Page 62 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

“ P arker Highfield. Simone Drew.”

The general reads the names of the soldiers killed in action over the past few days. Every two weeks, they hold a ceremony to honour the fallen. It makes me sick how frequently that has to happen here. How death has just become part of their schedule, a date on the calendar.

We’ve lost twenty percent of the Elite squad on this mission, devastating numbers.

Since the bodies were burned straight after the battles, we gather around an empty grave-shaped hole in the earth. A sol flower is thrown in for every name read aloud, pink and yellow petals fluttering as they fall.

The process is as devastating as it is cathartic.

“Jerome Johnson.”

Willa’s breath catches at the sound of her father’s name, but she takes several steady steps forward.

She drops the sol flower she’s been holding onto so tightly that the stem is bent, into the ground.

Her eyes stay low as she walks back to Deacon, but she doesn’t crumble.

She wipes the tears from her cheeks, straightens her spine, and turns to face the pit once more.

“They gave their lives so others might live in peace. May the Gods receive them with honour, and may Admira bless their souls with eternal light, love, and rest. They will not be forgotten.”

The general’s closing words strike something deep in my chest.

These innocent people are dying for Aladria.

They’re dying to protect my kingdom.

Cael was wrong for sending me here. It hasn’t broken me like he hoped, and it certainly hasn’t killed me.

No, it’s made me stronger.

When I step foot back on castle grounds, my entire being will be focused on one thing: saving Aladria and its people from Dagan. From the tyrant who rules Dunmere and slaughters the innocent to feed his own greed.

And if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll watch him take his final breath for what he’s done.

“Oh yes, praise be to Admira.”

The voice drips with mockery, emerging from behind a tree as the Dunmere leader from the other day steps out.

We all reach for our weapons in unison, the hiss of daggers and swords drawing through the air. Deacon pushes Willa behind him.

The man rolls his eyes. “Come now, no need for dramatics—it’s only little old me.” His deep purple robe flares as he lifts his hands to either side. “I realise I was rather rude the other night. Allow me to reintroduce myself. I’m Xavier Morgan, Gifted Retriever for Dunmere.”

He bows in an exaggerated flourish, mocking us with his easy confidence and complete lack of fear. The pride he has in his title makes my teeth grind.

“I don’t give two flying fucks who you are. I don’t need your name to kill you,” the general growls, stepping forward.

Xavier only chuckles. “Ah, but I think you should, General Lucian Lyon . I’ve taken the time to learn all about you.”

His eyes drift across the group, sharp and calculating, until they land on Willa over Deacon’s shoulder.

“Especially you, Willa Johnson. Wind wielder. Daughter of Jerome Johnson.” His lips twist into a pout of mock sympathy. “So very sorry about what happened to Daddy dearest, my love.”

Willa snarls and lunges, but Deacon catches her, wrapping his arms tight around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides.

As she thrashes in his hold, another soldier steps forward and clamps a steel mask across her mouth, stopping her from using her power.

She glares at him with such venom that he flinches.

Xavier throws his head back and laughs, the sound high and manic. Then, his gaze shifts.

“Deacon Hart. Son of the late General Hadrik Hart and the beautiful Dalia Hart. Generally good-natured, castle heartthrob.”

He glances back at Willa. “Does Willa know how many broken hearts you’ve left behind?”

Deacon doesn’t flinch. He just holds Willa tighter, his muscles straining as she fights to break free.

Xavier’s tone darkens. “You see, my king has taken… a special interest in your little group. He’s asked me to investigate something.”

He taps his lip thoughtfully, scanning us again.

“I’ll give you something to fucking investigate,” Lucian snarls, and then he’s airborne, sword drawn, a blur of motion flying straight toward Xavier. The blade arcs down with precision, aiming to cleave his head clean from his neck—

But the general freezes midair.

His muscles tremble violently, held in place by an unseen force. Then, from behind another tree, a boy steps into view. He can’t be older than fourteen. His arms raised in the general’s direction. His eyes are distant, unfocused, like he doesn’t even know he’s here.

“You didn’t think I came alone, did you?” Xavier’s voice is calm, almost disappointed. “Tsk, General. I expected more from you. ”

He looks toward the boy. “Oliver.”

The name is a command.

The boy’s arms slam stiffly to his sides, and the general detonates.

One moment, Lucian is suspended in the air. The next, there’s a sickening crack-pop , like bone snapping beneath pressure, then he’s torn apart in a wet, silent explosion of blood and flesh, his body shredded into a mist of gore. The nearest soldiers stagger back, soaked in the aftermath.

