For the first time in my short reign, dawn arrived without violet or amber hues. A sheet of leaden gray—unnatural, pulse‑less—smothered Tenebris. The palace oracle declared it a pre‑eclipse pall, spun by rival magi on the Surface Realm to blunt our realm's power. Every brazier burned dimmer; even Nightspire's lava rivers flowed sluggish, as if chilled by unseen frost.
And yet the palace buzzed like a struck hive. Armories disgorged blades. Scribes sealed war edicts. The Grand Atheneum released tactical scrolls once locked to emperors alone. Everyone prepared for dusk, the hour when star‑iron would meet twin‑light.
I had no appetite but forced down a bowl of ember‑porridge anyway; spellcasting on an empty stomach ends in collapse faster than any blade. Calia fussed: adjusting my leather breast‑guard, re‑braiding my hair into a crown‑tight coil, slipping healer ampoules into wrist sheaths.
"The prophecy speaks of an arrow," she said, voice trembling. "But prophecies lie."
"Then we make them tell the truth," I answered, squeezing her hand.
She smiled, brave despite quivering chin, and hurried away to oversee infirmary barracks.
At midday, the War Council assembled in the Obsidian Strategy Hall—Ravan, Captain Vael, Lord Auron, Duchess Sarielle (smiling like a knife), three battle‑magi, and myself. Maps flickered in illusory projections: Tenebris in scarlet, surface kingdoms in blue. Sigil‑markers denoted enemy muster along the Rift of Dawn, a canyon where both realms overlap during an eclipse.
Lord Auron spoke first, pale but resolute. "My spies report King Myron will march a vanguard of seven thousand: two thousand pike, fifteen hundred crossbow, a cavalry wing, and an elite 'Sunsworn' unit armed entirely with star‑iron blades." He glanced at me. "They also carry a single arrow—longer than a spear, fired from a ballista. Jewelled with sun‑stone. They believe one shot kills a demon emperor."
Ravan's lips curved in grim amusement. "Their one arrow is steel and glamour. They stole our decoy."
Sarielle's dark lashes fluttered. "If they learned it is false, they will retaliate worse."
I met her gaze, unflinching. "They believe it genuine. Their hubris blinds them, as planned."
The three battle‑magi unveiled a crystal prism capturing the sky. Through it we saw the moon crawling toward the sun's path, eclipse soon. "When umbra falls," Magus Idrin rasped, "ley‑line turbulence weakens our spell reach by half. Arrow shots, however, cut through turmoil."
Vael's armored wing rustled. "We must station the bow at the Rift's crest. Direct line of sight."
"Agreed," Ravan said. He tapped the map; a ruby pin appeared on a cliff outcropping called Glass Spire. "Leora and I hold there. Vael commands sky legion flanking. Auron coordinates saboteurs to disrupt Sunsworn supply lines. Sarielle—"
The duchess inclined her head. "My warlocks will weave shielding over our infantry."
Trust flickered across the table, brittle but necessary.
Ravan concluded, voice iron. "At climax of eclipse, Leora fires. Anything that stands after, we finish blade‑to‑bone." Silver eyes sought mine. "Ready?"
"Ready," I answered.
Twilight
Hours later, troops marched out of Nightspire's gates in crimson columns. Winged demons soared overhead trailing banners of black thorn. The Sunken Forge gifted us a two‑man ballista carved from soul‑cedar, rune‑fused to amplify range. Vael carried it aerially to Glass Spire. I followed on a shadow‑steed—an equine construct of smoke and ember—Ravan beside me on a living nightmare beast cloaked in blue flame.
Along ravines the ground troops advanced. Even from vantage I sensed their fear, for no war in centuries had threatened two worlds at once. Yet forging an arrow together welded more than metal; it soldered hope into every soldier's heart.
The Glass Spire thrust like a fang above the Rift. Its summit platform bore ancient mosaic tiles depicting the First Empress locking skies and hells. Wind howled; dust swirled.
Vael assembled the ballista swiftly. I drew the true Arrow of Twin Dawn from velvet quiver. Up close its shaft hummed like lullabies sung by dying constellations; veins of jade and silver pulsated gentle but unbreakable.
I fit the arrow to the ballista string. A shiver raced through me, as though universe leaned close.
Ravan set gauntleted hand on my shoulder. "Breathe through the pull," he instructed. Then he pressed his palm to mine atop timber stock. Our sigils glowed. Magic fused: my pulse, his shadow. The bowstring stretched though no mortal muscles moved—drawn by will alone.
Below, war drums thundered. I looked: columns of Sunsworn formed luminous phalanx, sun‑forged shields reflecting final light. At their vanguard rode King Myron, gilded helm gleaming. From here he resembled a child pretending to be sun god.
He raised what he thought was star‑iron arrow, nocked to a jeweled ballista. Across the canyon, priest‑chorus chanted, golden runes circling the shaft.
"Let him release first," Ravan murmured. "He must believe in his shot."
I nodded, knuckles white. Eclipse's shadow crept, eating the sun. Day dimmed to bruised violet; hush fell; even lava below stilled.
Then Myron fired.
His arrow streaked heavenward—a comet of counterfeit glory—crossing the rift toward our spire. Even though illusion only, impact could still pierce flesh.
