Magnus
I can’t rember the last ti I slept for more than half an hour. Every ti my eyes close, it isn’t out of choice—it’s because my body finally gives in, too exhausted to resist any longer.
But I can’t bear it either.
Sleep brings no relief. No peace. Only her face—always her face—and the unshakable truth of how I failed her.
Failed her again.
***
Magnus, six years old
Everything is on fire. Flas roar around like wild, untad beasts, their burning tongues licking the ceiling above.
I am terrified—petrified—yet I can’t move. There’s nowhere left to run. The entire palace is drowning in a relentless inferno of chaos and ruin.
I need to find her. I need to find the princess. That was my mother’s command when the first war cries shattered the silence of the night, tearing the world into a before and after.
Those were her last words before the palace walls collapsed, and she vanished beneath the falling debris.
Now, with the shock of losing her dulled into a heavy ache, all I can think about is death. How it hangs over everything—devouring us, dragging us into the depths of hell, the very glimpse of which is unfolding before my eyes.
How did it ever co to this?
I can’t dwell on it now. I need to find her. I need to find the princess. I need to do what my mother could not—get her out of this burning grave.
So I force my legs to move, one trembling step after another, until walking becos running.
I run as though chased by a mad, flaming beast. I run through collapsing walls, splintering beams, and crumbling floors.
I run through the searing burns and bleeding wounds.
Because I cannot let her die. The princess must live.
A deafening roar splits the night, and my head snaps instinctively toward the sound. A battle rages there—gunshots, snarls, whimpers, cries. Black and pearl-white wolves clash viciously with a pack of brown ones, silver claws raking flesh, sharp teeth tearing muscle apart.
Blood is everywhere. Fire and blood. The Moon Palace is no longer white—it bleeds red now.
I force my legs to move faster, pushing my body past its limits until I am nothing but a blur. I cannot afford to be caught by the rebels. I need to find the princess.
The marble floor beneath cracks and caves in, and I stumble, nearly hitting the ground—but a firm hand seizes mid-fall, yanking upright.
"Got you, lad!"
"Ariel!" I cry out, louder than intended. But she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she offers a fleeting smile before pulling along, her limp slowing her stride, one pant leg soaked in sothing painfully dark.
"His Majesty has the young prince," she says breathlessly, dragging behind her. "But the princess was with the queen tonight. I fear... we may already be too late."
"No—this can’t be!" My protest rips from my throat as I quicken my pace to match hers. Ariel is the prince’s nanny; her chambers always on his side of the palace, while my mother and I live in the princess’s wing.
But tonight was different. Tonight, my mother and I had been sent out on an errand. And when we returned, the royal palace was already in flas.
"The rebels attacked from the eastern side of the palace," Ariel explains as she dodges a collapsing column, pulling into her arms so she can shield more easily. "The arsonists struck first, then the offensive squad pushed through the front. What a disaster. Who would have thought they’d turn against us? Cruel creatures."
I bite down on my lower lip until I taste blood, my small fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles blanch with rage.
"Ariel!" I suddenly cry out as we race past the gallery hall. "That room—it’s a shortcut to her wing!"
Without hesitation, Ariel whirls around and charges toward the tall marble door, shoving it open as if it were no heavier than cardboard. The acrid stench of smoke instantly assaults , searing my lungs and stinging my eyes, and I double over in a fit of coughing.
Still, a spark of hope flares in . I am glad I rembered this passage despite the chaos. I’ve used it before, sneaking into the princess’s quarters at night to play while our parents slept. If fate allows us no further obstacles, we will reach her soon.
"What’s that?" Ariel halts so abruptly that I nearly stumble into her. Her scorched finger points toward the shadowy corner of the room. "Sothing’s moving there—beneath the sheet!"
"Princess?!" The word tears from my throat as I leap from Ariel’s arms, scrambling across the smoke-filled floor. Without thinking, I clutch the damp sheet and yank it aside, my eyes widening with a mix of shock and overwhelming relief.
"M–Magnus?" The princess looks even smaller than she usually does. Her long, wavy silver hair is singed at the edges, strands frayed and uneven. Blood streaks her pale face and arms, and her nightgown—soaked through with water—clings to her trembling fra. But it’s her eyes... those ethereal, silver eyes, wide and glistening with terror, that strike hardest.
"Your Highness, thank the Goddess!" Ariel exclaims, diving between us to gather the princess into her arms. She swiftly wraps her back in the damp sheet, shielding her as best she can. "We must go, now! Who knows how long before this place collapses and buries us under the rubble?"
I nod, quickly latching onto Ariel’s free hand, my fingers curling tightly around hers as we sprint through the open door and back into the outer hallway.
We are close—so close. All we need to do is round the garden, and we’ll escape this blazing inferno. But fate, it seems, abandons us there.
The mont we turn the corner, two sets of jaws snap at the air in warning. Wolves—snarling, eyes gleaming—block our path. Behind them steps a tall, broad-shouldered man with long brown hair tumbling down his back. His presence radiates raw power, his smirk curling as the wolves growl low and vicious at his sides.
"And what do we have here?"
***
I jolt upright, chest heaving as I struggle to drag air into my lungs. Cold water splashes around , droplets striking the surface with sharp, echoing plinks that cut through the suffocating silence of the room. My trembling hands press against my face.
I fell asleep in the bath. Again. I had ant to clear my head—to sober myself up—not sink deeper into the fog.
"Alpha?" Oliver’s voice carries from behind the door, urgent.
My body reacts before my mind does. I shoot out of the tub, snatching a towel to drag hastily over my dripping skin.
"We found her," he adds.
The words hit harder than the cold air on my damp body. I no longer care about the water clinging to . In a blur, I yank on my pants and a black T-shirt, fabric clinging uncomfortably to my wet skin, and stride out of the bathroom, shooting a glare to Oliver who is already on the move as well.
"Lead the way."
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