Page 6 of Realms of Shadow and Sun (A World of Sun and Shadow #3)

The scent of smoke and ash hung heavy in the air as Grayden stood before the ruined house, or rather, what little remained of it. His fingers tightened around the worn wooden handle of his shovel, knuckles white with tension. With a deep breath that sent a sharp pain through his still-healing side, he plunged the blade into the debris, shifting charred timbers and broken stone.

The thatched roof, once a symbol of the simple comfort of village life, had been set ablaze during Cressida's ruthless attack. Now, its remnants lay scattered among the ruins, a grim reminder of how quickly peace could be shattered. As Grayden worked to clear a path into the structure, each movement sent fresh waves of pain radiating from his wound. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the discomfort. Physical pain was a welcome distraction from the ache in his heart.

Finally breaching the threshold, Grayden paused to survey the devastation within. The scene before him was heartbreaking in its totality. A thick layer of ash and soot blanketed every surface, transforming the once-vibrant home into a monochrome sea of greys and blacks. Shards of ceramic bowls and plates crunched beneath his boots, their delicate patterns lost forever. In the corner, partially buried under a mound of straw and debris, lay a small doll crafted from navy yarn. Its button eyes stared sightlessly at the ruined ceiling, a poignant reminder of the lives disrupted by senseless violence.

Grayden's chest tightened as he recalled the family who had lived here—a young couple with two small children. By some miracle, they had escaped unscathed and were now sheltered in the tents Phillippe had brought from the training camp. But their home, their possessions, their sense of security—all had been reduced to ashes in a matter of minutes.

For hours, Grayden had been working tirelessly, moving from house to house along the eastern side of the village. He pulled out anything salvageable, working quietly and efficiently. The villagers, caught up in their own grief and the monumental task of rebuilding, barely seemed to notice the presence of a prince among them. In a way, Grayden preferred it this way. He wasn't here for recognition or gratitude; he was here because the alternative—sitting idle while people suffered and Renya remained captive—was simply unbearable.

As he continued to sift through the debris, Grayden found his mind wandering, the monotonous task unable to fully occupy his thoughts. Charly and Phillippe had suggested this work as a way to take his mind off Renya, but their well-intentioned plan was failing miserably. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to throw down his shovel, leap onto his horse, and ride to the Shadow Realm to rescue his beloved. The desire to hold Renya in his arms again was a constant, burning ache that no amount of physical labor could dull.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, leaving him feeling panicky and on edge. He recalled how, just yesterday, he had spent hours pacing like a caged animal, snapping at anyone who dared approach him. It was then that Dimitri and Phillippe had firmly suggested he find a productive outlet for his restless energy while they formulated a plan to retrieve Renya.

But even as his muscles strained with exertion, Grayden's mind continually drifted back to those final, heart-wrenching moments with Renya. The look in her eyes as she made that fateful promise to Cressida was seared into his memory. In that instant, his heart had shattered. He would have gladly sacrificed his life rather than see her in Cressida's clutches. But Renya, stubborn and selfless to a fault, had chosen his life over her own freedom. The weight of that sacrifice pressed down on him, threatening to crush his spirit entirely.

Through their bond, he could still sense her presence—a subtle, gentle pulsing within his soul. It was a small comfort to know she lived, but the knowledge that she was out there, beyond his reach, was nearly unbearable. The bond that had once filled him with such joy now felt like an exquisite form of torture.

Needing a moment's respite from the oppressive atmosphere inside the ruined house, Grayden made his way towards the back, stepping out into what had once been a thriving garden. The cool air on his face was a welcome relief, but it did little to ease the turmoil in his heart. He closed his eyes, reaching out through their bond, silently willing Renya to feel his love, his determination to find her.

A soft, pitiful mewl broke through his thoughts. Grayden's eyes snapped open, scanning the ground at his feet. There, beneath a tangle of scorched grass and splintered cedar, he caught the barest hint of movement. Dropping to his knees, heedless of the mud soaking into his trousers, he carefully shifted aside bits of debris.

His efforts revealed a makeshift nest, crafted from scraps of stolen fabric and dried grasses. At its center lay two tiny kittens—one pure white, the other a mottled brown and orange. The white kitten mewled again, its eyes still tightly shut, while its sibling lay ominously still, its small body cold to the touch.

Without hesitation, Grayden gently scooped up both kittens, tucking them safely inside his tunic. Their tiny bodies against his chest stirred something within him—a fierce protectiveness that momentarily overshadowed his own pain. These helpless creatures needed him, just as his people needed him, just as Renya needed him. He couldn't save everyone, couldn't right every wrong, but in this moment, he could make a difference for these two small lives.

