The eastern gate was chaos.
Not the elegant violence of Fae duels or the brutal precision of vampire assassinations. This was raw. Unrefined. Human. Torches flared in the predawn dark, their flickering light casting long, frantic shadows across the ancient stone. The air reeked of oil, gunpowder, and something fouler—fear. Not ours. Theirs. The attackers—dozens of them, clad in black tactical gear, faces masked, eyes wild—were not soldiers. Not mercenaries. They were zealots. Fanatics. And they weren’t here to negotiate.
They were here to burn.
“Red Veil,” Kael murmured beside me, his voice low, dangerous. “Human extremists. They’ve been gathering power in the shadows, feeding on fear of the supernatural. They call us abominations. Monsters. A threat to the natural order.”
“And they think this is order?” I snapped, gesturing to the flaming barricade, the shattered gate, the bodies—some human, some Fae guards—scattered like broken dolls. “This is chaos. This is weakness.”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, his body a shield between me and the oncoming tide. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—but not with desire. With warning. The humans had weapons. Guns. Explosives. Crude, but deadly. And they weren’t afraid to die.
“They don’t understand,” I said, scanning the mob. “They don’t see what we’ve done. What we’ve broken. What we’ve freed.”
“They don’t care,” Kael said. “To them, you’re not a queen. You’re not a storm-witch. You’re not even human. You’re other. And that makes you a target.”
My stomach twisted.
Not from fear.
From the truth in his voice.
Because they were right.
Not about the monsters.
But about the power.
We were other. We were powerful. And power—true power—was always a threat to those who had none.
“Then we make them understand,” I said, stepping forward. “Or we stop them.”
“And if they won’t listen?” he asked.
“Then we fight,” I said, voice steady. “But not to kill. To protect.”
He looked at me—obsidian eyes unreadable, yet filled with something I couldn’t name. Something that made my breath catch.
And I knew—
He wasn’t just fighting for me.
He was fighting with me.
We moved through the smoke and fire in silence, the bond humming between us like a war drum. The humans saw us—two figures emerging from the flames, one pale and shadowed, one glowing with storm-light—and they hesitated. Just for a moment. Just long enough.
Then—
They opened fire.
Bullets tore through the air, whizzing past my head, embedding in the stone. I didn’t flinch. Just raised my hand—and the storm answered.
Lightning arced from my fingertips, not in a single bolt, but in a web—a crackling net of violet energy that swept across the front line. The guns fell silent. The men dropped, convulsing, their weapons smoking, their bodies twitching from the surge. Not dead. Not even badly hurt. Just… stopped.
“Non-lethal,” I said, lowering my hand. “I don’t kill humans. Not unless I have to.”
Kael didn’t argue. Just moved—Shadow Veil snapping around him, folding space, carrying him across the battlefield in a heartbeat. He disarmed, he incapacitated, he broke limbs with surgical precision. But he didn’t kill. Not one.
And then—
I saw him.
Not a soldier. Not a fanatic.
A man.
Standing at the edge of the mob, his face uncovered, his eyes wide, his hands empty. He wasn’t wearing the black gear. Just a simple coat, worn at the elbows, his hair gray, his face lined with grief. And when he saw me—when his storm-gray eyes locked onto mine—I felt it.
The bond.
Not flaring. Not screaming.
Pulsing.
Like a heartbeat.
Like recognition.
“Tide,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his voice tight. “Don’t.”
But I was already moving.
Through the smoke. Through the fallen. Through the fear.
Until I stood before him.
“Who are you?” I asked, voice low.
He didn’t answer. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph—yellowed, creased, the edges worn soft. He handed it to me with trembling hands.
And then—
My breath stopped.
It was her.
My mother.
Younger. Smiling. Her storm-gray eyes alive with laughter. And beside her—
Me.
A child. No older than five. Clutching a wooden sword. Standing in a garden I didn’t recognize. Wearing a dress I didn’t remember.
But I remembered her.
Her scent. Her voice. The way she’d hum while she worked. The way she’d held me when I cried.
And I remembered this man.
Not from memory.
From blood.
From bone.
From the quiet, unspoken truth that had lived in my veins since the day I was born.
“You’re my father,” I whispered.
He nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I tried to save her,” he said, voice breaking. “I tried to fight them. But they were too strong. They took her. They took you. And I was left with nothing but this.” He tapped the photograph. “I spent twenty-five years looking for you. Twenty-five years trying to understand what happened. And when I found out—when I learned about the Red Veil, about the experiments, about what they did to her—I knew I had to stop them. Even if it meant dying.”
My chest ached.
Not from anger.
From the truth in his voice.
From the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing left that mattered.
“You’re not one of them,” I said.
