Retreat and Regret
Draven tore into the battlefield with a feral roar, his claws drenched in the blood of Seraphine’s retreating warriors. His amber eyes blazed, scanning the carnage for Isla. When he saw her kneeling beside Kael’s lifeless body, her silver hair catching the moonlight like a shattered beacon, his rage gave way to something darker—a harrowing mix of grief and helplessness.
“Isla,” Draven growled, reaching her in long strides. He crouched beside her, his hands trembling as they found her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her silver hair clinging to her tear-streaked face. Her voice was barely a whisper. “He saved me, Draven. He… he didn’t have to, but he did. He gave everything.”
Draven’s jaw tightened, his gaze falling to Kael’s still form. The scent of blood and death hung heavy in the air. “He made his choice,” he said, his voice hard. “But this is Seraphine’s doing. And I won’t let her get away with it. Not again.”
Susan and Jamie arrived moments later, their faces pale in the moonlight. Susan’s sharp eyes scanned the scene, lingering on Kael’s body. Her usual cool demeanor cracked for a moment, sorrow flickering across her expression. “She’s escalating,” she said grimly. “This wasn’t just an attack. It was a message.”
Jamie’s voice trembled. “What kind of message?”
“That she can take what she wants and leave us to clean up the pieces,” Susan replied coldly. “We’re on the back foot, Draven. We need to regroup before she tears through us completely.”
Draven ignored her, his focus locked on Isla. He slipped his arms beneath her, lifting her effortlessly from the ground despite her protests. “We’re retreating now,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t over, Isla. Not by a long shot.”
As they turned back toward the stronghold, Isla’s gaze lingered on Kael’s body, her chest tight with guilt and sorrow. “He didn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Draven held her closer, his grip steady even as his own grief simmered beneath the surface. “No, he didn’t,” he said quietly. “And neither will anyone else, Isla. I swear it.”
From a ridge overlooking the battlefield, Seraphine stood cloaked in shadow, her crescent mark glowing faintly against her cheek. She watched the retreat with a smirk, her eyes alight with malicious triumph. “Run, Draven,” she whispered into the night air, her voice carrying the weight of a cruel promise. “Run while you still can.”
