The air in Alyc’s cell had changed. It wasn’t just cold, it was unnatural, suffocating, as though the walls themselves were pressing in on her. The scent of blood and burning stone drifted in from outside, carried on the dying breath of a city at war. Solaria was crumbling. She could still hear the echoes of battle, the clash of steel, the screams of the dying, the roars of creatures not of this world, but in her cell, there was only silence. And then, he stepped through the door. The Forgotten. His presence bent reality around him, warping the torchlight, casting shadows that didn’t belong. His form shifted, sometimes Sammond, sometimes Prigo, sometimes something far older, something beyond. But now, he wore a different face. The Seer. Alyc clenched her fists. She was dead. He had made sure of that. But still, he stood before her, wearing her features like a mask. “You’ve seen glimpses,” he murmured, his voice smooth, amused. “Now, let me show you the truth.” Alyc tensed. No. No more lies. No more visions. She lunged forward, only to find herself falling. The world ripped apart. Alyc hit the ground hard. The cell was gone. Instead, she stood in a dimly lit chamber, not real, but more vivid than any dream. The air in the chamber was thick. A woman lay upon a birthing bed, her breath ragged, her dark auburn hair plastered to her sweat-soaked skin. Alyc’s mother. Alyc staggered back, her pulse pounding. No. This isn’t possible. A younger Durk knelt beside her, gripping her hand, whispering words Alyc could not hear. His face was strained, raw with fear. His fingers trembled as he wiped damp hair from his wife’s brow. And then, another figure stepped forward. A handmaid. Clothed in shadow, her face obscured. The Forgotten. Alyc’s stomach twisted. She knew what was coming. The Forgotten moved with purpose, his hands steady as he reached for the newborn, for her. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he lifted the child from her mother’s arms. Alyc felt her breath catch. No. No, no, no. She wanted to move, to scream, to stop this, but she was frozen in the moment, trapped in the past, a helpless observer to a crime already committed. Durk barely looked at him, his gaze fixed on his wife, pleading with her to stay with him, to keep breathing. A flicker. A shift. A hand barely moving. A gesture so small, so insignificant that no one saw it, no one but Alyc. The Forgotten slipped something between his fingers as he handed her back to Durk. A moment later, her mother convulsed. Her back arched, her body wracked with violent spasms. Her hands clawed at the sheets, at Durk’s arms, at nothing. Her breath hitched, once, twice, and then, she went still.

  Durk’s voice cracked, raw and shattered as he called her name. But she was gone. And the handmaid, the Forgotten, simply turned away. No hesitation. No regret. As if he had done nothing at all. Alyc staggered back, her heartbeat pounding like a war drum in her chest. Her stomach churned, her skin cold and clammy. “You always thought it was fate,” The Forgotten’s voice curled around her like smoke, whispering directly into her mind. “It was me.”

  The chamber collapsed. Alyc fell into another vision. No. Not another. Not again. She was back in Solaria. Durk stood before her, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. His tunic was soaked through with blood, his blood. It dripped down his side, pooling at his feet, staining the stone beneath him. His sword, the weapon that had once seemed unbreakable in his hands, dangled uselessly at his side. Alyc knew this moment. She had lived it before. Her father staggered, his knees threatening to give out beneath him. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. Only blood. Only the dull rattle of his final breath. Alyc’s throat burned. “No,” she whispered. She stepped forward. Reached for him. She had to reach him. But the moment shattered. The world twisted, jerked violently sideways, and suddenly she was somewhere else.

  Another battlefield. Another body. No, bodies. The Shadecloaks, her comrades, butchered. Their corpses lay broken across the ruined streets of Solaria. Arrows jutting from their backs. Limbs severed. Armor split apart. A scream built in her chest, but the vision was relentless. She saw Josepe standing before the gates of Solaria, his hands on the mechanisms of his greatest siege weapon, his final invention. And then it collapsed. Metal and gears snapped, the weight of the machine folding inward trapping him beneath its crushing bulk. Alyc tried to move, to stop it, to save him, but her feet wouldn’t obey. Her body was made of stone. Josepe’s mouth moved. A whisper. A final breath. Then he was gone. And the vision kept going. Faster. Torren Valehart, torn apart by the claws of the Kurs. Cassia Rivenholme, broken beneath the chains of the Gors.

