Aiyara's hands trembled slightly, the hem of her burgundy gown clenched between nervous fingers. She lingered at the arched window of her upper-floor bedchamber, gazing into the courtyard below where torchlight glimmered across cobblestones, the midwinter festival in full bloom. Spiral ribbons and bright lanterns hung from iron hooks along the palace walls, while the scents of mulled wine, roasted fowl, and sweet pastries drifted upward. The solstice moon hung low in the sky, painting silver outlines along the high ramparts and the throng of citizens making merry under flickering bonfires.
Beyond that spark and bustle lay the heart of Masan's annual celebration: a festival that opened the palace gates to all folk, noble or common, for an evening of food, music, and shared warmth in the chill air. In the courtyard's center, minstrels performed a boisterous tune, prompting scattered dancing. Clusters of peasants and merchants alike had formed around carved wooden tables brimming with spiced apple tarts, nutty breads, and pitchers of cider. Every so often, a burst of laughter or a swirl of dancers set colorful scarves fluttering. It would have lifted Aiyara's spirits—if only the night held no larger purpose.
She pressed her lips together. Tonight marked her sixteenth birthday, the official threshold of adulthood in Masan. Any other year, she would have anticipated it with unbridled excitement. But there was more. Her parents, Queen Meilara and King-Consort Masaru, would soon announce their plan to depart east—no, west, she corrected, across the high seas—in a colonization effort rumored to be the most ambitious in the kingdom's history. Adventurers had returned with tales of an untamed continent's riches: wild forests teeming with unfamiliar creatures, rolling plains under mild climates, and rivers so abundant with fish that early explorers had dubbed them "silver highways." The vision of a new Masani foothold across the sea had enthralled half the realm. Yet it also meant her mother, the reigning queen, would be gone, taking much of the royal fleet and an entourage of the most intrepid settlers, leaving Aiyara behind to rule in their absence.
She rubbed her arms, as though warding off a sudden chill. Alone. She might have the council, the palace guard, the bureaucracy—but in many ways, she would stand alone. So many suitors, foreign dignitaries, and aspiring opportunists had arrived tonight, all hoping for a match that would tie them to Masan's next queen. Aiyara realized they likely eyed her the way predators eyed easy prey. The thought soured her stomach.
"My lady." A quiet voice came from behind, and she turned to see her friend Kida standing in the bedchamber doorway. Kida was dressed in the crisp uniform of the palace guard, a light metal chestplate over a dark tailored tunic, her black hair pulled into a tight braid. She carried herself with an easy confidence, though concern lined her brow. "Your father and mother asked after you. They're nearly finished preparing the dais in the great hall. Are you ready?"
Aiyara relaxed her grip on the gown's hem. "I'm not sure 'ready' is the word, but yes. Let's go." She stepped away from the window, letting the swirl of festival lights fade from sight.
Together, they traversed a corridor decked with evergreen wreaths and gilded candelabras. Servants bustled to and fro, carrying trays of honeyed pastries and pitchers of warm spiced ale for the guests. The polished floor bore intricate inlays that retold Masan's maritime heritage: ships crossing stormy seas, stylized waves, and the motto "From Cooperation, Strength" spelled out in old Masani script. It soothed Aiyara to see her land's ideals woven into the very foundation.
Yet that comfort eroded the moment they descended a grand staircase into the palace's main atrium, where scores of nobles, envoys, and lesser gentry clustered. The hush that fell as people caught sight of her was a tangible weight on her shoulders. Some bowed politely, others whispered behind raised hands. She recognized the older lords and ladies of Masan, who offered gentle smiles, but the foreign visitors—dressed in silks and brocades of every hue—evaluated her with frank curiosity or thinly disguised skepticism.
Kida straightened, stepping up to speak in a low voice. "Your father's inside the great hall, near the dais."
Aiyara nodded, swallowing the dry knot in her throat. She advanced into the throng, exchanging quick pleasantries. A finely dressed dwarven ambassador, face hidden behind a curly black beard braided with iron rings, clapped her on the back in greeting, nearly jolting her off balance. She forced a laugh, noting that dwarves never shrank from hearty informality. Others were more reserved: a tall, silver-haired elf from a remote forest province gave a small bow and a cryptic smile, while an anxious-looking bishop from the Church offered a stiff bow, the heavy chain of his office rattling around his neck.
