The eastern provinces unfurled before them like a tapestry—rolling foothills rising gradually toward the jagged silhouette of the Varren Mountains. Four days of hard riding had brought Elaine and Riona to the edge of Lord Varren's domain, each mile drawing them closer to the confrontation that awaited.

  They made camp in a small clearing sheltered by ancient pines, their branches providing natural concealment. Riona tended the horses while Elaine gathered firewood, their routine established through days of travel together. They spoke little, each woman occupied with her own thoughts and preparations.

  "We'll reach the fortress by midday tomorrow," Riona said as they ate a simple meal of dried meat and hard bread. The captain's gaze lingered on the distant mountain where faint lights marked the location of Varren's stronghold. "You should understand what we're facing."

  Elaine said nothing, her focus on the mountain unwavering.

  "It's not just a fortress," Riona continued, reaching for her waterskin. "It's a city carved into the mountain itself. Three massive defensive rings, each with its own garrison. Lord Varren commands approximately two thousand armed men—professional soldiers, not conscripts or militia."

  Still, Elaine remained silent, her fingers absently tracing the copper wire of Sarah's pendant.

  "Beyond the military presence, there are roughly twenty thousand civilians living within the mountain city. Families, craftsmen, merchants, farmers who work the terraced fields—entire generations who have never lived anywhere else." Riona's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a simple stronghold we're approaching. It's one of the largest settlements in the eastern provinces."

  "I understand," Elaine replied, her voice quiet but clear in the night air.

  "Do you?" Riona challenged. "Because you haven't asked a single question about the defenses, garrison placements, or civilian districts. Most would consider this information essential for planning an approach against such overwhelming numbers."

  "I don't need to plan an approach," Elaine replied.

  "Then what exactly do you intend to do?" Riona asked, an edge of frustration creeping into her tone. "I've witnessed your abilities firsthand at Riverside, but even you can't simply walk through an armed city of thousands."

  Elaine's gaze shifted from the mountain to meet Riona's eyes directly. "I can and I will. We will walk through the gate, kill every soldier, kill the Varren line, and leave."

  The simplicity of the statement hung in the air between them. No elaborate strategy, no tactical considerations—just the direct application of overwhelming force.

  Riona's expression tightened, fingers tensing around her waterskin. "Just like that."

  "Just like that," Elaine confirmed.

  "Two thousand armed men," Riona emphasized. "In a fortress city built into a mountain. With defensive positions refined over generations. With narrow passages where dozens can hold against hundreds."

  A ghost of a smile touched Elaine's lips. "You've seen what I can do."

  "I've seen you kill fifty men," Riona countered. "This is forty times that number."

  "I makes no difference," Elaine said, her voice carrying no heat, only certainty.

  Riona exhaled slowly, setting aside her waterskin. "The King sent me to bear witness, not to judge. But I would be remiss in my duty if I didn't ask: are you certain this is what you want? Complete annihilation leaves no room for mercy or justice—especially at this scale."

  "Justice?" Elaine's voice carried a profound weariness. "There is no justice that can return what was taken. Sarah wanted to be a healer. Mary opened her home to a stranger. James tried to make peace. All gone now. Ashes." Her fingers closed around the pendant. "This isn't about justice. It's about vengeance."

  "Then I will bear witness to your vengeance," Riona said quietly. "As I was commanded."

  They spoke little after that, each woman preparing for sleep in her own way. Riona checked her weapons one final time, the familiar ritual of a soldier before battle. Elaine sat cross-legged near the fire's dying embers, her eyes closed, her breathing deep and measured—not sleeping, but gathering herself for what lay ahead.

  Morning brought clear skies and a cooling breeze from the mountain. They broke camp efficiently, leaving no trace of their presence. The horses seemed to sense their riders' tension, ears flicking nervously as they were saddled.

  "The main approach road is well-maintained," Riona said as they mounted. "Lord Varren's wealth comes from trade as much as agriculture. The outer gates will be open for merchant caravans and regular traffic."

  Elaine nodded, her gaze already fixed on the path ahead. "Good."

