Chapter 15: Battle 1
The battlefield was a sea of bodies.
Moonlight's forces moved like a storm given form—water-wielders shifting the terrain beneath their enemies' feet, air-dancers carving paths of death through the chaos. Thornvale's warriors, clad in armor shaped from the very trees and stone of their homeland, fought back with vicious determination. Yet, despite their cunning, despite their illusions, they were faltering.
Princess Elysia surged forward, her blade a silver arc in the moonlit night, carving through Thornvale warriors as if they were reeds before a scythe. A soldier in dark green armor lunged at her, an obsidian axe raised high, but Elysia turned her strike aside with a flick of her wrist. Before the warrior could recover, Elysia's sword carved through her abdomen, parting metal and flesh as effortlessly as slicing silk.
'They dared,' she thought, stepping over the body before her. 'They dared to threaten our child.'
A spear thrust toward her ribs. She twisted, catching sight of her attacker—an elven warrior with deep brown skin, her golden eyes fierce even in death. Because Elysia's sword was already embedded in her throat, blood spilling down her chest in hot rivulets.
Beside her, Sorrel moved with a scholar's precision, each strike guided by years of study. She wielded not just a blade but the weight of Moonlight's history, the understanding of a hundred battles fought before this night. Thornvale blood painted the ground in dark streaks as her water-crafted spear pierced armor and flesh alike. A Thornvale warrior tried to parry, but Sorrel shifted her grip and plunged her spear into the woman's thigh. She collapsed with a choked scream, but Sorrel was already moving, whirling to drive her weapon through another enemy's heart.
Lady Aria, Mistress of Winds, danced through the fray. A Thornvale soldier lunged at her, sword raised—but the air itself betrayed her. A gust of wind twisted her strike wide, and before she could recover, Aria's blade opened her throat. The soldier crumpled, gurgling, hands clawing at the wound, but Aria did not stop. Wind whistled around her as she spun, slicing down another enemy, and another. She was untouchable, an unrelenting force of nature, her silver hair flickering like a phantom in the storm of war.
A Thornvale captain, marked by the intricate carvings on her wooden breastplate, leapt at Aria with a pair of curved daggers. Unlike the others, she was fast. She moved with a predator's grace, her movements precise, deadly.
But Aria was faster.