Sister Elysia, the newest saint from the Church—her staff marking her as an ascendant of some virtue—waited a pace behind the bishop. She wore plain white robes that swished about her ankles, her doe-brown eyes radiating uncertainty. Aiyara sensed the girl was only a year or so older than she, thrust into a station of immense spiritual weight. Their gazes met briefly, Elysia's cheeks coloring before she lowered her eyes.
Then, Captain Roland—Kida's father—pushed through the cluster, gesturing politely for space. "Your Highness, the Queen and King-Consort are about to begin the announcements. If you'll follow me?"
He escorted her and Kida through the wide doors into the great hall. This space was even more lavishly arranged. Draped silks in red and gold hung from the high arches, while wide tables groaned under feast platters of steaming meats, crystal decanters of spiced wine, and baskets of fresh fruit. Musicians perched on a balcony overlooking the hall, fiddles and flutes weaving a lively tune. Countless pairs of eyes settled on the princess as she approached a raised dais, where two tall chairs faced the assembled guests.
Atop the dais stood Queen Meilara, regal in a flowing robe of dark green embroidered with slender wave motifs. King-Consort Masaru stood beside her, broad-shouldered and dignified in a high-collared jacket. Though Masan was a matriarchy, many admired the king-consort for his unwavering devotion to the queen and the realm. They made a formidable pair—the queen's calm authority balanced by the king's quiet strength.
A hush spread as the herald tapped his staff on the polished floor three times. Queen Meilara lifted her head, her gaze sweeping the crowd. "Family of Masan, friends from afar, we welcome you to this solstice festival. In the light of the year's turning, we honor the sixteenth birthday of my eldest daughter, Princess Aiyara." Applause rippled across the hall: polite, supportive, or tentative, depending on the source. The queen waited for silence. "Yet tonight bears heavier news than that. King-Consort Masaru and I have determined that Masan shall expand westward, to the newly discovered continent our adventurers have called Kaidan's Reach."
A flicker of excitement passed through the crowd. For weeks, rumors had circulated about the new land. Explorers spun tales of broad, fertile plains, towering trees, and hidden treasures. Some whispered that monstrous creatures and uncharted hazards also lurked there, but the official line declared it ripe for colonization.
The queen continued, "Soon, we will depart with a fleet—sailors, craftsmen, settlers of all stations—seeking to establish a foothold across the sea. We do not conquer; we settle. We cooperate with whatever we encounter. This is Masan's way." She paused, letting the significance sink in. "But in our absence, a kingdom still needs guidance. My daughter shall remain as our future. One year from this solstice, upon her seventeenth birthday, she will be crowned queen—if she has chosen a consort worthy of aiding her rule."
King-Consort Masaru picked up the thread. "It is the law of Masan that a princess may choose her consort freely. Birth or wealth alone does not determine worth. If you believe you can serve Masan at her side, speak now or hold your peace. Our only expectation is that you respect our traditions and show earnest devotion to this land and its people."
A flutter of conversation broke out. Some of Masan's own lords looked proud, while foreign dignitaries appeared intrigued—or calculating. Aiyara felt tension coil in her stomach. This was it: the spectacle of men vying for her hand, each with an agenda. She straightened her shoulders. If these suitors thought her young or naive, so be it, but she would not quake before them.
The queen's hand brushed Aiyara's shoulder gently. "Go on, greet them," she whispered. "Show them who you are."
Aiyara nodded. Stepping down from the dais, she caught sight of Kida at her flank, watchful. Captain Roland stationed himself a few paces off, arms folded as he surveyed the crowd. She took a breath and advanced toward the middle of the hall, where space had opened. The suitors began to approach.
The first to step forward was a broad-shouldered man in a surcoat bearing a leaping stallion. His dark hair curled over his collar, and his confident grin revealed straight white teeth. "Your Highness, I am Prince Orin of Halgaresh. Word of your kingdom's might at sea has reached my father's court. Now we hear rumor of a new world that begs for colonization. Imagine, if you will, uniting your ships with the might of our cavalry. We'd be unstoppable. Should you choose me, Halgaresh's fearless riders would protect your people from any threat, be it pirates on the waves or savages in unexplored lands."
She studied him carefully. "Masan believes in forging alliances of mutual respect. But we do not rely on conquest alone."
