Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains themes that may be distressing to some readers. Please proceed with care. Your well-being matters.
They were nearing the Veltorin estate, the tall wrought iron gates just coming into view, when the carriage lurched violently.
Acacia clutched the side of the seat as the wheels skidded over the road. The guards outside shouted commands, no longer ceremonial, but urgent. Through the slatted windows, she caught glimpses of blurred figures: steel clashing, cloaks whipping, blades flashing like quicksilver.
An ambush.
Her breath hitched.
More than ten, no, fifteen, attackers, armed and swift, had descended upon them like shadows exploding from the alley walls.
Then…
A flicker.
Like lightning behind her eyes.
Another road. Another carriage.
Her own… royal, gilded, familiar.
The insignia of the Grey family, embroidered in red and gold threads, twinkling in the dusk.
She'd been sitting inside, laughing, her fingers loosely linked with someone's. A girl. Golden curls. A soft laugh. Her best friend.
Then..
The sharp snap of wood.
A sword bursting through the carriage wall.
Crimson.
Screams.
Hands yanked her out. Her friend was dragged beside her, kicking, crying her name.. "Chrysanthia!"
Acacia.. no, Chrysanthia, fought. Fiercely.
A blade in her grip. Her arms shaking but her stance unyielding. She struck. Steel hissed and clanged.
But then..
A scream tore the sky.
She turned just in time to see it: The attacker drove his blade deep into her friend's belly. Twisting it.
Her friend's eyes went wide, in pain and disbelief, her lips parting as though to call out again, but only a gasp came.
She staggered forward, hands trembling, soaked in red, reaching towards Chrysanthia.
Too far.
Too late.
"Nooo!" Chrysanthia's voice broke apart. Her grip slipped. Her sword clattered to the ground.
A hand slammed the back of her skull. The world spun sideways. Pain cracked through her head like thunder.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
And her name, Chrysanthia, dissolved into nothingness.
"NOOOO!"
The scream ripped from her throat now, raw, instinctual, tearing the veil between memory and reality.
"Acacia!"
Irene's voice snapped her back. Her breath hitched violently. The past still surged in her veins like poison.
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the seat. She had not even realized she had been trembling.
The carriage door was now wide open. Irene was already outside, her braid half-loosened, blade drawn.
She looked back only once, eyes fierce, grounding Acacia in the present.
Then she moved, swift as flame, just as a guard was about to fall.
The attacker raised his blade but Irene was faster. Her dagger pierced him just below the ribs. He gasped, stumbled, fell.
She didn't pause.
A whistle tore from her lips, sharp and practiced.
A signal.
Hoofbeats echoed in the distance. Veltorin Guards.
But the attackers kept coming.
Steel clashed. Blood sprayed. The road turned to chaos.
And inside the carriage, Acacia sat unmoving.
The past still clung to her like blood on her skin.
Irene fought like a shadow, spinning, ducking, striking with frightening precision. Acacia had never seen her like this. She moved with the quiet grace of a noblewoman and the deadly intent of a soldier.
But in the swarm of blades and bodies, Acacia's eyes caught something, an attacker slipping through Irene's blind spot. He circled behind her, sword drawn.
"Nooo!"
Acacia was moving before she realized it.
She stumbled from the carriage, her feet hitting the cold stone just as the attacker raised his weapon behind Irene.
"IRENE!"
She lunged.
With startling force, Acacia slammed into the masked figure, pushing him back before he could land a blow. In one swift motion, fluid, instinctive, her hand closed around the hilt of his sword. As if it belonged to her.
And then she moved.
Not like the uncertain girl who had once stared at her reflection and seen only a stranger. But like someone who had wielded a blade before. Many times.
The metal caught the flicker of lantern light as it sliced through the air and the attacker collapsed, a cry caught in his throat.
Acacia stood there, breath heaving, blood on her blade, the moment stretched in eerie stillness, broken only by the clash of battle nearby.
She remembered.
She knew who she was.
What she was.
She had lost someone once.
She would not lose anyone again.
"Irene," she gasped, turning to her, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"
But Irene, stunned, could only stare at her for a heartbeat before regaining her breath. "Are you alright?"
Acacia's lips curled into something like a grin, fierce and alive.
"I'm fine."
Together, they turned back to the fight, blades flashing in rhythm, striking down enemy after enemy. The Veltorin and Ashcroft guards surged beside them, pressing in from all sides.
The road glowed with firelight and chaos, swords clashing, shadows dancing, smoke curling into the sky.
And then, slowly, the attackers began to falter. One by one, they fell or fled, leaving only a scattered few.
Those few hesitated, realizing they were outnumbered.
They turned and ran.
Footsteps approached behind her, steady and sure.
"Irene! Acacia!" came Seren's voice, low and sharp as he strode toward them, eyes scanning for wounds. His gaze swept over Irene, then landed on Acacia, bloodied sword in hand, dress torn at the hem, her chest rising with every breath.
"Irene, Acacia, what happened? Are you both alright?"
Irene turned to him, still catching her breath. "What are you doing here? How did you know?"
"One of the guards came and told me," Seren replied, anger and concern coiling in his voice, his jaw tight.
"Some men in masks attacked us," Acacia said, her breath steadier now, though her grip on the sword hadn't eased.
Irene wiped the back of her hand across her brow, leaving a faint streak of blood and dust. "We're fine," she said, voice steady. "It's over."
She only tightened her grip on her own blade, her eyes flicking towards the road, towards the retreating shadows of the masked attackers who had fled when the tide had turned.
One of them turned back just before disappearing into the trees. His gaze locked with Acacia's, unreadable behind the mask.
Something in her spine went rigid.
"I'm more than fine," she murmured, answering Irene's earlier question.
Seren exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening, but not entirely gone. "Good," he said, though his gaze lingered on Acacia longer than necessary, as if trying to read something she wasn't yet ready to share. Then, with a brisk nod, he turned to the guards.
"Fan out. Secure the perimeter. I want answers."
Veltorin soldiers moved swiftly, boots crunching over gravel, torches crackling as they cast flickering light over blood-slicked stones and the still bodies of those who hadn't escaped.
And Acacia stood among it all, heart still pounding, blade still warm in her hand, something wild and unfamiliar thrumming beneath her skin.
She glanced down the road, then muttered, "I have to go back to the Ashcroft estate. They must be worried."
Irene and Seren, hearing her, spoke at once: "Stay at our place."
They glanced at each other in surprise, then Seren stepped forward.
"One of our guards will send a message to the Ashcrofts immediately," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere tonight."