The night had been quiet for too long.
The campfire cracked faintly in the clearing, its warmth struggling against the chill that had settled over the forest. The maids sat close, their shadows long against the grass. Liora sharpened a dagger against a stone with precise strokes. Brenna checked the straps of her leather armor, her big hands working silently. Aveline leaned back on her palms, eyes on the treeline, tension carved into her freckled face.
Elara sat near Lysandra, the noble carriage behind them looming like a dark beast in the firelight. Her long white hair pooled around her feet, restless as though it felt something she did not. She touched a strand absently, her chest tight.
Something was wrong.
Even the wind had gone silent. Not a single owl hooted, not a single leaf stirred.
Lysandra's voice broke the stillness. "Do you feel it?"
Elara nodded slowly. "The world is holding its breath."
And then came the sound.
A slow, deliberate clinking — metal striking against itself. Chains dragged across stone and soil, steady, unhurried, echoing through the night like the toll of a bell.
The maids stiffened. Liora's hand tightened on her dagger. Brenna rose to her feet, sword in hand. Aveline muttered, "That doesn't sound like bandits."
From the darkness of the treeline, a figure stepped into the firelight.
He was massive — taller than any man Elara had seen, his armor black as obsidian, trimmed with veins of crimson that glowed faintly, as though molten blood ran within. Across his shoulders and wrapped around his arms were chains, thick as wrists, glowing faintly red where the firelight caught them.
His helm was faceless, smooth save for a thin slit that leaked a dull, burning light. When he spoke, his voice rattled through the hollow steel, deep and resonant.
"Elara Duskbane."
Her name was a blade in the night, heavy with purpose.
"You are commanded to surrender. The queen desires you alive."
Lysandra stepped forward, drawing her sword with a clear ring that cut through the night. "And if she refuses?"
The figure's helm turned toward her, slow and deliberate. "Then the queen will take her in chains."
The commander raised one arm, and the chains uncoiled with a hiss, alive, writhing like serpents eager to strike. Around the clearing, shadows stirred — soldiers cloaked in dark leathers, blades glinting, bows drawn. They had been waiting, silent, encircling the camp like wolves.
Aveline swore under her breath. "They've been here the whole time."
Elara stood slowly, her hair sliding down her back like a river of snow. Her voice was steady, though her pulse thundered. "If the queen wants me alive, she should have come herself."
The commander tilted his head. The chains struck the earth with a sound like cracking bones. "So be it."
The clearing exploded into chaos.
Arrows rained from the treeline, hissing through the firelight. Brenna raised her shield, catching two, but a third struck the ground inches from Aveline's boot. Liora darted forward, slashing the throat of the first soldier who charged, her dagger a flash of silver.
Elara's hair writhed, lashing out with blinding speed. It snared one archer, wrapping around his torso before he could scream. The hair tightened, bones snapping, and he collapsed to the ground — nothing left but a skeleton gleaming white in the firelight.
The maids froze, just for a heartbeat, at the sight. But then Brenna growled, "Fight! Don't falter now!" and swung her blade into the next attacker.
The commander moved, slow but inexorable, each step making the ground shudder. His chains uncoiled, snapping forward like living whips. One struck the ground where Elara had been standing, the soil exploding into shards. Another lashed around a strand of her hair, binding it tight.
Elara gasped as pain flared through her scalp — the chain burned, hissing against her hair like acid. She tried to retract it, but the chain held fast, drinking strength from her.
The commander's voice echoed, mocking. "Even your gods cannot break these bonds. Forged in the blood of kings. Blessed to shackle the divine."
Lysandra lunged at him, her blade singing. Sparks flew as steel met chain. She struck again, faster, her strikes aimed for the gaps in his armor. But the commander blocked each blow with unnatural precision, his chains deflecting her blade as though they were an extension of his own body.
"You will not have her!" Lysandra snarled.
"You cannot stop me," the commander replied, his chains lashing toward her. She twisted aside, barely avoiding the strike.
Elara's breath came fast. Her hair strained against the chains, but each movement seared her like fire. Around her, soldiers pressed the maids, steel clashing, blood spraying.
The hunger stirred inside her.
It whispered: Feed.
The commander moved with brutal efficiency. One chain lashed around Elara's wrist, jerking her off balance. Another snapped around her ankle, yanking her to her knees. The third wrapped her throat, tightening, burning like molten iron.
She choked, clawing at the chain, but her hands blistered at the touch. Her vision blurred. Her hair thrashed, desperate, but wherever it touched the glowing links, it recoiled in agony.
Liora screamed her name and lunged, only to be flung back by a sweep of the commander's arm. Brenna charged with a roar, slamming her shield into his side — but the impact was like striking a wall. Aveline tried to cut the chains, but her blade snapped, useless.
The commander pulled the chains tighter. "You are nothing without your gods' gifts. I will drag you to the queen's feet like a dog."
Elara's lungs burned. Her hair writhed, desperate, hungry, but caged. Her vision swam with black and white symbols — the marks of her contract flaring faintly.
Lysandra shouted her name, her voice distant. Steel clashed, sparks lit the night.
The hunger screamed inside her now, louder, demanding, insistent: Feed. FEED.
And in the agony, Elara remembered.
The gods' voices during the ritual. The words burned into her soul.
"Power is never gentle. It will cost blood, yours or theirs."
Her lips curled back. Her hair twisted, not in retreat — but in fury.