He bowed—though not too deeply. "No one suggests simple conquest, Princess. Yet caution is wise. Strange beasts, unknown tribes… your settlers may need a strong arm to shield them. My cavalry stands ready. I await your invitation, if you see sense in it." His eyes glinted with ambition. "I shall be nearby. We've much to discuss."
He withdrew with a flourish of his cloak. Aiyara's pulse beat faster. She felt unsettled by his casual talk of "savages" and "shielding" them from unknown people. But she forced herself to remain calm.
Next came Lord Davren, a lean figure in a finely tailored doublet of black velvet. Golden filigree traced its edges, and he wore several rings set with large gemstones. He gave an elegant bow, lips twitching in a thin smile. "Your Highness, I hail from the Northern Merchant Consortium, and our fleets traverse half the known world. With your father's expedition soon to depart, what better time to link your crown to an enterprise that can ferry back Kaidan's Reach's riches? The colonial venture will require supplies, yes? My father and I can equip a hundred voyages. Gold, trade routes—together, we'd hold the key to prosperity." He cast a brief glance at Orin's retreating figure. "Military might is fleeting. Wealth endures."
Aiyara returned a cool nod. "Masan thrives on more than gold alone. We value the people themselves, their well-being. But I acknowledge trade is vital."
Davren's smile never faltered. "Then we understand each other. I look forward to speaking with you further." He drifted aside, joining a circle of minor lords who whispered excitedly about the new lands.
Then a pair of robed figures approached—one older man with sharp, disapproving eyes and another, younger man with wispy hair and a trembling stance. The older man introduced himself as Grand Duke Belthar of the Rhezran Plains, muttering how the newly discovered continent called to him and his retinue, who believed they had rights to expand. But it was the younger man, identified as Prince Jareth, who looked at Aiyara with desperation.
He bowed, nearly stumbling on his robes. "Your Highness," he stammered, "I am second son to King Talem of Thildon. Our lands have suffered drought for years. Harvests shrink. Morale erodes. I—I came hoping that a union might secure your mother's knowledge of irrigation or advanced farming. If we glean new techniques to adapt our fields, we can save our people."
Aiyara's heart softened at his candor. "I'm sorry for your hardships, Prince Jareth. What do you hope to offer Masan in return?"
He swallowed. "We have… ambitious artisans who dream of forging new settlements. Should your colonists struggle building in Kaidan's Reach, we can send architects, stonemasons, laborers. All we need is your blessing, your alliance. Perhaps, if—if we were wed, it would guarantee my father's support for your new frontier, while you might—" He let the words trail, glancing aside.
"I appreciate your sincerity," she said. "I'll keep your plight in mind."
The Grand Duke gave a curt nod and guided the prince away, leaving Aiyara to exhale quietly. She could sense Kida's presence at her elbow—her friend's posture bristled with sympathy. So many foreign lands were ravaged by war or famine. The newly discovered continent was like a beacon of hope… or a trophy to be claimed.
Aiyara braced herself for the next suitor, but nobody stepped forth immediately. Instead, another tension rippled through the hall. People parted, some bowing, others staring with guarded awe. Empress Suryu of the Dragon Throne advanced, flanked by her retinue of half a dozen draconic guards. They were enormous figures—three men and three women, each with wide shoulders, muscled arms, and posture as taut as bowstrings. One had horns curling from his brow; another's nails tapered into thick, claw-like tips. Despite their humanoid forms, it was clear they could shift into more fearsome shapes if needed. They positioned themselves in a crescent around the Empress as though forming a living wall, but she walked calmly in the center, her robe of dark green scales shimmering in the candlelight.
The hush intensified, and Aiyara glimpsed dwarves at the edge of the hall pausing in their rowdy conversation to stare. She knew dwarves were once engineered by the dragons to serve as nest guardians for eggs, but now they had their own culture. Still, an air of caution or fear lingered whenever dwarves encountered dragons. Aiyara also sensed something else: the Empress's presence made many uneasy, as if her regal contempt reminded them how fleeting human power might be.
Suryu stopped a few paces away from Aiyara. She did not bow. Her slitted gold eyes swept over the princess, taking in every detail. Silence stretched uncomfortably. Then the Empress's voice drifted forth, low and slightly throaty. "So this is the future queen of Masan. I have heard rumors that your people discovered a new land across the sea. Curious how mortals scurry to claim what they find."