  They rode in silence as the sun climbed higher, the massive fortress-city gradually revealing itself. Built directly into the mountainside, Varren's domain was a marvel of engineering and natural defense. Sheer cliffs protected three sides, while the fourth faced the approaching road with three concentric walls of native stone, each higher and thicker than the one before it. Towers stood at regular intervals, their heights providing commanding views of the surrounding terrain. Even from a distance, the movement of guards was visible along the battlements.

  As they drew closer, the scale became more apparent. What had appeared as simple walls from afar revealed themselves as complex defensive structures, with gatehouses the size of small keeps, murder holes, defensive balconies, and reinforced positions for archers and siege defense.

  The road grew steeper, winding back and forth across the mountain's face in broad switchbacks. They passed several outpost checkpoints where Varren's scouts monitored approaching traffic. None challenged them directly—two women travelers, one in the practical leathers of a mercenary, the other in simple traveling clothes, warranted only passing glances among the steady stream of merchants and travelers.

  "They're expecting an army if they're expecting trouble at all," Riona observed quietly. "Not two women on horseback."

  By midday, they reached the outermost approach to the main gate. Here, the road widened into a broad plaza filled with travelers, merchants, and farmers waiting for entry into the mountain city. Caravans with goods from the western provinces, farmers bringing produce from nearby valleys, craftsmen returning from trade journeys—all formed a colorful, chaotic crowd before the massive gates.

  The outer gate stood open, its iron-reinforced doors pulled back to reveal a stone passage wide enough for three wagons to pass side by side. Guards in Varren's green and gold colors managed the flow of traffic, inspecting cargoes and questioning travelers about their business.

  "Market day," Riona observed. "The entire lower level will be crowded with traders and civilians."

  They joined the queue of travelers, the normality of the scene striking in its contrast to their purpose. A farmer haggled with a guard over the inspection fee for his produce. Merchants discussed prices while waiting their turn. Children darted between wagons, playing chase games despite parents' admonishments to stay close.

  Ordinary life, continuing despite the shadow of treason. Despite the ashes of Riverside.

  When their turn came, a guard approached with the bored efficiency of someone who had performed the same task countless times. "State your business," he demanded, barely glancing up from his ledger.

  Elaine met his gaze steadily. "I am Elaine of Riverside."

  The words hung in the air for a heartbeat. The guard's expression shifted from boredom to confusion, then to dawning recognition as the name connected with recent events. His hand moved to his sword hilt.

  "Sound the alarm!" he shouted, backpedaling. "It's her! The healer who killed—"

  His words ended abruptly as Elaine's hand shot forward, fingers punching through armor and flesh with terrible efficiency. Blood sprayed across the checkpoint ledger as the guard collapsed.

  The plaza erupted into chaos. Civilians scattered, abandoning carts and belongings in their desperate flight from the checkpoint. Guards shouted warnings, drawing weapons as they rushed forward. The alarm bell began to toll, its frantic rhythm echoing across the mountain.

  Elaine moved with fluid precision, each step measured, each strike purposeful. A guard charged with raised sword; she sidestepped and drove her hand through his chest. Two more attacked simultaneously; she caught their blades with bare hands, shattered the steel, and left broken bodies in her wake.

  Blood spattered her clothing, her face, her hair—transforming her from traveler to something otherworldly. A crimson figure advancing inexorably through the fortress gate.

  Riona followed at a distance, her own sword drawn but unused. Her role was witness, not participant, though her trained eyes missed nothing. She watched as Elaine moved through the outer gate's defenders—twelve guards stationed at the checkpoint, then twenty more who rushed from the gatehouse above. None lasted more than seconds against Elaine's methodical advance.

  Within minutes, the outer gate stood undefended, its cobblestones slick with blood, bodies sprawled where they had fallen. Civilians fled in panic, their screams echoing against stone walls as they sought escape from the slaughter.

  Elaine paused, surveying the carnage with cold detachment. Then, without a word, she continued forward, entering the outer ring of the fortress-city.

  * * *

  The outer ring of Varren's domain served primarily as a commercial and civilian district. Broad streets lined with shops and market stalls formed a bustling center of trade during normal times. Now, those same streets became channels of panic as word of the slaughter at the gate spread ahead of Elaine's advance.

  Civilians scattered before her, their terrified cries creating a wave of chaos that rippled through the crowded streets. Merchants abandoned their goods, families grabbed children and fled toward the upper levels of the city, the elderly were trampled in the rush to escape.

