A few paces away stood a young Leukos, barely more than a boy, his small frame hunched and shaking. His wide eyes were locked on his mother, already haunted with dread.
The screams of the dying rose through the palace. But young Leukos stood silent, as if he’d already lived this horror too many times to react.
Alena stepped closer, blinking back the tears burning her eyes.
“I’m not really here,” young Leukos said at her side. His gaze never left his mother, his voice hollow. “I didn’t arrive until morning. With Pelagios and Theo…” His whisper frayed. “But Mother…”
Alena looked back at the queen, her chest tightening. “She knew it was coming, didn’t she?”
Young Leukos nodded. “She was ready.” His voice cracked. “And I wasn’t there.”
The weight of his guilt rolled over her like a wave. She had always seen Leukos’ strength, his unshakeable resolve, but beneath it all was this moment, this wound that had never healed.
She took his cold hand in hers. “You were just a boy, Leukos. You couldn’t have stopped this.”
His jaw tensed, grief flashing raw in his eyes. “I should’ve been there. I could’ve done something. Father said it was my duty to protect Mother—and everyone I love.”
“If you’d stayed,” she said gently, “you wouldn’t have saved her—you would’ve been lost, too.”
Footsteps thundered in the hall. Alena’s heart clenched as soldiers burst into the room. Leukos whimpered, frozen where he stood.
“Don’t look.” She pulled him into her arms, wrapping herself around his small frame as the men advanced on his mother.
She squeezed her eyes shut, holding him tight. She wished she could shield him from this, but she couldn’t. This was his memory—one he’d been trapped in for years.
A muffled scream cut through the room. Alena’s heart broke—for the terrified boy clinging to her, and for the man who still bore the scars of that night.
She held him tighter. “You grew up to be one of the bravest and strongest warriors I’ve ever met,” she whispered in his ear, her conviction cutting through the chaos. “The massacre will always be a part of you, Leukos, but it doesn’t define you.”
The boy buried his face against her shoulder. “I don’t know how to let it go.”
“You don’t have to,” she murmured, stroking his soft midnight hair. “You’ve carried it alone for so long… but you don’t have to anymore.” She remembered the words her father—Damocles—had once spoken to Katell after Leywani’s departure. “I’m here for you.”
He lifted his head, eyes rimmed red and filled with unfathomable grief, and something like recognition flickered in them. “Alena,” he whispered her name as if the sound alone could anchor him.
She nodded, brushing the tears from his cheeks. “Let’s go back. We still have loved ones to protect.”
The world went white once more.
When Alena opened her eyes, she was still clutching Leukos. His eyes burned with ethereal blue light, his magic radiating in a fierce storm. Around them, icicles whirled in a protective cyclone, jagged frost spreading across the frozen ground.
But the sharp, biting threads of the North Wind’s power were no longer foreign to her. The spiral of ice hovered at the edge of her control, waiting. She flung it towards the gate, sending the tempest spilling into the valley. In moments, the meadow became a crystalline winterscape.
Then the storm was gone.
The camp lay in eerie silence. Nik and Theo stood nearby, relief etched across their faces. Pelagios moved among the survivors—but there were few. In the distance, the hounds’ snarls echoed over the bloodied earth.
Leukos stayed kneeling, his breath ragged. With a sharp inhale, the ice-blue glow drained from his eyes, fading back to familiar obsidian.
“Leukos,” Alena murmured, drawing her hands away.
His head snapped up, a flicker of alarm crossing his face. “The North Wind. He was there.”
Though it wasn’t a question, she answered, “Yes.”
Leukos’ expression hardened, murderous fury replacing the panic. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. I’m fine.”