Vael unfurled injured wing, intercepting. With spell‑woven shield he deflected shaft; it struck stone nearby, splintering harmless. Gasps echoed from below, confusion rippling through enemy lines.
Time.
I inhaled eclipse‑charged air, heart hammering. Ravan's voice flowed inside my mind: Now, Leora—let twin dawn rise.
I released.
The Arrow of Twin Dawn sang. No other verb fits. It sang of broken queens, lonely emperors, forged purpose. The humming grew crescendo as it sliced horizon, leaving twin contrails—one emerald, one silver—meshing into radiant white.
Mid‑arch, arrow splintered into brilliant multitude: shards of light that fused again, condensing to spearpoint poised over enemy ranks.
I exhaled.
The arrow struck Myron's ballista, exploded into vertical pillar of dawn‑colored fire. Light poured outward, washing Sunsworn armor, devouring star‑iron blades. An audible sigh—metal surrendering—preceded eruption of shockwave.
But not flames; rather, a tide of color: blues, golds, violets. Where star‑iron once glinted, weapons turned to glass, then sand, then petals that drifted skyward. Sunsworn dropped shields that melted to dew.
Myron reeled, disbelief contorting face. His ceremonial breastplate dissolved, leaving ordinary linen tunic. He reached for sword; hilt crumbled.
Silence spread, thicker than thunder.
Then the sun burst from behind moon rim—eclipse ending. Light touched battlefield, reflecting on petals. Dawn's first ray crowned both realms.
Ravan's breath hitched. "It chose creation over slaughter."
Tears stung my eyes. "Twin dawn," I echoed, remembering final vision: vortex imploding into morning.
Cheers erupted among Tenebris ranks. Enemy soldiers fell to knees, not from wound but awe.
Yet prophecy rarely concedes fully. A howl cleaved the hush. From behind Myron's lines, Duchess Sarielle emerged—wings unfurled, raven feathers ablaze. Betrayal confirmed: she'd crossed to mortals' side as failsafe.
She lifted a shard—the real star‑iron? No, impossible—the spear dust melted. But shards of Chrona Glass could mimic. She hurled it skyward. It grew into mirror portal; from it surged mirror‑wraiths—duplicates of our own troops, dripping shadow glass.
Panic rekindled. Tenebris soldiers recoiled. Ravan cursed; twin dawn arrow spent.
I studied portal: it pulsed with memory energy. The tear I gave specter earlier connected to Chrona Glass; Sarielle exploited that rift.
"Vael, with me!" I vaulted onto parapet, conjuring soul‑fire blades. We dived toward battlefield. Wraiths clawed reality, slashing soldiers. I struck first duplicate—it shattered to shards that tried re‑forming.
Need permanence: Only star‑iron or merged light could bind mirror energy.
My blood thrummed—twin dawn still echoed. I summoned residue, channeling through blades: emerald silver flare. When I sliced wraiths, shards evaporated to dust that sparkled harmless.
Vael's runeblade absorbed reflection menace, sealing fissures. Together we carved path to Sarielle.
She hovered above dais of broken ballista, eyes black with ambition. "Fools!" she spat. "I will sculpt realms anew!"
I landed, pointing blade. "You sculpt nothing but your own downfall."
She unleashed mirror beam; I reflected with twin‑light shield. Beam ricocheted, cutting ravine wall behind us. Dust plume.
Ravan joined, landing with shockwave. His shadow coiled around Sarielle, snaring wings.
She screamed, channelled mirror energy to crack bonds. Ravan flinched; silver veins darkened—star‑iron scar reacting.
I thrust blade into her chest. Twin dawn energy surged, not killing but draining memory scars: her betrayal, grief, envy. She sagged, eyes clearing for heartbeat, whispering, "I… wanted his crown… feared void…"
She crumbled to ash, scattering on wind.
Mirror portal collapsed; wraiths vanished.
King Myron knelt amidst petal field, hands raised. Demons encircled him. No blade raised; war had ended in morning stillness.
Aftermath
In Nightspire's Throne Rotunda at sunset, Ravan accepted Myron's surrender parchment: unconditional, reparations in grain and knowledge of star‑iron forges razed.
Council witnessed. Some sneered, wanting blood. Ravan spoke: "Today dawn refused massacre; we obey dawn."
He turned to me. "Empress Leora, savior of two realms, shall oversee treaty."
Cheers roared.
Later, on balcony facing calm lava rivers, we stood alone. Ash‑petals drifted—remnants of star‑iron succumbing to twin dawn.
Ravan broke quiet. "Sarielle's mirror shards scar palace. Repairs will take years."
"We'll mend," I said. "Memories heal slower, yet still heal."
He stepped closer. "Will yours heal? The gardens you lost, the fear you bore?"
I smiled. "I will plant new gardens on both realms—ones with no memories yet, waiting to be made." I touched his scar; beneath, twin dawn pulse glowed. "Together."
He lowered forehead to mine, just as before prophecy's haze. "Together, always."
Night over Tenebris shimmered. Constellations rearranged, forming twin stars orbiting a single radiant dawn.
I closed eyes, breathed promise.