  "Make way! Make way for the city guard!" a voice shouted above the din.

  A full company of soldiers—fifty men in formation—pushed through the panicked crowd, their officer bellowing orders as they formed a defensive line across the main thoroughfare. Shields locked together, spears extended in a bristling wall of steel.

  "Halt in the name of Lord Varren!" the captain commanded, his voice carrying the authority of one accustomed to immediate obedience.

  Elaine continued her steady advance, her blood-spattered figure drawing closer to their formation. Behind her, a trail of broken bodies marked her path through the outer gate's defenders.

  "Last warning!" the captain shouted. "Stand down or—"

  Elaine reached their line. The first spear shattered against her chest, its metal tip crumpling like paper. The second she grabbed and used to impale its wielder through his own shield. Then she was among them, moving through their formation with the same terrible efficiency she had displayed at the gate.

  What followed was not combat in any meaningful sense. It was execution—methodical, relentless, absolute. Shields provided no defense. Armor might as well have been parchment. Training and discipline, useless against power that defied human limitation.

  Fifty men fell in less than a minute, their bodies collapsing in heaps of broken armor and splintered weapons. Blood ran in small rivers between the cobblestones, pooling in the street's central drain.

  From her position at the edge of the conflict, Riona watched with growing unease. She had witnessed Elaine's capabilities at Riverside, had seen fifty men fall before her. But this was different—not just in scale, but in the mechanical precision with which Elaine dispatched her opponents. No hesitation, no visible emotion—just the systematic application of overwhelming force.

  Alarm bells rang throughout the fortress-city now, their urgent pealing creating a cacophony that echoed against stone walls. Civilians who had not fled the district barricaded themselves in shops and homes, peering through shuttered windows at the blood-soaked figure advancing through their streets.

  "Fall back to the second gate! Fall back!" came shouts from ahead, where another group of soldiers attempted to organize a retreat to stronger defensive positions.

  Elaine followed, her pace unhurried but relentless. She moved like a force of nature—not rushing, not hesitating, simply proceeding forward with inevitable purpose. More guards appeared at intersections, firing arrows that she ignored or caught and discarded like annoying insects. Small groups attempted to ambush her from side streets, only to join the growing number of corpses littering her path.

  The main street ended at a second massive gate—the entrance to the middle ring of the fortress-city. Unlike the outer gate, which stood open during daylight hours, this one remained closed except for authorized passage. Now it was sealed completely, its iron-bound doors secured against the threat advancing toward it.

  "Archers ready!" came a command from the battlements above.

  A hundred bows bent in unison, their arrows trained on the blood-covered figure approaching the gate. At a shouted command, they loosed, the air filling with the deadly hiss of hundreds of shafts descending.

  Elaine didn't break stride. Most arrows bounced harmlessly off her body or the cobblestones around her. Those that should have found vulnerable targets—eyes, throat, joints—she caught or deflected with casual ease.

  "Again!" the commander ordered, his voice carrying the first edge of desperation.

  A second volley. A third. The street around Elaine became littered with broken arrows, yet she continued forward, untouched and unhurried.

  When she reached the closed gate, she placed her palms against the massive wooden doors. For a moment, she stood motionless, her blood-covered form tiny against the towering structure. Then she pushed.

  Ancient wood groaned. Iron reinforcements shrieked in protest. The massive hinges, designed to withstand battering rams and siege engines, twisted and tore from their stone housings. With a thunderous crash, the gate collapsed inward, crushing the defenders who had taken position behind it.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Beyond lay the middle ring—heart of Varren's military strength.

  * * *

  The middle ring housed the primary barracks, training grounds, and armories of Varren's forces. Here, over a thousand soldiers lived and trained in normal times, maintaining the fighting force that had secured the lord's power for generations.

  Now, those forces scrambled to mount a defense against an enemy unlike any they had faced before.

  As Elaine stepped through the shattered gate, she faced a sight that would have given pause to even the most seasoned military commander. The broad central plaza of the middle ring had been transformed into a killing ground. Hundreds of soldiers stood in rigid formation, their armor gleaming in the midday sun. Archers positioned on rooftops and balconies, bows drawn and ready. Cavalry mounted on armored horses, lances couched for charge.

