A Final Plea
The inner sanctum of the fortress was eerily quiet, the distant echoes of battle reduced to muffled roars behind Isla as she stepped into the room. Her silver hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, her sword gleaming with the blood of those who had tried to stop her. The sanctum glowed faintly with magical energy, runes on the walls pulsating in an irregular rhythm. And there, at its center, stood her father and Eira.
Kaelen’s broad shoulders were rigid, his gray eyes shadowed with something Isla couldn’t quite name—regret? Resolve? Eira, by contrast, stood tall and unyielding, her silver hair a stark contrast to the dark energy that radiated from her. The twins lay in a small cradle of light behind them, their tiny forms still and peaceful.
Isla’s heart twisted painfully at the sight. Her children, so close yet so far. She took a step forward, her silver eyes locking on her father’s. For a moment, the fire in her gaze dimmed, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. Her voice, when it came, trembled with emotion.
“Father,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t make me fight you. Help me save my children. Help me save us.”
For a fleeting moment, his gray eyes softened. A crack appeared in the stoic mask he wore, and Isla dared to hope. But before he could speak, Eira’s voice sliced through the air like a lash.
“Don’t listen to her,” she hissed, her silver eyes narrowing with malice. “She’s weak, just like her mother. Begging just like this when we killed her.”
Isla froze, the weight of those words crashing over her like a tidal wave. “What did you just say?” she whispered, her voice hollow with disbelief.
Eira’s smirk widened, her crescent-marked hand glowing faintly. “Oh, Xyla begged beautifully. Pleaded for your safety as we ended her life. Just as her darling daughter will do now.”
“Is it true?” Isla turned to her father, her voice breaking. “How could you do this when you claim you loved her?”
Kaelen’s expression hardened, the fleeting softness replaced with a mask of cold resolve. “You’ve made your choice, Isla,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “And I’ve made mine.”
Before Isla could respond, he lunged, his claws glinting in the pale light.
