Commander Leneus sat at his desk, his quarters dimly lit by the glow of a single lantern. Stacks of reports and battle assessments lay scattered before him, his quill scratching against the parchment as he worked tirelessly. The rhythmic strokes of ink were the only sound in the otherwise silent room until a sudden knock broke his concentration.

  He exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his features. "Enter."

  The door creaked open, and an unnamed warrior stepped inside, standing stiffly at attention. "Commander Leneus."

  "What is it?" Leneus asked, not looking up from his work.

  The warrior hesitated before delivering the report. "Lady Lucielle has not returned after the second horn, sir."

  The quill in Leneus' hand stopped mid-stroke. A slow, deliberate silence filled the room as he finally lifted his gaze, his golden eyes sharp enough to make the warrior tense under his scrutiny.

  "Is the information reliable?" His voice was low, measured.

  "Yes, Commander. We confirmed it multiple times. No one has seen her return."

  Leneus closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled through his nose. "Dismissed."

  The warrior hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing and exiting the room, clearly relieved to be away from his commander’s oppressive presence.

  As the door shut behind him, a figure stepped out from the shadows of the room, their hood concealing most of their features. Leneus barely reacted, as if he had been expecting them.

  "How likely is my daughter’s death?" Leneus asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

  The hooded figure took a moment before responding. "The chances are high. The battlefield was chaotic, and she has not been sighted. If she has fallen, retrieval is unlikely."

  Silence hung between them like a drawn blade.

  After a moment, Leneus shifted his focus. "How is the experiment progressing?"

  "No major improvements yet," the hooded figure admitted. "We may need further support from the council members. Some components are proving difficult to refine."

  Leneus tapped his fingers against his desk before nodding. "I will handle that. Continue with your work. I expect results soon."

  The hooded figure gave a slight bow and disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Leneus alone.

  Rising from his chair, he strode toward a large, ornate portrait hanging on the far wall. The painting depicted a serene scene—himself, his late wife, and a small, golden-haired child barely four years old. His fingers traced the edge of the frame, his eyes locked onto the image of his wife and daughter.

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  His expression remained impassive as he whispered, "I will destroy every Nyxaran. I promise you both."

  Not a single tear fell—only the unyielding fire of vengeance burned in his gaze.

  ******

  Meanwhile, in Nyxara, the air was thick with the scent of incense as Varessa and Maria sat in quiet conversation within a secluded chamber. The room was dimly lit by violet-tinged lanterns, casting soft glows over the intricate tapestries lining the walls. A silver tray between them held untouched cups of dark tea, the liquid having long since cooled.

  "She finally went out after her suspension," Varessa murmured, swirling the untouched tea in her hands. The slight tremor in her fingers did not go unnoticed. "Did she say anything about me?"

  Maria, ever the patient one, shook her head. "No. Varithra looked as normal as ever, as if nothing had changed."

  Varessa let out a small breath, almost a sigh of relief. "I have been so busy with the Order of the Nyx, I’ve barely had time to attend to her. It was you who constantly checked on her… and now I regret it."

  Maria’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I think she would love to hear that from you."

  The warmth between them lingered for a moment before it was shattered by the hurried sound of footsteps. The sharp click of armored boots against the stone floor echoed through the halls, breaking the illusion of peace. A female warrior, unfamiliar to Maria but dressed in the official black and silver of Nyxara’s military, rushed toward them, her face pale with urgency.

  Varessa lifted a hand, signaling for her to slow down. "Calm yourself, child. What is the matter?"

  The woman, still catching her breath, bowed quickly before speaking. "Lady Varessa… Lady Varithra has not returned after the second horn."

  A stillness fell over the corridor.

  Varessa turned her gaze to Maria as if she had misheard. "What? That… that can’t be. She might be resting in her camp."

  The warrior shook her head. "No, ma’am. We have already checked. She has not returned. There has been no sighting of her anywhere."

  Another silence. It stretched long and deep before Varessa finally spoke, her voice unnervingly calm. "Very well. I understand. You are dismissed."

  The warrior hesitated, confused by Varessa’s composed demeanor, but she bowed and left without question.

  Only Maria and Varessa remained, the silence between them growing heavier with every second.

  "I have work to do," Varessa said suddenly, turning away and retreating toward her chambers.

  Maria, however, knew her better than anyone—even better than Varithra or her late husband. Without a word, she followed.

  Varessa stood with her back turned, her posture rigid, staring at the wall as if trying to hold herself together. The weight of grief bore down on her shoulders, yet she refused to yield.

  "Varessa," Maria called softly.

  Varessa turned, her expression unreadable. "What is it?"

  Maria didn’t speak. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she silently opened her arms in invitation.

  That was enough to break the dam.

  Varessa rushed into Maria’s embrace, clutching her as though letting go would mean losing everything. Her cries were raw, unfiltered, filled with the agony of a mother who had already lost too much. She sobbed into Maria’s shoulder, her fingers tightening in her robes as wave after wave of sorrow crashed over her.

  "I lost my husband to this damn war… and now my only daughter too…" Her voice trembled between gasps and sobs. "I will end this war. I swear it."

  Maria held her tightly, whispering nothing, only offering her presence—because she knew there were no words that could heal such pain.

  The war had taken too much from both of them.

  And now, it had taken her daughter as well.

  Outside, the violet moon of Nyxara cast its glow over the land, bathing everything in its quiet, unfeeling light. The heavens did not weep for them, nor did they mourn the fallen.

  But within the walls of Luminara and Nyxara, two parents sat in silent grief, their hearts consumed by the same thought:

  If their daughters were truly lost, then vengeance would follow.