The battlefield had gone silent, but Aya could still hear the screams. They clung to the mist that curled along the Tidelands, ghosting between the bodies strewn like discarded banners. Her boots sank into the sodden earth, thick with blood and ash. There was no victory here — only survival, and a promise she intended to collect.
The last embers of battle still smoldered across the marsh as she steadied herself.
The wind howled across the broken marshes, carrying with it the stench of blood, rot, and iron. The waters of the Tidelands, once silver and clean, were blackened now — choked with bodies, armor, and shattered spears.
Aya stood at the edge of the battlefield, alone. Her arm burned from the gash on her shoulder, but she barely felt it. She stared blankly at the aftermath she had caused.
Men lay scattered like broken dolls — some of them no older than she was.
The Western King's banner — a wolf crowned with thorns — still fluttered in the distance, but the other standards were gone. Crushed. Drowned.
Asta rode up to her, his helmet tucked under one arm. He dismounted with a heavy thud, looking at her carefully, as if she might shatter.
"It's over, my Lady," Asta said quietly. "You've taken the Tidelands."
Aya said nothing. She tightened her fingers around the sword hilt until her knuckles whitened.
"You did it," Asta added, as though praise could lighten the corpse-heavy air. "You defeated them. You brought the Tidelanders to their knees."
"I killed them," Aya said, her voice flat.
"You saved all of us," Asta countered. "You did what had to be done."
The marsh bubbled somewhere in the distance, swallowing the fallen into the deep muck. Aya watched, sick to her stomach.
"Gather the wounded and send them all home. No more deaths tonight," she said finally, her words hollow. She gestured towards the dead. "These people died with honor. Burn the bodies. No one gets left for the crows. "
"And you, Lady Aya?"
Aya turned toward the dark outline of Vetasta rising over the hills — her father's keep, her brothers trapped within its gates and stone walls.
"I'm going home."
By the time she crossed the gates that separated the Northern and Western Kingdoms, the blood on her person had dried, but her rage had not. She continued to ride through the gates, the fields, and the quiet night.
The stone halls of Vetasta's keep were colder than the fields outside, even in spring. Aya's boots left wet prints across the black slate as she rushed inside, her cloak torn and heavy with blood — some hers, most not.
The great doors of the King's Hall groaned open.
Inside, King Ive sat upon his ironwood throne, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other cradling a goblet of wine. By the hearth, his new consort trembled, the tiny bundle of her brother Juno swaddled tightly in her arms.
"Your Highness, your daughter is here. Please... the baby," the consort whispered, her voice shaking.
Aya stepped forward, ignoring the sting in her shoulder where an arrow had grazed her. Her voice, however, was steady as steel. "I've come for Juno. I've done what you asked. The Tidelands are suppressed. Please give him back to me."
The King leaned forward, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "You think you can demand things of me, Aya? I say when—"
"You gave me your word. Are the words of the Northern King fickle?" Aya cut in sharply.
Silence fell. A fire crackled somewhere deep in the hearth.
King Ive chuckled, low and dangerous. "You're getting bolder."
"You gave me your word," she repeated, each word deliberate, each syllable a blade.
The King stood, towering over her, the scent of blood and smoke clinging to his furs. "And you have lives to take, Daughter."
Asta, Aya's cousin, pushed into the room, brushing past the stunned guards. "My King, you have to let Lady Aya rest," he urged, his voice more desperate now. "She has—"
The King waved a lazy hand, dismissing them both. "Take the brat then. He's of little use to me yet."
The nervous consort practically stumbled into Aya's arms, pressing the tiny warm bundle against her chest. "He is safe, my Lady," she whispered.
"Thank you," she managed to choke out the words before abruptly turning away and fleeing from the hall.
"Give him to me. You're bleeding. You need a healer—" Asta hurried after his sixteen-year-old cousin, worry etched on his face.
Aya staggered but caught herself. "Where are the rest of my brothers? Where are our cousins?" she demanded.
"They're safe, my Lady. Thanks to you," Asta said, reaching to steady her.
"You don't mean that."
"What are you saying, Lady Aya?"
Aya clutched Juno tighter to her chest. His small breath warmed her ruined armor. "It's also thanks to me that many people are dead, Asta."
"You only followed the King's orders, my Lady."
"That doesn't make it better."
Blood tinged the edge of her cloak. The floor seemed to ripple, and Aya blinked hard, willing herself to stay standing.
"We have to get someone to take a look at your shoulder," Asta said gently. "Your eldest brother is watching over everyone."
Aya forced a broken smile. "I'm not sure how long I can keep this up, Asta. His madness knows no bounds. One day, that man is going to kill us all."
Asta lowered his head, nodding silently at her words. He knew exactly who she meant as he listened to her.
"He killed my mother, my mother's children, his wives, my eldest brother's wife and child. He's a kin-slayer. A monster. Who's to say he won't do it again?"
"I can't give you any assurance, my Lady," Asta whispered.
"I know," Aya nodded at him.
Aya staggered down the hall, the cold seeping into her bones despite the fire burning in her heart.
Asta said nothing more as he followed. In the heavy silence, Aya could hear the low moan of the wind outside — the North itself mourning.
Aya looked down at her hands, still crusted with blood, still trembling though she had forced them steady before the King, still holding her baby brother. There would be more battles. More orders. More betrayals.
In the North, it never ended.
"It only happens in the North," she whispered, almost too softly for Asta to hear. And somewhere deep inside her, something colder than winter began to harden.