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Chapter Text

URIAH COULD FEEL THE DRIED BLOOD ON HER CHEEK. Hers two long silver swords had cracks all along the blade, her leather clothes were soaked in her own blood and enemies ━ her long and black hair had several strands loose from a tight ponytail.

It was rare that her squad had moments of peace like now, but she could not leave the spot, they had to stay and protect the Illyrians. Uriah's house was on an island a few kilometers away from the continent and the land served as a refuge for the Illyrians who did not kneel before Amarantha, but the General discovered the place long ago and sent armies upon armies to annihilate them.

But the Illyrians resisted. Like they always do.

Squads took turns to protect the borders, land and sky.

And Uriah is the only female among all the soldiers. But the soldiers learned to respect her when in fifty years she continued to be there, fighting side by side with them, spitting on the enemy's dead body and helping keep all the people in the sanctuary safe.

She resist.

Uriah saw a black figure coming from the horizon and stood up, knowing it was Gale returning from a patrol. She was anxious for his arrival, it always meant it was time for her to make the rounds, to fly. A few seconds later he landed in front of her and nodded, Uriah sheathed her swords, stretched her wings and the pleasure took over her.

It had been days since she had been allowed to fly, so without another second, she flapped her wings and took to the sky, to freedom. Every Illyrian had a preference for war, but flying was sewn into their being.

The Illyrian felt the wind whip her body and her blood hardening. Uriah wrinkled her nose, she really needed a bath. Flying so high that they would mistake her for a simple bird, she began to do her work. She passed through all the abandoned Illyrian lands and finally found herself near Amarantha's army, she landed and went into the forest, to hide and observe.

The General could not afford to send her entire army after the refugees anymore, not when there were rebel hotbeds in every court in Prythian that needed to be put out and the war continued for decades with no end in sight. When she was close to the enemy camp on foot, she stopped and climbed a tree, sitting on a branch and staying hidden. She was there to observe any changes.

Since they had started spying, surprise attacks had stopped being surprises and they were able to better prepare and fight back ━ not only did they defend themselves, they also stole weapons and supplies from them.

Not that they needed it. They were surrounded by fresh water with even sweeter fish, but the enemy needed it, and a hungry and thirsty army was a weak army. The Illyrian generals knew they had to finish her army off soon, they would not be able to survive another fifty years, not when half of the people had chosen to fight against their own brothers.

Of course, the High-Lord of the Night Court himself had thrown at her feet and begged for mercy and shelter, as the gossip said. When she invaded Prythian, Uriah got to see him fight, it was terrifying and inspiring, he didn't know how he had fallen to the point of becoming Amarantha's whore.

Uriah snorted, a waste of power.

As night fell, the Illyrian snuggled closer and closer to the branch she was sitting on. Bored to death, she let go of her long black hair and began to brush it with her fingers. She grimaced at the smell, it had been days since she had bathed and washed it, the strands were hard and oily, clinging to her like a second skin.

Hygiene wasn't as important as survival, after all. Her clothes were an example of this, the cooked and hardened leather of the Illyrians, which covered her from her ankles to her neck, no covering only her arms and wings ━ it was a light, strong and elastic armor that allowed her movements to be freer and to fly without a huge weight pulling her down. But the leather was not thermal.

When it was in hot places, the leather heated up and burned the skin. In cold places, it froze. That's why she was grateful for the mild climate where she was. She threw her legs over the tree trunk and took off her boots, moving her little toes that hadn't left the tight spot for days, and then did the same with the wings, stretching them to the limit. The pleasure took over her, but she soon got ready and went back to her vigil, paying attention to all the movements of the enemy soldiers.

When the sun was almost rising, a squad of twenty soldiers arrived, exuding urgency. Uriah crouched on the trunk and jumped from branch to branch, getting closer, being covered by the leaves of the trees and the morning slowness. She went as far as she could go without being seen. She was very close to a cabin when heard shouts ordering them to break camp.

This confused her. Were they going to attack? Have they given up on exterminating them?

She went a little deeper into the forest when heard three soldiers arriving at the cabin, in a hurry.

"We should stay and avenge her." One of them said.

"Avenged who?"

"If we stay, we'll be dead before the day is out," the other replied.

The third, irritated, turned and slapped the two chatterboxes on the chest and ordered: "Get your things. Amarantha is dead and we need to retreat and reunite."

