The cracks in the earth glowed like veins beneath her, stretching outward into the ash. Steam hissed where her blood had fallen, curling upward in ribbons that clawed at the copper sky.
The battlefield had become two wars at once.
Men and women screamed, some on their knees in worship, foreheads pressed bloody to the dirt, others wielding blades against their own kin. Wolves circled, half bowing low in trembling submission, half tearing each other apart. The forest groaned under the strain, branches snapping as if the very trees wanted to flee.
And at the center, Aria burned.
Her veins pulsed with light not her own, her hands trembling as fire licked her skin. Every shout, every chant, every whispered prayer fed the blaze inside her.
One word, the mark whispered, its voice a chorus of flame. One command, and they will kneel. Crown them. Claim them. Make them yours.