Cradling his precious cargo, Grayden made his way back towards the castle, his eyes scanning the streets for someone to whom he could entrust the kittens. Finding no suitable caretaker, he pressed on, eventually following a group of maids to the kitchen. As he entered the warm, bustling space, his gaze fell upon a young boy standing near the fireplace.

"Could you bring me some warm milk?"

Grayden asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. "And heat up some towels and bring them to my room?"

The boy nodded, curiosity evident in his wide eyes. Grayden carefully opened his tunic, allowing the lad to glimpse the kittens nestled against his chest. The boy's face lit up with a smile—a rare sight in these dark days—and he hurried to fulfill the prince's request.

As Grayden made his way to the room he had once shared with Renya, a fresh wave of grief washed over him. Every corner of the chamber held memories of her—her laughter, her touch, the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight. Most nights, he found it impossible to sleep here, the ghost of her presence both a comfort and a torment. He had taken to falling asleep in various corners of the castle, anywhere to escape the crushing weight of her absence. After one particularly harrowing night of heavy drinking, he had even awoken sprawled across Kalora's throne, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. That incident had been a wake-up call, prompting him to limit his alcohol consumption, no matter how tempting the numbing effects might be.

Entering the room, Grayden quickly retrieved a towel from the bathroom and gently placed the kittens on the bed. The white one squirmed feebly, but the brown and orange kitten remained disturbingly still. With gentle, determined movements, Grayden began to rub the motionless kitten, trying to stimulate its tiny body back to life. Just as despair began to set in, one eye cracked open, and a pathetic meow escaped its lips. Grayden's heart lightened for a brief moment, a fleeting reminder that even in the darkest times, hope could still flourish.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. "Come in,"

he called, carefully wrapping both kittens in the towel.

The door opened to reveal Selenia, her eyes still hollow with grief but sparked with a hint of curiosity. She carried the requested warm towels and a steaming teapot. As her gaze fell upon Grayden and his tiny charges, a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps even the ghost of a smile—crossed her face.

"Grayden, what..."

she began, her voice trailing off as she took in the scene before her.

"I found them outside in some of the rubble,"

he explained, his voice soft. "I should have given them to someone else to care for when I got back to the castle, but..."

He paused, struggling to articulate the inexplicable pull he had felt. "Something made me want to bring them up here."

Selenia moved slowly towards the bed, her eyes fixed on the two small bundles of fur. "I went for a walk in the hall and saw a boy bringing these up here,"

she said, gesturing to the items she carried. "I told him I would take them. I was...curious as to what you were doing."

Grayden's heart clenched at the sound of his sister's voice. It was the most she had spoken in three days, since that fateful battle that had cost them so much. Perhaps, he thought, bringing the kittens here had been the right decision after all.

Moving to sit by the fire, Grayden patted the vacant seat beside him. Selenia joined him, setting down the teapot and towels. Without a word, he handed her the orange and brown kitten, keeping the white one cradled against his chest. Dipping his pinky into the warm milk, he attempted to coax the kitten to drink. When that proved unsuccessful, he retrieved a small hand towel, soaking the corner in milk. Finally, the tiny creature began to suckle, its eyes slowly drifting closed.

For a long while, Grayden and Selenia sat in companionable silence, tending to the kittens. They were united in their grief, in their pain, in the monumental losses they had suffered. Yet in this moment, focused on nurturing these fragile lives, they found a small measure of peace.

It was Selenia who finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "How are we going to get Renya back? I'm surprised you haven't ridden out already."

Grayden stroked the sleeping kitten in his lap, gathering his thoughts before responding. "I want to, trust me,"

he admitted, the words heavy with frustration and despair. "I've gotten on my horse so many times, only to ride back to the stables. To be honest, I don't know how I can get her back. I have no power left, and I'm no match for the Shadow Queen. It only took her a split second to immobilize me."

He swallowed hard, shame coloring his next words. "I knew it was a suicide mission, but I only did it to try and save Renya. But in the end, Cressida got her anyway."

"Grayden, it's not your fault,"

Selenia said firmly, though her voice quavered slightly. "How could you defeat Cressida without any magic? We are at an unfair disadvantage."

"It's not your fault about Jurel, either,"

Grayden countered gently, addressing the guilt he knew his sister carried.

Selenia's lip trembled, and she looked away, but not before Grayden caught sight of the tears streaming down her face. "Yes, it is,"

she insisted, her voice thick with emotion. "If I would have forgiven him, he never would have stuck around. He never would have..."