Amarantha is dead.

Amarantha is dead.

Amarantha is dead.

The meaning of that shocked Uriah to the core.

It shocked her so much that she made a mistake.

With one false step, she fell from the tree and caught the attention of the very angry soldiers who wanted revenge against their murdered leader. The thud of her body on the ground was loud and flashy and there was no way it wouldn't draw attention.

Grunting and mentally slapping himself, Uriah stood up, analyzed the three men who were surprised and if she would have time to take flight and escape. The forest there was dense, so she wouldn't be able to fly there.

She stretched out her wings, shaking them to clear the rocks and leaves, and that was when the soldiers noticed that she was Illyrian. That she was the enemy. They shouted, calling for more soldiers as they advanced on her, who unsheathed one of her swords and went on guard. Uriah was at a disadvantage, so she would have to escape as quickly as possible.

The first soldier who got close to Uriah raised his sword and swung it down with all his strength, knowing that she wouldn't be able to block it, the Illyrian moved her left foot to the side, making the blade pass close to her body.

Uriah, in a quick strike, took advantage of his proximity and threw himself to his knees while making a horizontal cut across his belly. Lucky for her they didn't have time to put on armor. Uriah quickly got up, pulling the other sword from her back and crossing it, losing the sword of the second soldier who reached her.

Uriah then kicked him, throwing him away while defending herself from the attack of the third. She only heard the sound of soldier two's spine breaking as it hit the trunk of a tree. She quickly disarmed soldier three and crossed her swords on his neck. With a sure pull, she decapitated him, making his blood splash all over Uriah's body.

Taking a deep breath through her mouth, Uriah heard the sound of footsteps approaching and, knowing that they were more enemies, she closed her wings, entered the forest and ran.

An arrow whistled past the female's ear. Too close. Her skin tingled with the dirt, sticking to the fresh blood that once again bathed her body and dripped, leaving trails. Dodging branches and trees, Uriah just wanted to reach an open field. As soon as she took flight, no one would catch her.

A sharp pain in her left shoulder made her stagger, an arrow hitting her. Still running at full speed, she took the tip of the arrow with her right hand and broke it, throwing the tip away and ripping the rest of the weapon from her shoulder. Uriah soon spotted a clearing and forced herself to go faster, the second she was free of the sea of ​​trees, the Illyrian stretched her wings and flew.

Free from the chase, Uriah could think again about what she heard. Amarantha was dead, they were free of the damned, finally. No more wars, no more deaths. Uriah laughed, happiness taking over his heart and warming it. For the first time since going through the Blood Ritual she would not be a soldier in a war.

But the happiness soon died with time and as Uriah thought. Amarantha was just a subordinate, so they still face something much worse than her. But it was not time to think about that.

When she spotted the island, increased her speed, descending and flying close to the ground. Uriah stumbled to a landing right in front of her captain, who looked like he was about to burst into flames with rage.

"You have abandoned your post!"

"Amarantha is dead."

Chapter Text

DIRT RAN DOWN HER SKIN WITH THE WATER , for the first time in weeks she was actually taking a bath and, for the first time in a year , she was washing her hair. She dove again and, at the bottom of the sea, scrubbed the brittle strands with the soap taken from her and her dad’s house. She scrubbed her head, face, arms – her legs and her entire body calmly, removing all the dirt and all the blood that dried onto her.

Uriah washed her soul, removing the remnants of the enemies that were embedded in her skin, the evidence that she had spent decades fighting dripping down. After the frenzy of the news of Amarantha's death, with the preparations to finally return to Illyrians lands and take them back, Uriah barely had time for anything, having to take care of her and her father, Devlon, things. Days later, when she managed to get a break, she went into the tent and grabbed soap, a towel, clean clothes and flew to a place where no one could see her. Then left all her clothes on the floor and, taking only the soap, entered the warm sea.

As washed her face, Uriah thought about what her life would be like from now on. It was one thing to be a soldier in times of need when an extra pair of wings made all the difference, but would they still let her train and fight with the other males, even though she was an illyrian woman ? Devlon did not allow Uriah to perform the Blood Ritual so that she could officially become an Illyrian warrior until it was extremely necessary, since the war had killed many of his people and he could not lose a skilled fighter for his belief.

