(Not my best, but I tried lol. TW: Violence, graphic description, death.)

POV: Marcus

Blood welled. Swords clashed. The air was thick with the metallic ring of steel and the screams—some of agony, some of triumph.

We were losing.

Half my men lay broken on the field, their bodies slick with blood. The enemy pressed forward, relentless, pulling out weapons and tricks I hadn’t even registered until it was too late.

We were cornered. Outnumbered. _Outmatched_.

Then—pain.

A flash of silver. A sharp, brutal impact. A sword met flesh—my flesh.

Fire ripped through my side, burning, searing. My breath hitched, the world flashing white-hot as steel carved through skin and muscle, sinking deep enough to scrape bone. The agony was instant, electric, tearing through me like lightning.

Shoot. Shoot. _Shoot_.

I staggered. My body screamed. My vision blurred. But instinct roared to life. My grip tightened. My sword found flesh. A sharp cry. A body crumpling to the ground.

No time to see who. No time to think.

I pressed a trembling hand to my wound, warmth seeping between my fingers. Blood—too much of it. The battlefield blurred—shadows locked in brutal combat, steel flashing under the dying light. My breath came in ragged gasps as I stumbled back, searching—for something, anything. A moment to breathe. A sliver of hope.

Then I saw her.

Golden-blonde hair, streaked with blood. Twin blades carving through the enemy like a storm of steel.

But in all chaos, there is calculation.

She was war itself. Cold, unyielding devastation. Not a single wasted movement. Two throats slit in a single, fluid motion. A spin, a duck, a strike—_unstoppable_. She climbed the hill, boots sinking into the blood-drenched earth, cutting down everything in her path.

If I weren’t dying, I might have smiled. _Stubborn as always. Always a pain in the—_

A fresh bolt of agony tore through me. My knees buckled. My vision swam. The battlefield tilted as the strength drained from my limbs.

Time slowed.

And it stopped altogether when she turned.

“Marcus!”

Her voice rang through the chaos, sharp and desperate. One of her swords slipped from her grasp, clattering against the stones. She ran, dodging bodies, her remaining blade cutting down anyone foolish enough to stand in her way.

She reached me just in time.

Just in time for me to memorize her face—the fire in her bright blue eyes, the way her lips parted in horror.

I tried to speak. To tell her something, anything. But my body betrayed me, exhaustion dragging me under.

No. Not yet.

My fingers trembled as I reached for her, brushing against the cold metal of her armor before curling weakly at my side. A bitter laugh threatened to rise, but all I could manage was a pained smile.

I forced the words out, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“It would have been an honor to call you my queen, Rune.”

Then the world faded.

The last thing I saw was _her_.

⸻

POV: Rune

I was going to kill them all.

It took longer than it should have to peel myself away from his body. From his blood. From his silence.

But when I stood, the grief burned away—boiled into something sharper, something unstoppable.

_Rage._

It roared through me, hot and merciless, consuming the last shred of restraint I had.

I picked up a discarded sword. And I didn’t hesitate.

Steel met flesh.

Again. And again. And _again_.

I didn’t care who it was. Friend. Foe. It didn’t matter. Someone took Marcus from me, and the world would bleed for it.

I felt nothing. Not as I drove my blade into the stomach of the man charging toward me. Not as I twisted it. Not as I let him fall.

_Nothing_.

Only him. Only Marcus. Only the memories burned into my mind since the moment I met him.

A voice, soft in my head. _Don’t cry_, he had whispered once. _Shh, it’s okay, Ru._

I wouldn’t cry. Not until he told me to.

I abandoned my blades. I didn’t need them anymore. The fools who rushed at me were weightless, bodies snapping, twisting under my power. Bones cracked. Limbs wrenched into unnatural angles.

The heat of the battlefield was suffocating, the stench of blood thick in my lungs. My body was a machine, moving faster than thought, every movement brutal, efficient. A man swung an axe at me—I caught his wrist and twisted. A sickening snap. He screamed, but it was short-lived. My knee slammed into his gut, sending him crumpling.

I didn’t stop moving.

And then—there he was.

The commander stood at the edge of the battlefield, waiting. Smiling. Not a drop of blood on him.

I was going to tear him apart.

“Well, well, well,” he mused. “Where’s your partner? Your little—” His eyes flicked behind me. His smirk widened.

I nearly turned. Nearly looked._ As if Marcus would be there._

_I will always be here_, he had promised.

Lies.

I should kill Marcus just for lying. Once, I had been the one promising to be the reason he died. I had promised I would be his end.

“Maybe you should ask the pig who killed him,” I seethed. “Oh wait—_he’s dead too._”

The commander sighed, shaking his head like I was nothing more than a reckless child. “Spare yourself, Deruna.” He rubbed his temples. “Stop fighting, and your lover can still be saved. Stop fighting, and _you_ will be free.”

_Utter bull_— “Over my dead body.”

He exhaled. “Next to your lover’s, I suppose.”

His words were meant to sting, to weaken my resolve.

Instead, they sharpened it.

I lunged.

My fingers closed around the hilt of a discarded dagger, momentum hurling me toward him. The commander barely had time to react before I crashed into him, forcing him back. We hit the ground hard, my blade at his throat, his hands struggling against mine.

He looked like his son.

Deep brown eyes. Angular jaw. Curved nose.

Fate is cruel.

“Move,” I whispered, pressing the dagger against his pulse,_ “and I slit.”_

__

“Move,” he countered, a fireball igniting in his palm, _“and I burn you alive.”_

I bared my teeth. “Better to burn than let you rule.”

That’s what Marcus would have wanted.

_“You’re stubborn, you know,_” Marcus’s voice teased in my head. _“A big pain, but… I don’t know. I kinda like it.” _He had told me once. Once felt like a lifetime ago.

The commander’s lips curled. “I never understood why he liked you.” His voice dripped with disdain. “You’re _nothing_. A dirty, good-for-nothing—he’s dead because of you.”

He expected me to flinch.

Instead, I drove the dagger into his throat.

His eyes widened. His mouth opened—whether to scream or to speak, I didn’t care. Blood gurgled at his lips. The fire in his palm flickered. Died. His body went slack beneath me.

I stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily, watching as the light drained from his eyes.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

The battlefield raged on, but I heard nothing. Not the shouts of Marcus’s men. Not the cries of his enemies.

I only heard _him_.

_“No matter what,” _he had whispered, long ago. _“If I—” A sharp intake of breath. “If I die… promise me you’ll live.”_ I had been about to cry, but he held my cheek, the touch so familiar. _“It’s okay to fall apart, Rune.”_

And as if that was confirmation, a tear slipped down my cheek.

I rose to my feet.

I lifted my blade.

I would live. I would rule. And I would burn their empire to the ground.