She trailed off, unable to voice the reality of Jurel's death.

"My sweet one,"

Grayden said, reaching out to take her hand, "he would have stayed no matter what. Even if you had forgiven him and taken him back, I would have asked him to stay and accompany us back to the camp. Either way, he would have met his end."

"I shouldn't have said those things to him,"

Selenia whispered, wiping at her eyes. "My last words were in anger."

"Me too, dear one,"

Grayden admitted, his own guilt weighing heavily upon him. "But he knew we loved him. I'm sure of it."

Selenia nodded, but Grayden could see that the immense guilt still plagued her. He felt it too—the shame of how he had reacted, the regret of banishing Jurel to their winter camp. But as much as they might wish to, they couldn't change the past. Jurel was gone, and Renya was held against her will in the Shadow Realm.

As the evening drew near, Grayden reluctantly left the kittens in Selenia's care and made his way to the council chamber. The weight of his responsibilities as ruler pressed down upon him, a constant reminder of the duties he couldn't neglect, even in his grief.

Phillippe was already there, poring over maps and documents spread across the large oak table. As Grayden entered, his brother looked up, concern etched across his features.

"Grayden,"

Phillippe greeted him, his voice a mixture of relief and worry. "I'm glad you came. We have much to discuss."

Grayden nodded, sinking into a chair across from his brother. "What's the situation?"

he asked, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. It was odd to see Phillippe in charge, but he appreciated his efforts.

Phillippe sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's...complicated. The attack has left people shaken. We've managed to provide temporary shelter for those who lost their homes, but food supplies are running low. And there's more."

He pushed a map towards Grayden, pointing to several marked locations. "We've received reports of increased Shadow Realm activity along our borders. Nothing overt yet, but it's clear Cressida is testing our defenses."

Grayden leaned forward, studying the map intently. The familiar contours of the Snow Lands stretched before him, but now they seemed fraught with danger. "What are our options?"

he asked, his voice low.

"We need to shore up our defenses,"

Phillippe replied, his tone grim. "But with so many of our resources devoted to rebuilding, it won't be easy. We're spread thin, Grayden. Too thin."

Grayden nodded, the familiar pangs of guilt and frustration welling up inside him. "If only I had my magic,"

he muttered, clenching his fists. "I could protect our people, drive back Cressida's forces—"

"Stop,"

Phillippe interrupted, his voice firm but kind. "This isn't your fault, Grayden. We're facing an enemy with powers beyond our comprehension. But that doesn't mean we're helpless."

Grayden looked up at his brother, drawing strength from Phillippe's unwavering support. "You're right,"

he said, straightening in his chair. "So, where do we start?"

For the next few hours, the brothers pored over reports, debated strategies, and formulated plans. They discussed reinforcing the border towns, establishing a network of lookouts to provide early warning of any Shadow Realm incursions, and rationing their remaining resources to ensure they could sustain both the rebuilding efforts and their defensive preparations.

"Grayden,"

Phillippe added, "we need to discuss the possibility of seeking aid from the other realms. The Twilight Kingdom has already offered what assistance they can, but it's not enough. We may need to reach out to the Tidal Kingdom, maybe even the Spring Lands."

"I've actually already done that,"

Grayden said, guilt coming over him once again at the lack of initiative he had shown over the past few weeks. "Triston is reaching out to the Spring Lands."

"That's a good start,"

Phillippe agreed, "United, the realms might stand a chance against Cressida. Divided, we'll fall one by one."

Grayden nodded. "I'll draft some more communications,"

he said. "We'll review them together before sending any envoys."

As they prepared to leave the council chamber, Grayden paused, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Thank you, Phillippe,"

he said softly. "I couldn't do this without you."

Phillippe smiled, clasping Grayden's arm. "We're in this together, Brother. Always have been, always will be."

As Grayden made his way back to his chambers, his mind raced with the plans they'd made. The challenges ahead were daunting, but for the first time since Renya had been taken, he felt a glimmer of hope. They would protect their people, strengthen their defenses, and build the alliances they needed to stand against Cressida.

And through it all, Grayden silently renewed his vow. He would find a way to bring Renya home, to reunite their fractured family, and to restore peace to their lands. The path ahead was uncertain, but with his brother by his side and the strength of their people behind him, Grayden knew they stood a fighting chance.

Entering his room, he found Selenia asleep in the chair by the fire, the kittens curled up in her lap. The sight brought a small smile to his face. In the midst of all the darkness, there was still light to be found.