The crack thundered across the forest for miles.
Aurora opened her eyes and saw Amy motionless on the ground.
What?
“Amy!”
Aurora rushed to her daughter’s side, realizing that Samantha was unconscious too.
She slowed when she saw that Amy had…no wounds.
Then she saw what had happened. Saw him.
Thomas.
She remembered closing her eyes and feeling a force.
That must have been Thomas’ hands shoving me.
He took my place.
I was supposed to block Samantha’s shot. I’m supposed to be dead.
She sprinted first toward her daughter to check Amy’s breathing.
She’s fine. Just…sleeping.
“Amy!” Princessa yelled.
“Stay with her,” Aurora hissed as she rushed to Thomas’ side.
Karl and Julius were still battling.
Across her old mentor’s front, gashes glowed an eerie white from Samantha’s deadly lashes. His back was carved with deep, bloody wounds from Amy’s dark ice. His body would’ve exploded if he hadn’t sealed himself inside a hard shell of ice.
“No…”
Thomas took Aurora’s hand feebly. She looked at Samantha who had fallen at the same time as Amy, trapped with her inside dreams, a power Cerceras had held.
Aurora looked at Thomas.
This happens to everyone around me. The problem…is me.
“Aurora,” Thomas moaned, eyes half lidded. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t you dare leave me too,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Everyone I touch..." She closed her eyes. "Everyone dies.”
Thomas’s half-lidded eyes found hers. “That’s…not true.” He coughed, his breath rattling. “You were born into unfortunate circumstances. And I could have helped, but I chose to do nothing. I chose this. I chose to stay away when people attacked you, wanted you dead. My silence destroyed more than physical attacks ever could. At least now, I can live with my final choices.”
Her throat tightened. “It's not you. You don’t understand. I ruin everything—”
“No.” His grip trembled but firmed on her wrist. “You are not the cause of ruin, Aurora. You are proof that we endure. The world tried to kill you, erase you before you could make your own choices. And yes, when you eventually chose the path to power instead of empathy. But that was because you refused to die when the world tried to bury you. You chose to live.”
Aurora’s tears blurred her vision. “I sent Amy off with Kristo so she wouldn’t have to carry the weight of my mistakes.”
“Then don’t let her carry it alone.” A faint smile touched his lips, weary but clear. “Show her that love doesn’t have to vanish when people fall.”
She bowed her head. What if it’s too late to change? Thomas spoke as if he heard her thoughts.
“It’s not too late.” His eyes softened. “Because unlike me, unlike Christopher… you still have time.” His breath shuddered. “Don’t waste it.”
His hand slipped from her wrist.
The light went out of his eyes, leaving Aurora frozen, his weight heavy in her arms.
Aurora sat frozen, his blood cooling on her hands. For years she had sworn she was unloved, abandoned even by her father. It had hardened into her like armor. But Thomas’s final words cracked it open: she had been wrong. She had been loved all along.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
And she could no longer pretend that the world was shit.
Aurora numbly got up to kneel besides Amy. For the first time in years, she felt not invincible, but brittle — cracked in places she had once fortified.
She remembered the fire in the Amy’s eyes when she insisted she mattered. And she didn’t do it with hate like Aurora had at her age. Even after everything.
She looked numbly at Samantha. She was dangerous. She wanted to conquer Sunji and revive Milo, amongst other things.
Aurora could end her now, but Karl was guarding, teeth bared.
“You,” he spat, his voice ragged. Aurora saw it. The water surged, but he hesitated. His eyes flicked to Samantha’s crumpled form, then back to Aurora.
She could see the years of rage in him, the raw wound of losing his mother, the weight of Samantha’s absence. He wanted to strike. Needed to. But without Samantha’s shadow, his certainty faltered.
He snarled, almost to steady himself. “What’s wrong? No clever remark? No crown to hide behind? Isn’t this the prime time to mock me? Go ahead. Tell me I’m a lost kid without her.”
Aurora’s arms tightened around Amy. If Amy were her, what would she do or say? Her voice came low, stripped bare.
She had no retort, just vulnerability.
Though her voice started shaky, it steadied. It was finally as if she felt clarity.
Thank you, Amy.
She looked at him.
“You were a child, Karl. And I let you be broken.”