  Her body twitched as the spiked metal wrapped around her, dragging her forward. Blood pooled beneath her, mixing with the mud and shattered stone of the battlefield. She fought, but the Gors tightened their grip. A final pull. A sickening snap. Alyc tried to scream. Tried to look away. But the vision did not stop. Would not stop. She saw Jesta Valance, her stance unwavering, her chin high, her rapier clutched in her hands as the Forgotten stepped toward her. "I've been waiting to beat your ass since the trials" Jesta sneered, spitting blood at his feet. The Forgotten merely tilted his head. And then, he was behind her. "You never stood a chance," he whispered. The dagger sank into her spine. Alyc sobbed. The vision shifted. Emberfall’s banners rose in the smoke. Selenia fell. The world burned. The Forgotten’s voice wrapped around her, suffocating her, strangling her thoughts. “You could have stopped this.” “You were meant to be their savior.” “And yet, you let them die.” Alyc screamed. “STOP!” The visions shattered. She collapsed onto the cold stone floor of her cell, gasping for breath. But the nightmare wasn’t over. The vision shifted again. Alyc found herself standing before a massive crowd, the banners of Emberfall rippling in the wind, their golden flames dancing like embers in the sky. The city square was packed, soldiers, nobles, commoners, all gathered beneath the grand execution stage. The air was thick with anticipation, with something dark and hungry. A sea of voices roared in unison. "For the King! For Emberfall!" Alyc turned, her eyes locking onto the grand platform. There, standing tall, was High King Desmond Alistar. His dark cloak billowed behind him like smoke, his expression calm, confident, untouchable. At his side stood Erik Alistar, his sword gleaming beneath the midday sun. And at the center of it all, Two figures knelt in chains. Brook Browner. Bregund Forwart. The last of Emberfall’s disgraced competitors. Their armor was tattered, their bodies bruised from weeks of imprisonment. Brook's defiance was gone, he knelt, shoulders slumped, his gaze distant. But Bregund still bared his teeth, still clenched his fists, still radiated the wild energy of a man who refused to bow. Alyc’s heart raced. Brook’s breath was steady, but his gaze was hollow, his body motionless. Bregund, on the other hand, refused to submit. His shoulders were straight, his hands bound but clenched, his amber eyes burning with defiance. A smirk tugged at the corner of his bloodied lips, despite the bruises that marred his face. Even now, he mocked them. Alyc’s stomach twisted. She knew what was coming.

  High King Desmond Alistar stepped forward, the black and gold of his royal cloak flowing behind him. His piercing blue eyes swept over the gathered crowd, their faces alight with a bloodthirsty anticipation. “For too long,” Desmond’s voice rang out, smooth and unwavering, “we have tolerated the presence of traitors among us.”

  Alyc felt the air shift, the crowd leaning in. “They fought beside us, dined in our halls. "And yet, when the time came to choose" His gaze locked on the condemned. "They chose weakness. They chose treason.” A thunderous cheer erupted. Brook bowed his head. Bregund laughed. A sharp, reckless sound that cut through the tension like a blade. "Traitor?" He spat blood onto the execution block. "No, Desmond. You know what I am?" He raised his gaze, his smile a jagged, broken thing. "I'm the bastard who should've slit your throat when I had the chance." The crowd roared in outrage.