War killed, regardless of whether it was male or female. If man and woman could die and bleed the same maroon blood, why couldn't they fight the same deadly war?

So Uriah underwent the Blood Ritual and officially became an Illyrian soldier, immediately entering the front lines of the war. Many males disagreed with Devlon, especially the Illyrian lords who did everything they could to maintain their customs but, lords or not, none dared to say anything out loud to stand against Devlon, who might not be rich or living in a palace, but was respected and feared by all Illyrian, he was one of those who were at the forefront of the resistance and to go against him was to go against an entire brutal – and thirsty for blood – army. Devlon was greatly feared among the Illyrians, and now, after the Long War, his daughter was too.

Floating on the sea, Uriah looked at the blue, clear and cloudless sky. It seemed like a fantasy.

She didn't sleep at night – as soon as she closed her eyes she saw blood, soulless bodies and the terror was overwhelming. Uriah felt like she had never been innocent in life, she was a girl in a world that hated girls, but she was not prepared for the horrors of battle, for what take someone's lives in a blink took from her. Everything she saw, everything she did... Uriah suspected she would never sleep a full night again.

The warrior's mind contrasted with the sky, while it displayed calm, constancy and peace, in her thoughts there was fear, urgency and the anxiety that always dominated her but now there was no battle to occupy her. Weeks ago she could not stop for a second, always having to be ready to take over for some wounded soldier; the war was over, but Uriah's unconscious did not seem to understand this, too accustomed to the past that she was living.

Going to the beach, in search of her things, Uriah took a brush and her armor and returned to the sea, starting to wash part by part, scrubbing hard until the accumulated blood stains came off completedly. Leather was not easy to wash, but if did not clean it often, it would rot with the blood and Uriah would have to buy new armor, which was not exactly a cheap thing. Uriah had to work in many taverns, washing dishes and cleaning in the mornings before opening to be able to buy hers. She could have asked her father for help, but she knew that asking him to train her would be enough for at least a millennium. Folding it correctly and placing it on top of her bag, so as not to get sand on it, the Illyrian took a deep breath and dove one last time, soon surfacing and swimming towards the beach. The wounds burned slightly, causing an annoying discomfort throughout her entire body.

Uriah felt like an arrow target, pierced and torn in every exposed piece of skin. It was not a pretty thing, she realized. While the sight of scars would bring honor and glory to other soldiers, Uriah knew that for everyone who looked at her body, they would be a reason for repulsion, something that adorned her in an ugly way – because she was a woman. Fortunately, Uriah stopped caring about other opinions a long time ago. Each scar meant a battle won, one less enemy, it meant another day in which she would not give up on being what she was born to be, one day that she has survived . Uriah was proud of each cut and took care of them, like battle trophies. That is why, when she came out of the sea, the first thing was to clean and care for her wounds. Proud of them or not, the girl didn't want them to get infected. Covering them with a brown paste made from a mixture of herbs she had learned to make from her mother, which although smelled bad, was very functional.

Uriah dressed the wounds.

She placed each one of them gently and by the end of the process Uriah had bandaged her forehead, her left leg, the entire right arm and even applied some of the paste to the chin and neck, which were burning from the hours in the sun that she had passed. She stretched out her wings and shook them, expelling the drops of water that were running down with her hands, gathered the long, wet, black hair to tie it and only then, finally, dressed herself.

With her skin complaining about the thick fabric, she put on each piece slowly as never before, Uriah tried to force himself to remember that there was no longer any urgency for anything. So everything she was doing was slow, taking as much time as possible. When Uria was finally ready, she spread her wings and returned to the island, all the illyrian refugees were setting up camp to leave that tiny place that had sheltered them all for a long time. Most of the people of Illyria were either warriors or warriors' relatives and lived nomadically, never settling in one place since a warrior can never settle down, but there were those who put down roots, built wealth and called themselves lords, who had forgotten how to fly with the wind, these people resided on the Island.

The Islanders dressed in heavy fabrics and jewels, the females adorning their wings with shiny stones and the males with dyes, leaving them full of colorful designs. Wings for them were a mere adornment of beauty. They were not all bad, Uriah thought, their food was richer in flavor, their drinks sweeter and their clothes... Uriah blushed as imagined the silk dresses she had seen on herself, but they were too delicate, too beautiful, everything she was not and could never be.

