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Chapter Seventy-Seven

Annora

Asha kneels on the ground, her wrists bound behind her back.

She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze. “Do it. End this.”

My throat tightens as I stare at the sister who once protected me, loved me, shaped me into who I am.

But that sister is gone now.

My hands tremble and my legs shake as I call Emberdione to me. She lands next to me, her presence steadying my shaking hands.

This is what must be done—for our people, for peace, for the future.

If I leave Asha alive, she’ll rally forces again and spread bitterness. I cannot allow that to happen.

This ends now.

Tears blur my vision as I nod at Emberdione, and fire erupts from the Phoenix, consuming Asha.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t flinch.

The flames dance around her, consuming her form inch by inch. My chest heaves as her eyes lock with mine one final time. No hatred burns there now, no bitterness, just acceptance. And something else. Something that makes my heart splinter into a thousand pieces.

Peace.

The heat sears my skin, but I can’t look away. I won’t. I owe her this much, to witness her last moments.

This is mercy. This is peace. This is the only way.

But as Emberdione’s flames die down, leaving nothing but scattered ashes on the scorched earth, I know a part of me has burned away with Asha. The part that still believed in happy endings, in redemption, in the sister who used to call me her river.

The scent of smoke and ash clings to my clothes, my hair, my skin. No amount of scrubbing will ever wash away this moment, this choice, this necessary evil that tears at my soul.

My knees buckle, but before I can fall, Jasce wraps his arms around my waist. I lean against him, allowing him to lead me away from the battle, from the place I was forced to kill my sister.

The gods know I tried to help her, but nothing worked

Nothing.

Fuck!

Why does it hurt so bad?

A sob escapes me, and Jasce pulls me even closer.

The leather of my saddle comes into focus through my tears. Jasce’s hands tighten on my waist, lifting me up. I sink into the familiar smoothness, gripping the pommel until my knuckles turn white.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to comfort me with empty words or false promises. He simply stays close, one hand resting on my knee, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of my surcoat.

The morning sun beats down on us, but I feel cold. So cold. Like the flames that consumed my sister have frozen something vital inside me. Jasce shifts closer, as if sensing my chill.

The sister I loved is gone. The sister I killed is gone.

Both truths exist simultaneously, tearing me apart from the inside out.

Through my tears, warriors move like shadows in the morning haze. Our warriors kneel beside the fallen—both House of Crimson and House of Silver alike.

My vision blurs again as I spot an injured warrior, her dark hair and slight build so similar to Asha’s.

But it’s not her.

It will never be her again.

The soldier attending her wears Jasce’s colors, yet he treats her with the same gentle care he’d show his own.

This is what we fought for. What Asha couldn’t see through her hatred. Unity born from shared pain.

Jasce’s thumb continues its steady circles on my knee, anchoring me as I watch our people slowly begin to stitch themselves back together.