  The entirety of Varren's military might, assembled to face a single blood-covered woman.

  At the center of the plaza, a man in ornate armor sat astride a massive black warhorse. His helmet bore the colors and crest of the garrison commander—Lord Varren's most trusted military advisor and the architect of the Riverside massacre.

  "You face the full might of House Varren," he called, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent plaza. "Surrender now, and your death will be quick."

  Elaine's response was to simply continue walking forward.

  "So be it," the commander said. He raised his sword. "For Lord Varren and the honor of our house! Attack!"

  What followed would be described by Riona in her official report as "not a battle, but a butchery." The full might of Varren's garrison—expert soldiers trained from childhood, veterans of border conflicts and provincial wars, men who had spent their lives mastering the art of combat—met an adversary that made all that entirely meaningless.

  Cavalry charges broke against Elaine like waves against stone. Men and horses alike fell broken before her, their charge transforming instantly from organized attack to bloody chaos. Infantry formations met the same fate—shields shattered, weapons broken, armor punctured as if made of cloth.

  Elaine moved through their ranks, each motion precise, each strike fatal or beyond crippling. She did not rush, did not waste energy, did not deviate from her terrible purpose. Blood soaked her clothing, covered her skin, dripped from her hair—yet still she advanced, an unstoppable crimson tide flowing through the plaza.

  Bodies piled around her, creating grotesque heaps that soldiers had to climb over to reach her. The wounded screamed, the dying gasped, and through it all, Elaine continued her implacable advance toward the garrison commander.

  From the shadow of the shattered gate, Riona watched in silent horror. She had seen battlefield slaughter before, had participated in sieges and assaults where hundreds died. But never had she witnessed such terrible devastation.

  The garrison commander, seeing his forces decimated around him, finally spurred his horse forward in a desperate charge. His sword—a masterwork of renowned swordsmith—swept down in a perfect arc toward Elaine's head.

  She caught the blade in her bare hand. Metal that had cut through armor and flesh for decades stopped instantly, vibrating with the force of impact. Then, with a quick twist of her wrist, she shattered it like glass.

  The commander had no time to register shock before Elaine's other hand shot upward, punching through his ornate breastplate and out through his back in a shower of blood and shattered armor. He hung suspended for a moment, impaled on her arm, before she withdrew it, letting his lifeless body collapse to the ground.

  His fall broke whatever remained of the garrison's resolve. Soldiers scattered, some fleeing toward the inner ring, others throwing down weapons in surrender, still others simply standing frozen, unable to process the horror they had witnessed.

  Elaine ignored them all, continuing her measured advance toward the inner gate—the final barrier between her and Lord Varren himself.

  As she walked, the sun reached its zenith, casting her shadow directly beneath her. Three hours had passed since she had spoken her name at the outer gate. In that time, the mighty garrison of House Varren had been reduced to broken bodies and shattered morale.

  Riona picked her way carefully across the blood-soaked plaza, stepping over and around the carnage. Hundreds of bodies lay where they had fallen, creating a grotesque landscape of death. The stench of blood and voided bowels filled the air, attracting flies that had already begun to gather despite the mountain's cool temperatures.

  "You're letting some flee," she observed as she reached Elaine's side. Indeed, many soldiers had dropped their weapons and run, racing toward side passages or through the open archways leading to barracks and storehouses.

  "They won't get far," Elaine replied without breaking stride. "I'll find them after I deal with Varren. I'll find them all."

  The inner gate loomed before them—smaller than the previous barriers but more ornate, its surface carved with the history and lineage of House Varren. Unlike the middle gate, this one stood partially open, as if its defenders had begun to flee before securing it.

  Beyond lay the inner ring—the private domain of Lord Varren and his family.

  * * *

  The inner ring presented a stark contrast to the military efficiency of the middle ring or the commercial bustle of the outer district. Here, wealth and privilege were on display in every detail—gardens with exotic plants, fountains flowing with clean mountain water, statues and artwork commissioned from master craftsmen throughout the kingdom.

  The personal residence of House Varren rose at the center, a mansion built into the very heart of the mountain. Its massive entrance doors stood closed, guarded by the elite household troops in ceremonial but functional armor.