  Desmond only smiled. "Erik," he said smoothly. "End this." Erik Alistar stepped forward. His sword, cold and gleaming, rested at his side. No hesitation. No words. Brook Browner did not beg. Did not speak. He lifted his head one last time, his dark eyes searching Erik’s for something mercy, regret, an apology. He found nothing. Alyc’s heart pounded. She tried to move. Tried to stop it. Her feet remained frozen. The sword fell. A single, flawless arc. A sharp wet sound. Brook Browner collapsed, his blood pooling against the black stone. Alyc choked on her breath. The crowd erupted, not in sorrow, not in mourning. In triumph. Erik barely spared Brook a second glance. He turned to Bregund. Bregund’s eyes flicked to Brook’s lifeless body, and for the first time, his smirk faltered. Only for a second. Then he tilted his head back, grinning wide. "Do it," he said, voice hoarse but still mocking. "You mustached bitch"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  His chains rattled as he shifted onto his knees, spitting blood onto the execution block. Erik said nothing. He stepped forward. Alyc screamed. The sword swung. Blood sprayed. Bregund collapsed. Two bodies lay still. The crowd’s cheers became deafening. The High King turned away. And just like that, it was done. Alyc panted, her hands shaking, her lungs burning. The Forgotten knelt before her, tilting his head, his dark eyes gleaming with something she could not name. Amusement? Pity? Triumph? “Now you understand,” he murmured. Alyc’s fists clenched. Her mind was still drowning in the visions, but there was one truth she could not escape. She had been a pawn. A puppet dancing on strings she had never seen, never suspected. And he; he had held the strings the entire time. The Forgotten knelt before her, his gaze never wavering. "Now you understand," he said again, softer this time, like he was explaining something to a child. Alyc’s fingernails bit into her palms, her mind spiraling through the unforgivable truth. Her mother’s death. Durk’s murder. The Trials. The war. Every step that had led her here. All his design. She wanted to kill him. Wanted to tear his smug expression apart, wanted to watch him bleed, wanted; He reached forward. A slow, deliberate motion. Alyc flinched, expecting a strike, expecting pain. Instead, cold metal clicked free. The chains around her wrists and ankles fell away, hitting the stone floor with a hollow clang. Her breath caught. She looked down, disbelieving. She was… free. The Forgotten rose to his feet, his form shifting, flickering; Prigo, Sammond, something older, something nameless. Then, he extended his hand. Alyc stared at it. “What… what are you doing?” she rasped, her voice raw from screaming. The Forgotten smiled. "Giving you what you want." A pause. A slow tilt of his head. "A chance for revenge." Alyc did not move. She sat there, on the cold stone floor, her wrists burning where the shackles had been, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on her like a mountain. The war. The deaths. Everything. And now this. The Forgotten stood above her, waiting. His patience was unnaturally infinite, as if he already knew the choice she would make. Did he? Her fingers twitched, aching to reach for Firefang, aching to strike him down; but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her mind spun, her body trembling. The visions hadn’t faded. Brook Browner’s head rolling. Bregund Forwart’s final, bitter laugh. Josepe crushed beneath the ruins of Solaria. The Shadecloaks, butchered. Durk. Durk. Her vision blurred. Her ears rang with phantom screams, with echoes of battle, with the weight of names that would never be spoken again. Her rage pulsed; hot, unbearable, clawing at her insides. She wanted to fight. She wanted to run. But most of all, she wanted it to stop. The Forgotten extended his hand further. "This is what you were made for, little warrior," he murmured, voice smooth as silk, soft as death. "Do you see it now?" Alyc stared at him. See what? That she had been a pawn? That every breath she had taken was already written into some twisted, invisible script? That she had never had a choice at all? Her hands clenched into fists. The Forgotten waited. Outside, Solaria burned. Alyc’s breath was shallow, ragged. Her muscles trembled from exhaustion, but her heart; her heart burned like fire.

