Page 181 of She Who Was Severed

Not until I see her.

Not until I know she’s still—

There.

A shimmer catches my eye. A shape, just visible, standing on a broken tower. She’s high above the others. A silhouette in fractured daylight.

Freya.

Even from this far, I know it’s her. The way she holds her spine. The way the wind moves like it’s been waiting for her permission.

The Chain is out. I see it too—black and silver, curled like a sigil that’s already passed judgment. It doesn’t strike. It doesn’t lash. It watches.

She raises her arm.

She’s speaking.

And the city listens.

A breath lodges behind my ribs and doesn’t leave.

I’ve seen battlefields. I’ve seen what it looks like when cities fall and men pretend they’re gods. I’ve watched my father break a kingdom by strategy alone.

But I’ve never seen what it looks like when someone like her rises.

Not until now.

And I’m not close enough.

She’s alone at the center of it. No shield. No reinforcements. No safety net.

Just truth in her mouth and the weight of the unwanted behind her.

I push the dragon harder.

The harness strains. My hands go numb. Doesn’t matter.

We have to close the distance. I have to get to her before the lines collide. Before someone sees her standing alone and decides to silence the girl who speaks too clearly.

My dragon roars once—not loud. Not wild.

Controlled. Precise.

But it burns in the air like a vow.

The first ranks of soldiers raise their shields. The tempo changes. They know something’s coming. Good.

Let them feel it.

Let them wonder what fire tastes like when it’s not merciful.

But my eyes stay locked on her.

I don’t pray. Haven’t in years. Don’t believe in mercy, or myth, or fate.

But I whisper her name like it’s all three.

“Freya…”