  As Elaine approached, these final defenders formed a tight semicircle before the entrance—thirty men selected for both loyalty and skill, the personal bodyguards of Lord Varren himself.

  These final defenders fought with more skill and coordination than any who had come before them. They moved as a single unit, covering each other's vulnerabilities, attacking in precisely timed sequences refined through years of training together.

  It made no difference.

  Within minutes, their broken bodies lay scattered across the ornate tiles of the entrance courtyard. Blood stained the decorative mosaics and splashed across carved reliefs depicting the glorious history of House Varren.

  Elaine approached the massive entrance doors—not a fortress gate, but the grand entrance to a noble residence. Carved from ancient heartwood and inlaid with precious metals, they were designed to impress visitors with the wealth and power of the house.

  Like the gates before them, they provided no meaningful barrier. A single push, and they crashed inward, revealing the grand hall beyond.

  Lord Varren sat upon his massive throne of carved stone that had seated generations of his family. A heavy man in his fifties, his once-handsome face had hardened with grief and rage over the years since his son's death. His remaining children—two sons and a daughter—stood nearby, their expressions a mixture of fear and defiance.

  The great hall fell silent as Elaine entered. Her approach was unhurried, deliberate—each footstep leaving a crimson imprint on the polished stone floor. Blood saturated her clothing, dripped from her fingertips, had dried in patches on her skin and hair.

  Varren's eyes widened fractionally—the only sign of fear he allowed himself to show. Then his jaw set, pride reasserting itself.

  "So," he said, voice steadier than might be expected from a man who had just witnessed the systematic destruction of his entire military force. "The King sends his pet monster to finish what began at Riverside."

  Elaine continued her measured approach, stopping at the precise distance where conversation remained possible but action would require only a heartbeat.

  "The King sent nothing," she replied, her voice unnervingly calm. "This is not royal justice you face."

  Varren's hands tightened on the armrests of his throne. "Then what gives you the right to slaughter hundreds of my men? By what authority do you enter my home trailing their blood behind you?"

  "The same authority that sent your soldiers to Riverside," Elaine answered. "Grief. Rage. Vengeance."

  "Riverside harbored you after you massacred fifty of my best men," Varren spat, color rising in his face. "They made their choice."

  "And you made yours." Elaine's gaze moved briefly to Varren's children, then back to him. "Those people had names. Lives. Dreams. They took me in when I had nothing." A shadow passed across her face. "And when they saw what I truly was, they feared me. They voted to send me away." Varren's expression flickered with surprise.

  "They rejected me," Elaine continued, her voice holding the barest tremor before hardening again.

  "And still you slaughtered them—every last one—for the crime of once showing kindness to a stranger. For a choice they had already reversed."

  "I didn't—" Varren faltered, this new information disrupting his narrative. "My reports never mentioned—"

  "Of course they didn't," Elaine cut him off. "Your men weren't there to gather facts. They were there to execute vengeance. Just as I am now."

  "And Thaddeus erased my son!" Varren shouted, recovering his rage, rising fully from his throne. "My boy—my Ellias—who should have ruled after me. Gone because a College healer found more profitable patients!"

  His voice echoed through the hall, raw with years of festering grief. His children flinched at the outburst, unused to seeing their father's carefully maintained facade crack so completely.

  "Your grievance was with Thaddeus," Elaine said. "Not with farmers who had never heard his name. Not with children who knew nothing of College politics."

  "There is no justice in this world unless we create it ourselves," Varren said, his voice lower now but intense. "I learned that when every petition was ignored, when every call for investigation was dismissed. When they told me my son's death was unfortunate but not negligent."

  One of Varren's sons—a young man barely into his twenties—stepped forward, hand going to the dagger at his belt. "You won't touch my father, monster!"

  Elaine's movement was almost too fast to follow. One moment the young man charged, the next he hung suspended in mid-air, Elaine's hand closed around his throat. With a casual flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck and let the body crumple at his father's feet.

  The hall froze in horror. Varren stared at his son's body, the reality of his situation finally penetrating the armor of his righteousness. When he looked up, his eyes held the desperate calculation of a man seeing his legacy crumbling before him.