  Vengeance. It was all she had left. Her fingers twitched again. The Forgotten’s lips curled, knowing. And Alyc took his hand. The moment her fingers clasped his, the world shifted. Her cell disappeared, swallowed by shadows. The next breath she took was not of damp stone and stale air, but of open wind, the scent of blood and fire. She was outside. Solaria’s great temple stood in ruins. The once-pristine marble arches were shattered, their celestial engravings defaced by war and flame. The golden domes had caved in, leaving behind jagged ribs of broken metal. Statues of the gods, once revered, now lay toppled in the streets, their faces cracked, their gazes hollow. The sky: the sky was wrong. It churned with black fire, swirling like a storm with no eye, no mercy. The heavens themselves seemed to recoil from what was about to unfold. Alyc stood at the temple’s shattered threshold, Firefang gripped tight in her hand. The Forgotten stood before her, the wind tugging at his cloak, his form flickering between shapes; Sammond, Prigo, Desmond Alistar, Durk. Her father. Alyc’s grip tightened around Firefang’s hilt. Not again. The Forgotten laughed. “Look at you," he mused, stepping closer. "Still clinging to the illusion that you can fight me. "Alyc lunged. Firefang sang as it sliced through the air. But The Forgotten was gone before the blade could reach him. A blur of movement, a whisper of shadow; and then he was behind her. Alyc spun, slashing wildly, but he was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He wasn’t fighting her. He was playing with her. “Come now, little warrior," The Forgotten murmured, dodging another strike with effortless ease. "Is this really the best you have?” Alyc roared, her rage bleeding into every movement, every attack, every strike meant to kill. She fought with everything she had. She feinted, twisted, pushed herself past exhaustion; her body screaming, her vision tunneling, but it didn’t matter. She would kill him. She had to. And yet; The Forgotten never faltered. Never struggled. He barely moved. Alyc was fast, but he was faster. She was relentless, but he was untouchable. She was fighting for her life. He was bored. Then; he shifted. Alyc barely saw it. One moment, he was The Forgotten. The next; Durk stood before her. Alyc froze. The rage in her chest turned cold, sharp, suffocating. Durk’s expression was unreadable, his gaze heavy. “Alyc,” he said. “You’ve done nothing but bring destruction.” Her hands trembled. No. "You killed my wife." His voice was ice. "And then you watched as they took my life.” Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs. No. Durk’s eyes; her father’s eyes; filled with disappointment. “You were never meant to exist.” Alyc’s breath hitched. The world narrowed. The battle vanished. There was no war. No prophecy. No vengeance. Just her father. Telling her she was a mistake. Something inside her snapped. Alyc struck. Firefang sank deep into his chest. Alyc's breath hitched, her hands clenched so tightly around the hilt that her knuckles turned white. Durk staggered, his face twisting; not with pain, not with shock; but with satisfaction. And then, he smirked. Alyc's stomach turned to ice. The illusion broke. Durk wasn’t there. The Forgotten stood before her, Firefang still buried in his chest. His silver eyes gleamed, his expression mocking, triumphant, inevitable. And then; he laughed. A deep, rumbling sound, crawling through the ruins of Solaria, curling through the air like smoke. Alyc stumbled back, her heart hammering. No. No, this isn’t real. But it was. With a slow, deliberate motion, The Forgotten wrapped his fingers around Firefang’s hilt, and pulled the blade free.

  Alyc’s pulse stopped. Dark blood dripped onto the stone, pooling beneath him, but he did not fall. Instead, he turned the sword in his grip, testing the weight, the balance. Then, He drove it into her stomach. Alyc choked, her vision exploding into blinding pain. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, her body arching in shock as fire spread through her veins. She gasped, but no sound came. The Forgotten caught her before she could collapse, his arms steady, almost gentle. He leaned close, his voice soft, almost tender. “Balance is broken.” Alyc’s world blurred. Her fingers twitched, reaching, for what, she didn’t know. She was slipping. Her body felt too heavy, too light, too far away. The Forgotten lifted her effortlessly, carrying her through the shattered temple like a victorious conqueror. And then, he stepped onto the balcony. The earth groaned beneath them. The Ignus-Luna mountains split apart, massive chunks of rock crumbling into the abyss. A shadow, colossal, endless, all-consuming, began to rise. The sky cracked open, the stars flickering, then vanishing one by one. A deep, thunderous growl shook the very fabric of reality. The Forgotten held her limp body, turning her toward the ruin of the world. “Now, little warrior,” he murmured, his voice like silk. "Now you can see the true end." Alyc’s vision swam, the edges of her world fraying into darkness. She saw. She saw Divinia breaking apart, its lands splitting like fractured glass, its people screaming beneath an unstoppable tide of shadows. She saw armies swallowed whole, their blades useless against the endless abyss. She saw the gods were gone, their light snuffed out, their power devoured. She saw Malathrax the primordial doom, rising from the depths of Ignus-Luna, a force older than time, a hunger beyond mortal comprehension. The Forgotten’s grip on her tightened, his breath warm against her ear. And then; Everything was gone. The world ended. The stars died. Divinia fell into darkness. And Alyc Halcyhon, the girl who had fought, bled, and burned to carve her own destiny; vanished into the void. The End.