“We return to the city,” Cassius said, his voice a blade that severed the bruised silence.

The quiet that followed was heavier still. Every gaze, except for that of a young elf still frantically scanning the horizon for the next horror, fell to the scorched earth. Our journey back was a funeral march, the weight of the fight pressing down on our shoulders with every step. When we reached the activation stone embedded in the ground, Cassius spoke the words of passage. The stone’s surface shimmered, rippling like a pool of mercury before stretching into a luminous archway. A cool, ozone-scented breeze washed over us as we stepped through. Behind us, the portal snapped shut, severing us from the outside world.

The cobblestone streets of Aelindoria were eerily empty, but a single, thin cry of a child drifted on the wind, a sound that found an immediate echo in the hollow ache that bloomed in my chest. Cassius and I had fought to bring our people home, fantasizing about a reunion of unbridled joy, only to have that dream ripped to shreds.

A bitter consolation settled in my mind: Now they will have to believe our warning. But how would they greet the news?

A curtain twitched in a high window. An elf peeked out, their face a pale moon in the twilight. “They are back!” the elf shouted, their voice cracking with a mixture of hope and fear. “They are back!”

A chorus of groaning hinges echoed through the stone city as doors were unbarred. The child’s cry subsided, replaced by the soft, hesitant shuffling of feet. Our people emerged from the shadows of their homes, a tide of silver hair and wide eyes flowing toward us in the main square.

As I surveyed the gathering crowd, I saw a mosaic of grief. Faces emerged from the gloom—some streaked with tears of relief, others pale with terror, a few drawn into grim, questioning lines. The warriors who had fought the creature alongside us were scattered among them, their expressions just as stark. Hushed whispers rustled through the streets until every eye—hundreds of them—fell upon Cassius and me. A cold knot tightened in my gut. It wasn’t rejection I feared, but inaction.

“My people!” Cassius’s voice boomed, imbued with a king’s authority that silenced the murmurs instantly. The world fell so quiet I could hear a lone bird singing its evening song from a distant spire. “I know the homecoming you expected. I know the triumph that was stolen from us today. But do not let despair take root in your hearts. We are home. And we are together.”

He paused, his words sinking into the crowd like stones into a deep well. “I wish I bore better news. But there is someone you must know.” Cassius gestured to me, his expression unyielding. “This is Princess Thalia. One day, she will be your queen. Her mother was Syanna Lorendel.”

A collective, sharp intake of breath was the only reply. The air grew thick with unspoken questions.

“I ask you to show her the same respect you would show me,” Cassius continued into the charged stillness. “She carries a warning that every one of us must hear.”

I took a steadying breath and stepped forward. Every eye was a physical weight, studying me, judging me. I drew my shoulders back, folded my hands before me, and met their collective stare.

My voice clear and unwavering. “An ancient evil will be unleashed. K’tthar will rise again if we do not stop him.”

“K’tthar?” an elf shouted from the crowd. “That’s a nursery tale to frighten children! He was sealed away millennia ago!”

“And to humans, elves are just tales,” I retorted, my words striking him silent. “But he is real. And he is returning because of King Zylairs, is working to summon him.”

“See!” another elf spat, pointing an accusatory finger. “The humans and their depravity! Why should we shed our blood for them?” Cassius shot the elf a glare that could have frozen fire.

I held up a hand before he could speak, a cold fire kindling within me. “Not all humans are like him,” I said, my voice pleading. “There are good people—brave, kind people who fight for others.”

A few cruel snickers cut through the tension. “Like his daughter!” a voice sneered from the back. “The selfish puppet who fell from grace! Only a fool would believe you.”

I saw an elder I’d met before, his eyes wide with shock. My patience frayed. I let my gaze sweep over the crowd, my voice dropping to a dangerously low pitch. “You speak of the princess as if you know her. You cling to rumors whispered by her enemies. But I will not be interrupted again.” I let the silence hang, taut and absolute, before I lifted my chin.

“My name is Thalia Cevraen. Daughter of King Zylair Cevraen.”

A wave of shocked gasps and frantic whispers rippled through the square, but my voice rose above it, ringing with conviction. “He and all who follow him must be stopped. If he succeeds, it is not just the human world that will burn—our entire world will be turned to ash. I am asking for your strength. We must face this together.”

Their eyes darted between me and Cassius, a silent debate raging on a hundred faces.

“Trust is not a thing I can command,” I said, my voice resonating in the quiet that followed. “But you can trust the evidence of your own eyes. Glen’s Crossing is a smoldering ruin. That abomination we fought was not of this world—it was a herald of what is to come. More towns will fall. More innocents will die. This is no longer a human war or an elven war. It is a war for the world.”

I fell silent, clenching my fists to still their trembling. Cassius stood like a statue at my side, his expression unreadable, letting the weight of my words settle.

Then, a single, firm voice cut through the crushing silence. It was Bhaera. “I will follow King Cassius and Princess Thalia.”

Paitelia stepped forward next, her voice clear. “As will I. I trust the princess.”

One of the elders, his face a mask of grim resolve, moved to join them. “We trust our king,” he said, his voice gravelly with age but steady with conviction. “And we trust his judgment. We will stand with you.”

The unified hostility of the crowd fractured. I held my breath as it splintered into a hundred private debates whispered on the cobblestones. A warrior I didn’t know met my eyes and gave a grim, sharp nod. A woman clutched her partner’s arm, her face pale, but she didn’t look away. The dam of their fear had not broken, but cracks were spreading through it. A low murmur of resolve began, growing steadily as more voices joined in—a rising chorus of a people choosing to be united.

Relief, sharp and dizzying, threatened to buckle my knees. A soft, genuine smile touched my lips. “Thank you,” I breathed, bowing my head.

Cassius dipped his own head in gratitude before addressing his people. “The weight of this day is heavy,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding. “This is not the homecoming any of us wished for. But the immediate danger has passed. Return to your homes. Hold your families. Find peace where you can.”

He scanned the faces before him, his gaze lingering on the warriors. “For those who will fight, join us in the training yard tomorrow at high noon.” His voice softened, but lost none of its strength. “For the rest of you, do not think your role is any less vital. This city will need healers, farmers, and artisans. We will all have a part to play.” He paused, letting his final words settle over them like a mantle.

“For today, we are home. Cherish it. For tomorrow, we fight to keep it.”