  "Wait," he said, voice hollow. "My remaining children—they had no part in my decisions. Spare them at least."

  Elaine's expression remained unchanged. "Did your men spare the children of Riverside?"

  Silence fell across the great hall. Even Riona, standing near the shattered doors, held her breath at the question.

  "They... they followed orders," Varren said finally, his voice hollow.

  What followed was methodical, efficient, and absolute. Varren's remaining son tried to shield his sister, only to join her in death moments later. The household staff who had remained with their lord met the same fate, their loyalty rewarded with quick if merciless ends.

  Finally, only Lord Varren himself remained, backed against his stone throne, the bodies of his children sprawled at his feet.

  "My son," he whispered, grief stripping away the arrogance and rage that had defined him for years. "Everything I did... was for him. For Ellias."

  "And everything I do now is for Sarah," Elaine replied. "For Mary. For James and Thomas. For the people of Riverside who opened their homes and hearts to me."

  Something changed in Varren's expression—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or simply resignation. "We are not so different, then."

  "No," Elaine agreed, stepping closer. "We are not."

  Her hand shot forward one final time. Lord Varren made no move to avoid it, meeting his end with the dignity that had abandoned him in his quest for vengeance.

  As his body slumped to the floor, Elaine stood motionless in the center of the great hall, surrounded by the fallen house of Varren. Blood dripped from her saturated clothes, her hands, creating small pools on the stone floor beneath her.

  Riona entered cautiously, her face pale as she surveyed the scene. The captain had witnessed war, had participated in executions, had seen the aftermath of battles. But this—the complete elimination of a noble house, carried out by a single individual after slaughtering thousands—existed in a category beyond her experience.

  "I still have work to do," Elaine replied. "Those who fled. Those who hid. Any soldier bearing Varren colors."

  Riona's expression tightened. "That could take hours. Days even."

  "Then it will take hours or days," Elaine said. "I promised no survivors who participated in Riverside's destruction."

  "And the civilians?" Riona asked quietly. "The thousands who had no part in the decision? The craftsmen, the merchants, the families?"

  Elaine was silent for a moment, her blood-covered face unreadable. "They may leave," she said finally. "Those not in Varren colors. Those who did not raise weapons against me."

  Relief flickered briefly across Riona's features, though her expression remained guarded. "I will continue to witness," she said formally.

  "As you wish," Elaine replied.

  * * *

  The sun had long since set when the last of Lord Varren's men fell. For hours, Elaine had moved through the massive complex, methodically hunting down every soldier who had fled or hidden during the initial assault. Some fought when discovered. Others pleaded for mercy. None survived.

  The inner courtyard, the barracks, the armories, the storehouses, the hidden passages designed as escape routes—Elaine found them all, her progress marked by fresh blood on walls and floors already stained from earlier carnage.

  Two thousand men. The entirety of Varren's fighting force. Not one remained alive as midnight approached and Elaine finally returned to the grand hall where Riona waited.

  The captain sat on the stone steps leading to Varren's throne, her expression drawn with exhaustion and the weight of what she had witnessed. She rose as Elaine entered, taking in the healer's appearance with professional assessment.

  Elaine's clothing hung in tatters, so saturated with blood that its original color was unrecognizable. Her skin, her hair—all bore the evidence of a day spent killing. Yet despite the horror of her appearance, she moved with the same controlled precision she had shown since the morning.

  "It's done," Elaine stated for the second time. "No soldier remains."

  "And the civilians?" Riona asked, the question heavy with significance.

  "Those who did not resist were allowed to flee," Elaine confirmed. "Many have already left through the outer gate. Others remain barricaded in their homes."

  The decision represented the only mercy shown throughout the long day. Twenty thousand civilians might have faced the same fate as Varren's soldiers, yet Elaine had drawn a clear distinction between combatants and non-combatants—a line Lord Varren himself had not respected at Riverside.

  "What now?" Riona asked.

  "Now we return to the capital," Elaine replied. She looked down at her blood-soaked clothing. "Though I should wash first."

  The casual practicality of the statement—so at odds with the carnage surrounding them—nearly startled a laugh from Riona, though there was nothing humorous in their situation.

  "Yes," she agreed. "That would be advisable."