Stone steps up beside me, his arm brushing mine, offering support but also protection. I can feel the tension radiating off him, his entire body drawn taut like a bowstring.

“Let that be a warning,” Xavier says, gesturing to the puddle of gore that was once a man. “Oliver here is a powerful telekinetic, one of the strongest Gifted we’ve ever seen. And he’s trained to protect me.”

No one speaks. We stand frozen, waiting for his next move, holding our breath.

“You see, my king believes you’re hiding more like Willa. More people who shouldn’t be wasting their talents on a losing kingdom. And he’s asked me, ever so kindly, to come and collect.”

I bite my tongue. The urge to step forward as the rightful leader of Aladria pulses through me like a second heartbeat. But I can’t act too soon. I have to bide my time and wait for the right moment. If I move now, all the secrecy, all the planning, all the hiding—it will have been for nothing.

“So,” Xavier drawls, sweeping his gaze across us, “we can do this the easy way…”

He pauses, his eyes gleaming. “Or we can do this the hard way.”

He snaps his fingers toward Oliver. Two soldiers rise into the air, their bodies lifted like ragdolls. They float there, backs rigid, limbs stiff, painfully locked in place. Only their eyes flicker, wide with terror.

“If anyone here is hiding a secret power,” Xavier says, crooking his fingers to beckon, “now is your moment to step forward.”

No one moves.

He sighs, disappointed. “Hm. Oliver.”

The boy doesn’t blink. The soldiers are eviscerated in an instant. Shredded midair.

A female soldier screams, raw and piercing. The sound is like her soul is being torn apart.

“No!” she wails.

Before she can take a single step toward Xavier, Oliver’s hand rises.

She’s ripped to pieces before she even finishes her scream.

So much death, so much horror. All in the space of five minutes.

“I see you’ve all chosen the hard way. Such a shame.”

Behind him, I hear the distant rumble of carriage wheels grinding over packed earth. A door snaps shut. I shift closer to Stone, bracing myself for whatever’s coming next.

Footsteps follow. Light. Measured.

I freeze, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

And then, she crests the ridge.

The world narrows. Time halts.

Hair pinned with gold. Shoulders square. A face I haven’t seen in four years.

My mother.

My heart stutters once, then slams into a gallop.

“The queen.”

“Gods, she’s alive.”

Whispers and gasps ripple through the soldiers like wind through dry leaves.

“Send a missive immediately. The Light has arrived at Hangar, we have her in our sights.” An officer issues the order in a hushed tone, and a soldier darts toward the outpost to carry it out .

The words from the missive I found in Carter’s room echo in my mind.

“ The Light drawing in.”

It was about her, my mother.

My starved eyes drink her in, from the stained pink heels that once walked marble halls, to the wild, frizzy brown curls that now crown her head in a chaotic halo, sections pinned back with no style.

So different from the sleek bun she always wore.

She’s thinner, too thin. Her skin hangs sallow and drawn, making her appear far older than I remember.

At her side, a soldier grips her arm far too tightly. She doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, just like Oliver, she doesn’t seem to notice anything. Her eyes are vacant, unfocused, lost. Her lips move, whispering words no one can hear. Her hands twist and twine at her front, gesturing as if trying to explain something to someone who isn’t there.

So much like Father.

The madness has taken her too.

“Liora, you’ve arrived.”

Her eyes flinch toward Xavier at the sound of her name, but there’s no recognition. She continues her whispered discussion with the air. Xavier rolls his eyes.

“Ever the conversationalist, this one.”

He jabs a thumb back toward her like he’s delivering the punchline of a bad joke, laughing to himself.

He’s mocking her.

And there’s nothing I can do.

Her hollow expression cuts deeper than any blade. My once-strong, radiant mother is gone.

All those nights, I prayed to see her again… and now that I have, I know this image will haunt my nightmares forever .

“Liora here is my secret weapon,” Xavier whispers dramatically to us. “Hey, Queenie, why don’t you show them what you can do?”

The command ripples through her like a jolt. Her imaginary conversation halts, her glazed eyes locking onto us now, empty, yet eerily focused. And in that moment, I feel something I never thought I’d feel toward my mother.

Fear.

Her gaze sweeps over the group, sharp and clinical, her body unnaturally still. Ping. Ping. Ping. Her eyes land on each face in turn, then stop.

She stares at a soldier. His own eyes widen in horror.

“Super strength,” she says flatly, voice devoid of emotion.