“No,” he said. “I’m not. I joined them to stop them. To sabotage. To protect. But they found out. They were going to kill me. So I led them here. I thought… I thought if I could get you to see me, if I could show you the truth—”
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, stepping forward. “You could’ve come to me. You could’ve—”
“And risked them following?” he interrupted. “Risked them hurting you? No. I had to make sure. I had to know you were safe. That you were alive.”
And then—
He did something I never expected.
He knelt.
Not in submission.
In penance.
“If you want me to leave,” he said, head bowed, “I will. If you want me to die, I won’t fight you. But know this—I love you, Tide. Not because of your magic. Not because of your blood. But because you’re you.”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared at him—this man who had fathered me, who had lost me, who had searched for me, who had loved me anyway.
And I didn’t know whether to hate him… or forgive him.
“Get up,” I said, voice quiet.
He didn’t.
“Get up,” I said again, louder. “I’m not your executioner. I’m not your judge. I’m not even sure I’m your daughter anymore.”
Slowly, he rose.
“Then what are you?” he asked.
“I’m free,” I said. “And I’m not alone.”
He looked at Kael—just once—and nodded.
And then—
He was gone.
The photograph burned in my hands.
Not literally. Not with fire.
With need.
I turned to Kael. “I need to keep this. Alone.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped forward, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing my cheek. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive. “I’ll be in the hall,” he said. “Call me if you need me.”
And then—
He left.
The door clicked shut.
And I was alone.
Not truly. Not with the bond still humming beneath my skin, not with my mother’s essence still pulsing in my veins. But alone in the way that mattered—in the quiet, in the stillness, in the space between heartbeats where truth lives.
I unfolded the photograph.
Not with ceremony. Not with pride.
With grief.
She was so young. So alive. So free. And I—her daughter—had spent my life chasing vengeance, thinking I was avenging her, when all she’d ever wanted was for me to live.
“Break the chain,” she’d whispered.
Not the man.
And I had.
I’d broken the chain of hate. Of fear. Of vengeance.
And in its place—
Love.
Not just for Kael.
For my father.
For myself.
I didn’t cry.
Not at first.
Just stood there, the photograph trembling in my hands, my breath shallow, my heart pounding.
And then—
The tears came.
Not from grief.
From relief.
From the weight lifting—the years of anger, of hatred, of vengeance—slipping away like chains breaking in the storm. I sank to my knees, the photograph clutched to my chest, my body trembling, my breath ragged.
She hadn’t wanted me to destroy him.
She’d wanted me to love him.
And I had.
Not just because of the bond.
Not just because of the magic.
But because he was good. Because he’d tried. Because he’d wept.
Because he’d loved her.
And now—
He loved me.
The door opened.
Not with a knock.
With him.
Kael—Elion—stepped inside, his eyes searching mine, his presence a steady weight in the dark. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched me—kneeling, broken, weeping, the photograph in my hands.
And then—
He knelt too.
Not in submission.
In solidarity.
His hand found mine—cool, deliberate. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive.
“You found him,” he said, voice low.
I nodded, unable to speak.
“And now?”
I looked at him—storm-gray eyes searching his—trying to find the lie, the manipulation, the monster I’d sworn to destroy.
But all I saw was truth.
“Now,” I whispered, “I am whole.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just reached for me—slowly, gently—and pulled me into his arms. His body shielded mine, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed—warm, deep, alive—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Love.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I didn’t run.
For the first time, I let myself believe—
That maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t come here to destroy him.
Maybe I’d come here to save him.
And in saving him… save myself.
He pulled back, his thumb brushing my cheek. “We did it,” he said. “We broke the chain.”
“And found something else,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me—soft, slow, real.
His lips were cool, but the kiss was fire. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—her voice, her magic, her love, flooding through us like a river breaking its banks.
And then—
The door burst open.
Not with violence.
With urgency.
A guard stood in the threshold, his face pale, his breath ragged. Behind him—shouts. Alarms. The clang of steel.
“Your Highness,” he gasped. “The northern woods—they’re on fire. Not from the pack. From machines. Human drones. They’re burning the forest. They’re coming for the city.”
My stomach dropped.
Not from fear.
From the way the bond flared—hot, then cold, then hot again.
From the way Kael’s hand found mine—cool, deliberate, a silent claim.
“We have to go,” I said, rising. “We have to stop this.”
“It’s a distraction,” he said. “They want us to run. To fight. To give them proof of treason.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then they’ll burn everything,” the guard said. “And then they’ll come for you.”
I looked at Kael.
He didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze—steady, unyielding.
And then—
He nodded.
“We go,” he said. “But we go on our terms.”
And as the first light of dawn broke through the drapes, painting the room in gold and shadow, I knew—
The mission had changed.
The enemy was gone.
But the world was still burning.
And I was the only one who could put out the fire.