She landed near her father's tent and went inside, arranging everything. If he saw something out of place or messy, she would get an hours-long lecture, but taking care of her country's affairs was a small price to pay compared to everything he could have done. Still, when Devlon entered the tent, Uriah was polishing his sword sullenly, which made him raise an eyebrow.

"We'll leave tomorrow at dawn. Are you done packing?" Devlon began to unlace his armor; unlike his daughter, he hadn't had a rest. As Captain of one of Illyria's largest armies, Devlon had a lot to organize for their departure.

"Why so early?" Devlon sighed in irritation, he hated when people asked about his orders, which, unfortunately for him, was exactly what Uriah did most and she bet her wings that he wanted to answer with "because I'm telling you to", but, because of their agreement, Devlon answered:

“The High-Lord's bastards want to get together to hunt down the traitors.” Devlon grimaced at the mention of the High-Lord, but spat when he mentioned the traitors. Uriah would never be able to understand those who betrayed their own people and species. The illyrians who killed their own people and the High-Lord, who allied himself with the enemy, neither of them had her respect, but at least one of them Uriah could help exterminate.

“You will not go.” He decreed. Uriah widened his eyes and dropped the shirt she was folding to look at him. The brunette wasn't exactly surprised, he was always sabotaging her, trying to leave her behind, not using her as a warrior, but Uriah was still hurt.

"I'm part of your squad!" She stood up, walking to stand in front of her father. She knew very well why he didn't want her there, he was ashamed of having a female in his army, even though one of the generals, Cassian, had ordered that the girls would also be trained. An order that had never been very well accepted, neither by her father nor by other captains.

"You're a child, you barely finished the Rite."

"I wasn't a child when you put me on the front lines of a war, was I?" Uriah demanded, her voice flooded with anger.

Devlon rolled his eyes.

"Don't act like I forced you, Uriah." He snorted and turned his back, ignoring his daughter's protests. Uriah got even more irritated. “If it were up to me━”

“I would be married, with five puppies and tidying up the house for my dear husband, I know, father. I know.” Uriah gestured. “But I am a warrior, your warrior. One of the best you have. And as much as you hate the idea, I am one of your best and I have proven it to you. You would be a stupid captain to ignore that for your bullshit!”

Devlon approached quickly, making Uriah take a step back, the male was very angry, Uriah noticed.

“As you said, I am still your Captain. I am still your superior and, may the Cauldron help me, I am still your father. Interrupt me again and the closest thing to a sword that will come is when it is time to clean your husband's.” Her father whispered. “Do you understand ?”

Uriah remained silent.

“I asked you a question, Uriah. Do you understand ?”

Holding back tears and with resentment dominating her guts, Uriah replied:

“Yes, Captain.”

Chapter Text

THE SOUND OF THE AXE CHOPPING WOOD WAS LOUD AND MADE URIAH’S SENSITIVE EARS TINGLE , but unfortunately, this was a assignment that needed to be done, since her dear father had gone on a mission with most of the soldiers and left her behind. It was an insult to her abilities, since the ones left behind were the untrained, in training, or the injured who couldn't fight yet. Well, them and, of course, Uriah.

Anger filled her entire being. Devlon had been smart, he had gathered the soldiers at nightfall to leave and left it to her to make sure everyone got to the designated location safely. It wasn't as if he had assigned her because he trusted her, but because she was the only formed warrior left.

The journey had taken less than a day, and now, at nightfall, Uriah was chopping wood for tomorrow's bonfire, when the festivities would begin. She had just dismissed the teenagers who were helping her – getting angrier and angrier, the last thing she needed was gossip about how she couldn't be a warrior because females are out of control, which would certainly happen if they saw her the way she was now, angrily chopping down trees with an ax until they were small enough to be used as firewood.

Putting the ax aside, Uriah ordered the young men in training to finish the job and went to her cabin. Once inside, Uriah took off the sweaty clothes and exchanged the dirty bandages for new ones, putting on a white cotton sleeveless shirt and black leather pants, then took off her bare feet and threw them on the ground, lying down, taking advantage of the cold night. A few seconds later Uriah stood up, stretching her arms until she grabbed the twins swords and the materials needed to clean them. She was one of the few warriors to use two blades instead of one. The illyrians always sought to fight with as little weight as possible, because the less weight they carried, the more efficient their wings would be. So the ideal was to fight with a sword or spear.

