The chains dug deeper into Elara's flesh, blistering her throat, searing her wrists. Her breath came ragged, every inhale scraping her lungs like broken glass.
The commander leaned in close, his faceless helm tilting down toward her. The slit of burning light across the mask flared brighter, cruel and final.
"You were never worthy of their blessing," he hissed. "I will remind you what a mortal truly is."
His chains tightened.
Elara's hair convulsed, writhing like a storm-tossed sea. It struck against the bindings again and again, each impact sending jolts of pain through her skull — but this time, it did not stop. It kept thrashing, harder, faster, until the glow of the chains dulled, until sparks danced across the air.
The hunger within her rose like a tide, black and endless. She stopped resisting it.
Her vision bled into black and white, colors draining until all she saw were the symbols of her gods — death spiraling across the edges of her vision, life burning in sharp white flares, music humming in the marrow of her bones.
She opened her mouth, and a voice that was not hers tore through the clearing:
"I am not yours to chain."
The hair erupted.
It split into a thousand strands, lashing outward like serpents of ivory. The chains that bound her wrist snapped. The one at her ankle shattered. The one at her throat writhed and burned her flesh — but then her hair wrapped around it, squeezing, drinking its power.
The commander staggered. For the first time, he faltered. "Impossible—"
Elara screamed, but it was not pain. It was released. Her hair snared two soldiers rushing forward, coiling around them like vines. They screamed as their bodies were lifted off the ground, thrashing.
Then silence.
The hair constricted. Flesh gave way. Blood hissed into the strands, absorbed like dew into thirsty roots. Their screams cut off. Their bodies collapsed into heaps of polished, bone-white skeletons that clattered to the earth.
The maids froze, the firelight catching their wide eyes. But none stepped back. Not this time.
Liora snarled and slashed another soldier's throat, her eyes glinting. "Fight beside her!"
Brenna slammed her shield into an archer, bones cracking beneath the blow. "She's not a monster — she's ours!"
Aveline's voice rose in a furious cry as she buried a dagger into a soldier's side. "Let them choke on their fear!"
Elara's hair whipped outward, a storm of pale strands, wrapping, tearing, feeding. Every soldier it touched collapsed into bones.
The clearing became a graveyard of ivory.
But the commander did not break.
He roared, and the chains around his body flared crimson, brighter than fire. They recoiled from Elara's grip, snapping back into his hands. With a gesture, they multiplied — splitting, weaving into a net of glowing steel that slashed across the clearing.
One strand struck Elara's shoulder, searing her flesh. She screamed, but her hair lunged, striking back. The commander met it blow for blow, chain against strand, sparks hissing, the ground breaking beneath their duel.
"You think hunger makes you strong?" the commander thundered. His chains lashed, binding her hair again, trying to force it down. "It makes you weak. It makes you a slave to it!"
Elara staggered, her knees buckling as the chains burned. Her hair shrieked, lashing against the bindings, but the commander's power was immense.
Then Lysandra was there, sword flashing in the crimson glow. She struck the chains, breaking one loose, then drove forward with a scream. Her blade sparked off his chestplate, forcing him a step back.
"I told you," she snarled, eyes blazing, "you will not take her."
The commander slammed a gauntleted fist into the ground. A shockwave blasted outward, throwing Lysandra back. She rolled, rose, blood dripping from her temple, but her eyes never left him.
Elara gasped, her lungs heaving. The hunger still thundered in her veins. Her gods' voices echoed in her skull.
"Power is never gentle. It is blood and song and silence."
Her hair writhed, furious, alive. She stopped pulling against the chains. She stopped resisting the pain. She let it in — let it fuel her.
The chains tried to burn her, but her hair drank the fire.
The commander froze as the glow of his chains dimmed, the crimson light bleeding away into Elara's strands.
Her eyes snapped open, black and white burning with divine symbols. She rose to her feet, her voice steady, cold:
"You are not my jailer."
Her hair exploded outward, hundreds of strands stabbing through the air like lances. They pierced the earth, wrapped trees, and caught the commander's chains mid-swing. His arms jerked back, bound by her own strands.
The ground shook. For the first time, the commander struggled.
The clearing was chaos — soldiers fleeing, others screaming as Elara's hair dragged them into the storm, draining them into bones.
The commander roared, pulling against her. The ground cracked beneath his boots. His chains flared, trying to burn her hair away.
Elara's voice rose, low but certain: "You chained me once. You will not again."
She pulled.
Her hair tightened, wrapping around his chains, around his arms, binding him like a spider binding prey. He struggled, roaring, but her strength grew with every body her hair consumed, every drop of blood it drank.
With a final scream, the chains shattered.
The commander staggered, stunned, his armor cracked. Elara's hair surged forward, wrapping around him, pinning him to the ground.
For a heartbeat, silence hung.
Then the commander's voice, low, trembling with something like awe: "What… are you?"
Elara stepped forward, her eyes burning black and white, her voice soft but final.
"Something your queen cannot cage."
Her hair tightened. The commander's body convulsed once — and then collapsed into a heap of polished bones, his armor crumpling around it like empty skin.
The forest was silent again, save for the crackle of the fire and the ragged breathing of the survivors.
Bones littered the clearing, pale and gleaming in the moonlight. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air.
The maids stood in a circle, blades dripping, eyes on Elara. None stepped back. None raised a weapon.
Liora spat to the side, her voice rough. "Let them send more. We'll bury them too."
Brenna planted her shield in the dirt, blood streaking her face. "If this is the queen's strength, she should be afraid of us, not the other way around."
Aveline wiped her blade, her hands shaking but her voice steady. "You are no monster. You are our lady."
Elara stood in the center, her chest heaving, her hair slowly curling back around her body like a living cloak. She met their eyes — her strange, black-and-white eyes — and nodded once.