One of her guards placed a clawed hand on the hilt of a decorative sword, but the Empress shook her head once, an imperceptible command to stand down. She offered the ghost of a smile. "I find it… amusing. You think your mother can sail away and seize opportunity while leaving you behind to rule. Have you considered that others might see such a situation as weakness?"
Aiyara's cheeks warmed, but she forced a calm expression. "Masan is strong because we trust one another. My mother's expedition is no raid. We will treat those lands with care."
Suryu's pupils narrowed. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you will meet forces beyond your comprehension. The world is vast, princess. Dragons know this better than any. If you cannot defend your own seat, how will you protect your foothold in new realms?"
Aiyara's heart pounded, but she refused to be cowed. "We do not act alone. We form alliances. Mutual respect can achieve more than brute force."
The Empress lifted her chin. "Mutual respect… a fascinating concept among humans. We shall observe whether such an ideal can stand firm. My purpose here tonight is not to woo you, child, but to witness your realm's transition. I shall see if you deserve notice… or if you are as transient as the wind." She made a slight gesture, prompting her guards to fall back a pace. Before turning, she gazed once more at Aiyara's face, her reptilian gaze unblinking. Then, with measured steps, she withdrew, her retinue pacing around her like an armored ring.
Aiyara let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Kida murmured, "She doesn't mince words."
"No," Aiyara whispered, pulse still racing. "Dragons rarely do."
As the Empress departed, a flurry of chatter arose—relieved or curious. A server slipped by with a tray of spiced wine, and Aiyara accepted a goblet, grateful for the mild sweet heat on her tongue. She'd only taken a few sips when a new voice reached her ears:
"Your Highness."
She turned to see a young man with sun-weathered skin, sandy hair, and earnest dark eyes. He wore a freshly laundered tunic, though it was plain compared to the finery around him. A carved fish symbol was embroidered at his shoulder. "Harim, from Havenport," he introduced, bowing. "I fish the southern waters."
Kida raised her eyebrows slightly but did not interfere. Aiyara set her goblet aside. "Harim. You came for the festival?"
He swallowed, nodding. "Yes, and also… for this." He glanced at the dais where the queen and king-consort stood, engaged in conversation with some worried-looking envoys. "Your law says that any man—regardless of birth—may plead his case. I thought… well, it's a fool's errand, maybe, but if I don't speak up, I'll never forgive myself."
He looked around, taking in the sumptuous hall, the towering columns. "I'm no prince with legions at my command, nor a merchant-lord with deep coffers. But I know these waters, these coasts. My family's boats have fed thousands of Masani for generations. Fisherfolk keep the kingdom nourished. If, by some miracle, you found that worthy… I would pledge my life to the service of Masan. We face uncertain times, especially if your mother sails off. I can't fight armies, but I can see that no one in this realm goes hungry. We can mend broken nets—maybe broken hearts, too." His cheeks reddened at that last phrase.
Something in his sincerity touched Aiyara. He sounded worlds apart from the power-hungry suitors. "Harim," she said gently, "thank you. We do believe in the worth of every person here. And—"
She broke off as an acerbic laugh cut through the near swirl of conversation. Lord Davren materialized at Harim's side, arms crossed. "Princess," he said, ignoring Harim at first. "I see you've found more 'worthy men' to fill your evening. Or did he find you? So many dreamers in one place."
Harim bristled. "I have as much right to speak as any man."
"Perhaps in principle," Davren said, eyeing Harim's humble attire, "but I doubt you can offer the princess the wealth or strength she needs to secure her kingdom. Let's be honest: fish and good intentions won't deter those who might exploit Masan's matriarch."
Aiyara felt her stomach lurch with anger, but before she could respond, a second voice joined the fray: Prince Orin, striding up with his hawkish grin. "Ah, the fisherman. I'd heard rumors that commoners might attempt to press their luck. Suppose that's only fair, given Masan's unusual laws. But is this truly the best use of your time, Princess?" He directed a half-mocking look at Harim.
Harim's face burned with suppressed frustration. "Our law is clear. This is not your homeland. Respect that."
Orin gave a lazy shrug. "Respect, sure. But a fisherman wedding the future queen? I believe in fantasies less than I believe in the threat of your mother's rumored new land. Let's be pragmatic. The princess needs alliances that stand firm against outside forces. She needs cavalry, trade fleets, or soldiering might. Not… fish."