Daggers were an instrument that required years of training to be able to throw in flight, and even so, it was a weapon that required a certain level of proximity, so it was not a good choice for illyrian warriors. Like the bow and arrow, they were not a very common choice. Uriah is not a common warrior.

Spears were a good choice. They were long and had sharp blades on both ends, and right in the middle, a slot where the warriors could release and transform them into two short weapons. In a fight in the air, they were useful and practical. Swords were heavier than spears but more lethal. Steel was heavy, but it made up for it in ease of carrying and easy to use. Two swords was rare, but for Uriah, the twin swords were like an extension of her arms. They were made of steel and, in the edges, were plated in silver that shone when Uriah made quick movements. The handle was made of iron covered in black leather and slightly curved, to make it easier to remove them from the sheath, fitting precisely for her hands. Whenever she had time, Uriah sharpened them. They were her killing babies and, since had received them from her father, she had never been apart from them.

Now clean and sharp, Uriah put them back in the sheath and put them on. The swords were attached to her back, each on one side of the wings. Still barefoot, she left the tent.

The village commanded by Devlon had a large and incredibly agile population. Night had barely fallen and the camp was almost completely set up. The mothers set up camp with their daughters while the sons, who were not yet old enough to fully enter the training, set the traps and dug the wells. After Uriah chopped the wood, the large bonfire in the middle of the camp was already lit and she smiled when saw the little illyrian little girls dancing around the fire, so close that they could singe their wings.

It frustrated Uriah that, even with the General's orders to include the females in the training, few mothers and fathers allowed it. It was still seen as a dishonor to have a warrior daughter. Looking a little further, she saw a group of four girls who were separated from the others and Uriah’s smile grew. It was a dishonor, but there were still those who ignored them and trained, she liked those girls in particular. Uriah liked them even more because she knew what they would go through. What they have already been through.

When Uriah decided to be a warrior, she had no one with her. If it weren't for her stubborn and insistent nature, Devlon would never have given in, not when he loved maintaining traditions. Uriah kept thinking that if he had found her before he met her mother, he probably wouldn't have helped her at all – Devlon would have thrown her out of the house, but fortunately, he had found her after Verona.

Verona was not an illyrian woman who was content with the old traditions. Despite never having come close to a sword, Verona had been one of the first females to not have her wings mutilated thanks to the new orders of the former High- Lord, and since then, she dedicated her life to helping those who were not so fortunate; she was a healer and had a great talent for it. It was in one of the huts for the wounded that she had met Devlon. Uriah could not imagine how a woman as bold as her adoptive mother had become interested in her father's brute and ogre’s self. Devlon was old-fashioned nowadays, but her mother tells of the horrors he said and did before he got involved with her. Apparently, everything changed when he saw that the words and thoughts he had were killing the woman he claimed to love – and, in the future, the daughter he adored. When he saw Verona slowly withering away, he promised to change. And he did change and would have changed even more if she had not died seven years after the couple found a one-year-old Uriah in a village that had been exterminated by enemies.

Little Uriah was covered in dust and blood, hidden under a fallen hut. The only survivor of a massacre. Devlon looked at that fragile little child, so young, barely a breath of life and who had already seen horrors... He heard her screams and picked her up, holding her with one hand while he wiped her face with the other. The baby, nameless at the time, stopped crying and looked at him with big brown eyes full of tears.

Devlon had always wanted to have a son, to follow in his footsteps – but, apparently, destiny wanted something different. When Devlon adopted her and gave her the name he would give to his first son, he already imagined that this little survivor he carried wherever he went would be the one to carry his legacy..

She walked past the campfire under the gaze of the illyrians who still saw her as a strange sight, but Uriah didn't even notice anymore, used to it after all these years. Walking around the camp she analyzed if everything was in the right place, so that her father wouldn't come to complain later. If there was one thing out of place, her ears would bleed from how much he would scream to her.

Lost in the middle of the camp and with her attention focused on anything out of place, she heard a sound, a small sound, far away, and very familiar. Too familiar, even. Flapping her wings, feeling strange and doubting her own hearing, Uriah dropped everything she was holding and walked quickly through the cabins, dodging everyone, quickly reaching the end of the camp, which led straight to the edge of a cliff, and stopped in place. The sound brought back memories of when her father would assemble a squadron and, from the sky, they would attack the enemies. It could only be an illyrian troop, it had to be. But was making noise before the attack a war technique? Her father wasn't-

It wasn't her father.

