, twisted limbs. Jaws stretched open at impossible angles, filled with blade-like teeth. And their eyes. Red eyes burning with hunger.

  Lyciah froze in terror. Her heart shrank in her chest. This couldn’t be real.

  “LYCIAH!” Seliane’s shout shattered the trance.

  Something slashed past her cheek—a claw that would have split her face open if she hadn’t jerked aside. Seliane reacted instantly, sword flashing. The first demon lunged. She pivoted and drove the blade into its side.

  “Move, for heaven’s sake!” Seliane shouted. “This forest is notorious for being infested with monsters! Humans avoid it for a reason—and we’re strolling through it in the middle of the night!”

  Terrified, Lyciah nodded and ran. Desperation clawed up her throat. Momoru appeared beside her, panting. Raising a trembling hand, he murmured words in the ancient tongue of the kitsune. A shimmer of light danced between his fingers, twisting into a mirage that made two demons halt in confusion. An illusion. But it was enough to slow them.

  “I… can’t hold it… long…” he whispered faintly.

  Another demon leapt. Lyciah saw it in slow motion: jaws open, black saliva dripping like poison. It was heading straight for her face. She screamed and shut her eyes. A crack sounded and warm blood splattered across her cheek. When she opened her eyes, Seliane stood there, her sword buried through the monster’s skull.

  “There are too many!” Seliane shouted. “Lyciah, run! Momo and I will catch up!”

  “But—!” Lyciah tried to protest.

  Seliane cut her off.

  “You’re not ready to fight yet!” She flashed a tired but determined smile. “These demons are no match for me. Don’t worry. We’ll meet again.”

  Momoru nodded silently, breathless. Lyciah pressed her fists against her chest. She didn’t want to leave them, but she knew the truth: she was weak, a burden they had to protect. There was nothing she could do to help them right now. So she obeyed. She ran while they covered her escape.

  Not far away, in a room lit by a single lamp, a man lifted his head. His fingers, which had been calmly tracing the edge of an ancient sword, stilled. Something had changed in the air.

  He rose slowly. Tall, with the bearing of someone born for war and never allowed to forget it. Hair the color of wheat fell to his shoulders. His brown eyes carried a solemnity that seemed impossible to break.

  “The Dawnbringer…” he murmured in a deep voice. “So Heliora finally makes her move. After all this time, she’s unleashed her most dangerous weapon… and brought it into my territory.”

  The man who had once been a knight took a steady breath. He was no hunter. No monster. He was a guardian, and he would fulfill his duty.

  The night trembled when he took his first step.

  Freedom smells different in every country. In Spain that night, it smelled of salt, diesel, and fresh bread someone had forgotten to cover.

  Across the Mediterranean, the steady ticking of a clock faded into the shadows of a solitary villa perched high above Athens—the lair of a demon whose name most preferred to whisper.

  Moonlight streamed through a broken window. He lounged in an armchair, head tilted as if the entire world bored him. Messy strands of orange hair fell across his forehead. His eyes were closed, though he wasn’t asleep.

  A young figure stepped through the doorway without asking permission, voice slicing into the silence with casual sarcasm.

  “Am I interrupting one of your existential naps, Ekchron, or are you simply bored again?”

  Ekchron opened one eye lazily, barely moving.

  “If you’ve come to discuss the weather, you’ll die. If it’s something useful… you’ll die later.”

  “How charming.” The messenger smiled, perfectly comfortable balancing on the thin line between familiarity and suicide. “I’ve brought news you’ll enjoy hearing: the cage has opened.”

  Ekchron slowly sat up, the movement as lazy as it was deliberate.

  “What cage?”

  “The golden one. The one that’s been keeping your favorite obsession locked away for years. The Dawnbringer has escaped. She’s in the human world.”

  For a fleeting instant, a green glint flared in Ekchron’s brown eyes… and vanished just as quickly.

  “Where?”

  “Spain.”

  Ekchron didn’t react outwardly. Only the faint twitch of his cheek betrayed the smile he was holding back.

  “In the Knight’s territory, just to make it more amusing,” the messenger added.

  The smile finally surfaced—crooked and dangerous.

  “Of course. Because if anything can ruin my day… it’s that tragic statue face of his.” He tilted his head slightly. “But it doesn’t matter. She’s here now. In my world. On my board.” Ekchron lifted his gaze toward the sky. “And anything that steps onto my board… belongs to me.”

  “But it’s Caelan’s territory. If you cross that border—”

  “The border?” Ekchron let out a short laugh. “Do you honestly think an imaginary line on the ground can stop me?”

  “Are you planning to invade?”

  Ekchron didn’t answer. He was already on his feet. Hands in his pockets, that same dangerous smile lingering on his lips, he walked toward the door with the casual air of someone strolling into a game.

  “Let’s see what a butterfly does when someone opens the cage. Pieces move on their own if you arrange the board properly. That’s all.”

  The door closed with a soft thud, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

  In his world, everyone was a piece. And he was the player who never lost.