He and Davren traded smirks, as though finding shared humor in belittling Harim's earnest plea. Aiyara felt her pulse hammer. Kida glanced at her, concern etched in her eyes. Around them, several Masani nobles overheard, bristling—Masan took pride in every craft and trade, from blacksmiths to weavers, from fishermen to scholars. The foreigners' scorn grated like sand on raw skin.
Lord Davren advanced half a step toward Harim, turning up his nose. "Even if the princess indulges your… idealism, how can you defend her throne when her mother departs? Thieves, raiders, or opportunists will circle like sharks. Perhaps you fish the ocean, but are you prepared to fish for heads?"
"That's enough," Aiyara managed, voice tight. "Harim spoke with honesty. Mocking him is mocking our kingdom's values."
Davren's lips curled. "Your values may hold in this palace, but beyond your borders, power is everything. Orin here can bring you cavalry; I can bring you commerce. We all know that once your queen sails away with the best ships, you'll need real security, not empty gestures."
A tense hush fell. Aiyara realized her fists clenched at her sides. She was certain that many foreign suitors were thinking the same, even if they did not say it so brazenly: that a young matriarch was vulnerable. The talk of the new world only heightened these men's ambitions. They wanted influence over the colonization efforts or the homeland left behind.
She sensed a hot flush creep across her cheeks. The flares of the torches on the walls seemed to dance more violently. At her periphery, she caught fleeting glimmers, as if the candlelight cast eerie patterns that swirled around Orin, Davren, and the others. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.
"My lady," Harim said quietly, "I apologize for this conflict—"
"Don't you apologize," she snapped, though not at him. Her eyes swept Orin, Davren, and several other foreign lords who watched with smug interest. "This is my realm. We do not belittle commoners for daring to speak."
Orin gave a mild snort. "We only point out realities. Harim is hardly a suitor who can anchor your rule. The new world is too dangerous for half-measures."
Davren joined in, "Yes, next thing you'll say is you can colonize an entire continent with fishing boats." He tossed Harim a pitying glance.
Anger lit Aiyara's veins like sparks on tinder. She could feel a presence behind her: Captain Roland, perhaps, or Kida. The tension grew so thick that murmurs rose among the onlookers. She tried to master her breathing, but the swirl of color at the edges of her vision felt sharper, more real, like arcs of shimmering haze. Each insult fed something within her, a balloon of pressure that expanded with every mocking word.
Somewhere beyond the circle, Sister Elysia and her bishop hovered, the saint's staff faintly glimmering. Aiyara had the impression that Elysia sensed something unusual, her eyes darting warily toward the princess. Empress Suryu, too, had paused near a group of dwarves and looked across the hall, her slender horns catching candlelight as she turned. Her guards stood ready, as if some primal warning had stirred them.
"Let the fisherman speak," Aiyara said, though it came out hoarse with pent-up fury. "He has a right to be heard."
"Princess," Davren insisted, "this is nonsense. We want to protect you—truly. We know how vulnerable you'll be if your mother's project to colonize Kaidan's Reach means half your fleet is gone. You need—"
"I need none of your scorn!" she roared unexpectedly, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Shock rippled through the crowd. Kida moved closer, a protective stance. The nearest guards stiffened. Orin seemed ready to retort, but Aiyara's eyes blazed. "Have you so little respect for Masan's customs that you'd degrade one of our own? That you'd speak as if we have no power without your cavalry or your gold?"
His lips parted, yet no sound emerged. Davren's sneer faltered. Aiyara's breath came quick, adrenaline pumping. The stone floor vibrated, or so it felt beneath her slippers. Maybe it was just her heartbeat. But then the torches along the walls flickered unnaturally, flames stretching high. The hush sharpened, men and women glancing about in alarm.
She saw swirling motes of light at the corners of her vision, intangible but vivid. Each breath fanned the coals of her fury. Harim backed away, eyes wide, as if he felt the charge in the air. Aiyara's pulse pounded in her ears. She heard Kida calling her name softly, but it was as if from a distance.
Another foreign baron, emboldened by Orin and Davren, muttered, "We mean no offense, but she's only a girl. Her mother's leaving. The new world is big—someone must keep the throne safe."