  They departed the inner ring side by side, walking through halls and courtyards now transformed into a necropolis. The bodies of Varren's household guards lay where they had fallen, cooling in the mountain air.

  In the middle ring, the scale of devastation became even more apparent. Hundreds of bodies littered the central plaza, piled in grotesque heaps where soldiers had climbed over their fallen comrades in desperate attempts to reach Elaine. Blood had seeped between the cobblestones, pooling in low areas and flowing into drainage channels.

  The outer ring presented similar scenes of carnage, though on a smaller scale. Here, the guards from the initial encounter lay scattered near the gate and along the main thoroughfare.

  Elaine stopped at a fountain in the outer plaza, immersing herself entirel in it. Blood clouded the water, swirling in crimson patterns before draining away. She could not remove all traces—her clothing remained stained—but she removed enough to appear human again, rather than an avatar of vengeance.

  They retrieved their horses, which had remained untouched at the hitching post where they had left them. The ordinary detail seemed surreal after the extraordinary events of the day.

  As they rode through the shattered outer gate, Riona finally spoke. "The King will require a full accounting."

  "Tell him what you witnessed," Elaine replied. "I did what I set out to do. Lord Varren and his line are ended. His soldiers are dead. The rebellion is extinguished."

  They rode in silence as the mountain fortress receded behind them. Elaine's expression remained impassive, but her thoughts turned inward. The slaughter had been necessary—she had no doubts about that. This one act will prevent countless deaths in the future an and yet, she cannot deny vengeance played a larger role than sending a message. Lord Varren's actions had demanded response, and she had delivered it with the same efficiency she applied to all challenges.

  Yet the weight of Sarah's pendant seemed heavier now, the stone cool against her skin. The girl had seen something in Elaine worth emulating, worth preserving. Something beyond the capacity for destruction that had been on full display today.

  "I promised her I would write," Elaine said suddenly.

  Riona glanced over, momentarily confused. "Who?"

  "Sarah. I promised I would send letters from the capital, explaining healing techniques she could practice." A pause. "She wanted to be just like me."

  Understanding dawned in Riona's eyes. "The girl from Riverside."

  "She gave me this pendant before I left," Elaine continued, fingers still tracing the copper wire. "Said it would help me remember them. Remember her."

  "I'm sorry," Riona said, the simple words carrying genuine compassion.

  They rode on as the last light of day faded from the sky. Behind them, smoke would soon rise from Lord Varren's fortress as survivors began the grim task of funeral pyres that would burn for days. Before them lay the long road back to the capital, where a king awaited news of rebellion's end and a college of healers continued its study of methods they could never truly understand.

  "Was it necessary to kill them all? To hunt them down after Varren was gone already?" Riona asked after a long while

  "Yes. Every single one. For two very simple reasons. It is impossible for me to know who participated in the attack on Riverside itself and finally leaving armed men behind would just fuel the cycle of revenge."

  "But won't the survivors participate…" Riona began

  "They might. But this is what I can justify to myself. Their desire for vengeance will be tempered by the truth of what transpired. Even the angriest orphan will know why disaster struck their home."

  "What will happen, now that the city is leaderless and the people are left with the gruesome clean up?"

  "Why are you asking me? That is something for the king to decide but I imagine some troops and someone to take over will be sent. Should be sent."

  Elaine rode straight-backed in her saddle, her expression composed despite the blood still staining her clothing. She had avenged the destruction of Riverside, and ensured no armed supporters remained to continue the cycle of revenge and by doing so eliminated the threat to the kingdom.

  Yet Sarah's pendant hung heavy against her chest, a reminder of something precious that could never be recovered. A reminder that vengeance, however complete, could never truly heal what had been broken.

  That was the paradox she carried forward—the healer who could mend any physical wound, yet could not restore what mattered most. The most powerful being in the realm, who had been powerless to prevent the loss that had driven her to this mountain.

  As darkness settled over the eastern provinces, two riders continued their journey back toward the capital. One a captain bearing witness to extraordinary events. The other a woman who had lived a thousand years, who had just added another chapter to her long history—a chapter written in the blood of thousands, yet dedicated to those who had briefly made her feel human again.

  The mountain's shadow stretched long behind them, but the shadow in Elaine's heart stretched longer still.