The words cut the air. His water faltered.
“You should have been allowed to grieve, to be a boy. Instead, I let Milo turn you into a weapon. I have no excuse. I told myself it was survival. But it was cruelty.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “It was me,” She said. “None of this is your fault.”
For a long moment, Karl just stared, hatred trembling into something harder to hold.
Aurora’s eyes brimmed, but her voice stayed steady. “I never hated you. I failed you. And I am sorry.”
Karl’s eyes burned, wet with fury. “You think I give a fuck? Sorry doesn’t give me back my mother. Sorry doesn’t make you less of a tyrant. Sorry doesn’t make me whole!” He drove another wave at her, roaring with the pain of years.
Aurora staggered under the pressure, her arms aching from Amy’s weight, but she refused to counterattack. The earth rose only enough to shield, never to strike. For once, she did not meet hatred with cruelty, but took a line from Thomas’ book instead — only with endurance.
But at the same time, she couldn’t let him hurt Amy.
Her silence infuriated him more than mockery ever had. His attacks faltered, wild and ragged, until the current collapsed back into mud. His chest heaved, his glare still murderous.
Aurora stood over Amy, trembling but unbroken. She met his eyes, not with scorn, but with grief. “Hate me, but know this — I will not hurt you again.”
Karl froze, the weight of her words burning like acid. Then he turned, storming back into the battlefield with his fury intact, leaving her behind in the wreckage of truth.
Aurora sagged, the mud still trembling from Karl’s retreat. Her throat burned. He will never forgive me. I can’t blame him. I can live with that.
But Amy—
She bowed her head, reaching down to carry her, almost desperate. They want to hurt Amy.
The clash of battle yanked her back. Julius was still fighting, Princessa at his side, their faces pale with exhaustion. Without Samantha to direct them, the enemy lines were splintering, but the battle was far from over. Karl had only withdrawn a few steps, water trembling at his fingertips again.
Aurora rose, Amy in her arms, her own power simmering under her skin. She looked down at her daughter’s face and felt a hot twist of regret. I told her she didn’t matter. I acted in the worst way possible. For an instant the thought hissed: It’s too late.
She shook her head, fierce, remembering Christopher, Kristo, Thomas—and Amy herself. No. The cycle must stop. Like Amy said. I have no choice but to take accountability for my mistakes. And I won’t perpetuate my mistakes. Not again.
The past her would have fought until she died — out of spite. She always thought her life didn’t matter anyways. But making her enemies bleed did.
But now she had something to protect. And Amy would forgive and forget.
Aurora drew in a breath and shouted, her voice cracking across the field. “Retreat!”
Julius and Princessa spun toward her, forming up on either side as she began to move. They threw up walls of flame to cover her, ensuring a path back through the wreckage of battle.
With Samantha gone, the fight was suddenly even, but it still pressed in like a tide. Aurora kept her eyes forward, the weight of Amy steady in her arms, her vow echoing like a heartbeat: Things will change.
She looked at Amy. “You asked me to stand with you. I said I couldn’t.” Aurora paused. “But if it’s not too late, I’ve changed my answer…Yes. I will. Completely”
***
Amy was lost in the void for a week.
She woke to the rustle of silk. She lay on a low futon pressed close to the floor, soft padding cradling her bruised body. The air was warm and carried a faint trace of sea-salt and citrus, so different from the charred smell of battle she remembered last.
This…smelled like home.
Light filtered through paper screens, painting the room in pale gold. Her fingers curled against the smooth weave of the bedding, too fine, too careful for a prisoner. She pushed herself upright, heart racing.
Samantha.
Aurora.
In front of her was a low table with food.
And then she saw her.
Her dark hair had been brushed into an intricate style, her body draped in layered silk in deep green, embroidered with threads that caught the sunlight like fire. Her skin seemed almost to glow, the hollows of hunger and exhaustion smoothed away.
For a heartbeat Amy thought she was looking at a stranger who was radiant and regal. Even dangerous.
But Aurora’s eyes—fixed on Amy—were raw and tired, but warily guarded.
Amy looked around. Smelled the air again. Looked at the furniture and walls.
This wasn’t the other continent.
This was Sunji.
And it wasn’t her hut.
It was the palace.
I like...