An incandescent surge welled up inside Aiyara, as though her anger had taken tangible form. All around her, onlookers took a step back. She dimly registered Captain Roland signaling more guards to ring the dais, uncertain if violence might erupt. The swirling lights in Aiyara's eyes grew more vivid, the torches flaring again, the very air thickening.
"Stop," she murmured, no longer sure whom she addressed. The foreigners? Herself? She tasted copper on her tongue, realized she'd bitten down on her lip. "You come here… degrade us…" Her voice trembled.
Davren raised a placating hand. "Your Highness, truly, we only—"
A sudden, blinding eruption of energy burst from Aiyara's body. She screamed, though the sound was swallowed by a blast akin to a thunderclap. The chandeliers overhead rattled, crystals chiming discordantly. Flames in the sconces shot skyward, casting dancing shadows across the pillars. It felt as if a vortex of raw force had been unleashed, gusting outward in every direction.
The floor quaked. The stained-glass windows lining one wall shattered inward, spraying shards across the hall. Guests cried out—some were knocked off their feet. Aiyara staggered, disoriented, consumed by a surge of power she couldn't contain. She glimpsed Kida huddled behind a fallen table, arms over her head for protection.
A thunderous crack resounded as a portion of the vault above tore loose. Chunks of masonry and ornate plaster crashed onto the feast tables, crushing platters of food and splintering chairs. People screamed, scattering. She heard dwarvish curses, the clang of metal as a statue toppled.
The surge didn't stop. Another wave of invisible force pulsed from Aiyara's core, launching Orin and Davren backward. They slammed into a pillar, slumping to the ground in groaning heaps. Stone columns nearby fractured, sending fissures spiraling up the walls. Torch brackets fell, scattering embers across tapestries, which ignited with hissing flames.
Somewhere near the dais, Queen Meilara's voice rang out, telling the guards to shield the king-consort. Captain Roland bellowed commands to help the wounded. Sister Elysia, tears streaming, raised her relic staff and muttered desperate incantations that formed a flickering barrier around the Church retinue. Empress Suryu's retinue of hulking guards tensed; arcs of shimmering magic danced across their bodies. The Empress herself, apparently fearless, merely stood while her guardians deflected falling debris.
Amid swirling dust and sparks, Aiyara's ears rang. Her vision blurred. The hall spun, a kaleidoscope of color and destruction. She glimpsed the wide archway leading to the outer courtyard—some of the commoners outside had rushed forward to see what was happening, only to gasp at the sight of collapsing architecture, billowing smoke, and flailing guests. In the corner of her eye, she saw Harim half-buried under a wrecked bench, arms thrown up to protect his face from flying shards.
Her heart pounded so hard that she feared it would tear free from her ribs. The unstoppable current of force draining from her left her limbs weak. She sank to her knees, sobbing in confusion. Screams echoed: someone pinned beneath rubble, the shriek of twisted metal as a chandelier gave way, smashing onto a table.
Kida scrambled toward her, ducking a tumbling stone. The mosaic floor near them had cracked open, forming a jagged fissure. Fires sprouted wherever drapes or tapestries had fallen. The swirling vortex of energy began to subside, replaced by thick clouds of dust that clogged the air.
"Aiyara!" Kida coughed, grabbing the princess's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"
The princess's head lolled. She saw blood trickling down Kida's cheek from a shallow cut, and behind Kida, Captain Roland urgently hauling aside a piece of broken column that trapped a moaning envoy. The royal dais was partially collapsed; Queen Meilara and King-Consort Masaru huddled there, protected by a ring of guards. Aiyara's entire body trembled, her vision dotted with black spots.
Before she lost all awareness, she caught a final glimpse of Empress Suryu. The dragon empress stood unwavering, unscathed behind her monstrous guards, lips curved in something like wry curiosity. Next to her, dwarves clung to overturned benches, cursing or praying—some reached for each other to drag away from falling beams. Sister Elysia knelt in the center of her shimmering ward, tears dripping onto the marble. Even from yards away, Aiyara sensed the saint's shock and fear.
Then the dizziness consumed her fully. Her muscles slackened. She tumbled forward, barely feeling Kida's arms catching her. The cacophony receded into muffled echoes, flames crackling, prayers shouted, stone grinding. She drifted into a void of unconsciousness, tears wet on her cheeks from the knowledge that she had caused this devastation, that her fury had manifested in ways she never imagined. The voices of her mother, her father, and the cries of the wounded blended into a final swirl of darkness.