The first time Elira Ashthorn laid eyes on the infamous Commander Kael Draven, he was dragging her brother in chains through the gates of Eldhollow.
The town square fell silent as the Blackguard rode in—twenty armored soldiers on dusk-gray horses, the crest of the Frostborne Kingdom glinting on their breastplates: a silver serpent coiled around a frozen rose. At their head, Kael sat like a storm in human form—dark hair wind-tossed, face carved from stone, eyes like cold fire.
Elira stood on the steps of the herbalist's shop, fingers curled tightly around the satchel of healing draughts slung at her hip. Her green cloak billowed in the wind, and for one reckless heartbeat, she imagined stepping forward—demanding her brother's release, accusing the Frostborne commander of lies and false justice.
But she didn't. Not yet.
Because Elira knew magic was forbidden in Frostborne lands.
And she knew her brother had been caught using it.
Kael's eyes met hers as he passed. There was no smirk, no gloat—only a flicker of something she couldn't name. Recognition? Pity?
She hated him instantly.
The crowd began to murmur once the Blackguard dismounted. Kael gave a sharp signal, and two soldiers pulled her brother to his knees in the dirt. His lip was bloodied, his wrists bound in iron.
"Elric Ashthorn," Kael announced, his voice cutting clean through the wind, "you are charged with unlawful use of magic within Frostborne borders—"
"—and you are charged with hypocrisy," Elira's voice rang out, clear and furious.
All eyes turned. Even the wind seemed to hush.
Kael turned toward her slowly, brow lifting. "Excuse me?"
She descended the steps like a flame, green cloak trailing behind her. "I said," she repeated, stepping into the square, "if you're going to drag someone through the mud for a crime you barely understand, you might as well call it what it is: fear masquerading as justice."
"Elira," her brother rasped, "don't—"
But it was too late. She faced Kael squarely now, shoulders back, chin lifted.
Kael studied her for a moment, unreadable. Then: "You must be the sister."
"And you must be the dog who follows a coward's laws."
Gasps echoed from the crowd. A few old merchants backed away, clearly expecting a lightning bolt.
Kael's jaw flexed. "You're bold."
"I'm furious."
"You'll need more than fury to free him."
Elira's fingers twitched. She could feel the tingle of the old magic in her blood—the kind her grandmother had taught her to hide, to whisper, to keep curled tight beneath her skin like coals under ash.
"I don't need to free him," she said softly. "I only need to prove you wrong."
He stepped forward. "And how do you propose to do that?"
"Give me one week. If I can find proof my brother acted in defense—if I can show he harmed no one—you release him."
"And if you can't?"
Elira hesitated. Her heartbeat thundered.
"Then I'll go with you," she said. "In chains."
A long silence.
Then—Kael, to everyone's surprise, smiled.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly.
Like a man who had just seen a storm gather on the horizon and decided, instead of running, to meet it.
"You have seven days, Elira Ashthorn," he said.
Then he turned and walked away.