It was not a fine beast by any stretch. The mare struggled and whinnied. It tossed its head this way and that, forcing Vhalla to crouch forward and grip the reins as tightly as possible. The horse resisted her at first, but she kicked harder, feeling a minimal amount of guilt for pushing the unsuspecting creature so.

The horse finally moved how she wanted. Vhalla had just enough time to hold out a hand to arm herself with a sword from the ground, its owner long dead, before she was up on the first Northern rider. She swung in a wide arc, and the sharp of the blade smashed against her enemy’s nose. It was like hitting the side of a mountain, and Vhalla’s bones reverberated from the impact. But it was enough to stall the rider.

A brave Imperial soldier charged, thrusting her lance through the heart of the cat-like beast. The Northern warrior glared at Vhalla only briefly, rage twisting her features as she fell from her dying mount.

“Go for the eyes!” Vhalla shouted to the Southern army within earshot. She knew they were likely more experienced than she was, but a reminder could not hurt. Vhalla pulled the reins, turning.

Off in the distance, a dark streak raced forward against the torrent of flaming arrows. She followed its path to a man in white and gold armor who was already struggling with soldiers breaching the southern side. Vhalla cursed loudly as she snapped the reins, riding in the direction of the Emperor.

The wind at her back, she closed the gap in an impossibly short amount of time. Vhalla cried as she ran the horse perpendicular to the path of the remaining cat creature. As she launched herself into the air, the mare was forced into the side of the cat-beast, knocking its talons off-target. Vhalla tackled the Northern soldier on the back of the creature, and she spared just a moment’s thought for how much she really hated the Emperor.

Vhalla rolled head over heels, entangled with the Northerner who had made a bid for the life of Emperor Solaris. The Northerner won out on top, straddling her. Vhalla struggled, her arms pinned beneath the enemy woman’s knees. The Groundbreaker pulled back her sword, her arms over her head.

“Gwaeru!” she cried.

Vhalla saw a flash of silver in the night.

A lance impaled the Northerner’s eye. Her mouth hung open and lifeless. Vhalla twisted her head to avoid the point of the blade that dropped from between the dead woman’s limp fingers. The helping weapon withdrew, and Vhalla pushed the lifeless corpse off of her, regaining her feet quickly.

Major Zerian arced his weapon through the air, sending the bloody gore flying off it. Vhalla gave quick thanks and peered around his side, seeing the beast she had run head-first into on the ground. Emperor Solaris pulled his sword from the creature’s face and found her.

Her eyes met those cold blue ones, and she paused. There was no thank you, no nod, and no recognition. He simply turned and began barking orders as the other beasts from the western side began to fall against the inner line. Vhalla heard the sound of arrows piercing the air, originating from the fortress, and instinctively raised her hand. Deflecting the attacks of archers had become all too easy.

The Emperor gazed back at her. Vhalla had a moment where she half expected some form of gratitude for her additional assistance. But he simply turned to give orders. She hardly had time to care. Major Zerian, however, gave her a nod. He had seen her save the Emperor directly. It was the first time that there was no question of it happening, and she had been Vhalla Yarl, not Serien. That was enough for her.

Her feet carried her back across the thinning battlefield. Vhalla killed three more Northerners along the way, aiding in the deaths of at least five others by disarming them or throwing them off balance. She saw the bodies that had begun to pile upon the ground and couldn’t keep a tally of who seemed to have heaped more upon the bloody earth, North or South.

Shifting her magical vision, she scanned the trees. Her heart almost stopped. There were no more, as far as she could see, no more soldiers waiting in the tree line. There were no more. Her feet moved all the faster. Aldrik, she needed to be with him, to be at his side for the call that was inevitably going to ring through the air of the early dawn.

Her prince threw off an attacker as she reached him. His arms opened to her, and her hands clasped around his forearms as his clasped around hers. They both forbid each other more of an embrace than that.

“You mad woman!” he yelled at her over the noise of dying men and women.

“Perhaps!” she agreed, waving a hand toward a Waterrunner who was having a particularly hard time.

“Do not leave my side again!” he demanded, one arm released her to send a torrent of flame in the face of a Northerner.

“Even if it is to publically save your father?” she asked, turning away from him back to the palace to deflect another wave of arrows. Aldrik’s face snapped to face hers, and she met it with a small, satisfied smirk.

The battle continued to calm until a trumpet echoed across the field and all Southerners paused. Another picked up the call, and then another, before the air was alive with the Southern song of war. Vhalla’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes scanned the battlefield.

The last of the Northerners were collapsing to their knees before their Southern opponents. The Imperial army wasted no time in putting them to death on the spot. It was carnage unlike she had ever seen before on all sides.

In the calm, she panted, trying to catch her breath. Vhalla returned back to the trees, her eyes scanning them frantically. Her hands were balled into fists, and she stood poised for the next wave. The horn blew out again and a hand clasped over her shoulder, startling her.

“It’s over,” Aldrik said softly. She assessed the blood covering his face and hoped it was only from others. Vhalla scanned the trees again, her heart racing. “Vhalla, it’s done.”

She couldn’t believe it. But the horn rang out once more. The last dying gasp of a Northerner was silenced, and everyone seemed to hold their collective breath. No more raced from the trees. There were no more shouts for war in the night. In that first streak of morning’s light, the South raised their voices in a cheer.

Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to emit sound to join the mad cry. She looked on, stunned. There seemed too little to cheer about with all the dead littering the ground about them. If this was what victory looked like, what was defeat?

Aldrik’s hands caught her shoulders, and she felt dizzy. He admired her as though she was the reason for all their joyous cries, and she met his eyes with a swelling adoration that nearly consumed her sanity. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to sweep him up in her embrace. They had made it. They would meet the dawn together. Somehow, they both refrained from acting on the desires that were so apparent on their faces, though the moment of tension spoke volumes for the want and relief that washed over their exhausted bodies.

The second he released her, she scanned for Fritz, Daniel, Elecia, someone. Her heart stopped when she saw a mass of frizzy and bloodied blonde hair. Vhalla raced to Fritz’s side, laughing with relief as soon as she reached her friend. His eyes were closed, but he breathed, and—given all that had transpired—that was enough. Aldrik called over to Elecia, who seemed equally relieved by Fritz’s stable state, and she immediately began tending to the Southerner.

“Vhalla, come,” the prince commanded softly.

“I want to stay with him.” She held Fritz’s hand in hers.