The realization hit Uriah at the same time she widened her eyes, frightened. Putting her fear aside and embodying the Uriah-who-had-spent-fifty-years-at-war , she immediately turned and ran into the camp, shouting:

“We are under attack!” Calculating that they were close but would still take a few minutes to arrive, Uriah shouted orders and commands, which, fortunately, were obeyed immediately. She might be a female, but she was still the one Devlon had put in charge – and they all would not go against any of Devlon’s orders. While helping to hide the wounded, Uriah began to follow the procedures Devlon had already ordered in case of an attack. She looked around and finally found Kai, a boy barely out of diapers, but who was one of his father's best students, distributing weapons to the other students and ran to him, grabbing him by the shirt, getting his attention. The first step would be to call for reinforcements, they had defenses ready, but there was no way they would hold out for long alone.

“Go to Devlon and tell him to come immediately,” Uriah ordered to him. “Tell him we are under attack. Fly there and don't stop, or we'll all be dead. Make him come immediately . Do you understand ?”

Kai, despite being an apprentice, had never actually fought in a real confrontation and that's why his eyes were wide and breathing fast, shaking from head to toe. Uriah could tell he was terrified but, unfortunately, she didn't have time to care about his feelings.

When he saw that the boy didn't answer her, Uriah grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, making him blink frantically: “ Do you understand, Kai ?”

“Y-yes.” her voice trembled, matching the rest of her body.

“Then go !” She shouted and turned, looking for Ygor. Uriah didn't have much of a choice, she would have to make the cubs fight and, even then, she doubted they would last long if Devlon didn't arrive with help. She didn't know what the hell had gotten into her father to not leave even a minimum of warriors here. Finding Ygor, she went to him. He was another of her father's students, about to perform the Blood Rite, and one of the most skilled archers she had ever seen. “Ygor.”

As soon as he heard his name called, he turned. Uriah swore, the same frightened look Kai had on Ygor and probably everyone else. Children were not used to being this scared.

“Yes, Captain?” Uriah was no Captain, but she would not be the one to correct the poor boy.

“Tell everyone who was left to take as many arrows as they could carry and gather in the middle of the camp for orders. Quickly .” Uriah then took flight.

Flying over the entire camp, she saw that everything was underway. Unfortunately, they had gotten used to retreating quickly, locking themselves in their huts with their fabrics so well woven that not even the rain could pass through and setting the traps. Those who had stayed outside would be the ones who would fight and, Uriah saw with regret, they were the cubs in training. Children, all of them. She flew to the edge of the cliff and climbed, going higher and higher, until she could see the dots with wings on the horizon. From her hearing, she already had an idea of ​​where they were and how far away they were, but she wanted to see with her own eyes.

They were getting closer and they weren't even hiding the sound, shouting to the four winds. They would have to come down, she analyzed. They knew that there was no one there who would fight in the air, so with no one to defend them, they had no reason to stay in the sky. This would make defense easier, since they would have to land all over the camp, separating themselves from each other. With this in mind, Uriah devised the defense strategy and descended to the middle of the camp. Looking at all the apprentices, Uriah began to give orders.

The darkness would be a good ally, it would hide them. The fires were put out and the traps were positioned. In the darkest corners, Uriah ordered an illyrian to stay with a bow and arrow ready to shoot and another holding a shield for protection. A direct confrontation would be suicide. This way, by acting quickly and deadly, they might be able to hold them off. The entire camp had been surrounded with dry wood as soon as they arrived, to mark the boundaries. This would serve as an obstacle when they set fire to it. But she could only do this at the last minute, since the fire would consume the entire camp. She put a dagger in his boot and looked around, everyone armed and ready to take position. Sighing, she made a decision:

"When the arrows run out, you will hide." She spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Don't stay to fight. Go into a hut. And stay there. Protect yourself."

The huts wouldn't hold out forever, but with the defenses, they would hold out until Devlon arrived. They began to protest, complaining and Uriah snorted – they might be terrified cubs, but they were terrified illyrian warrior cubs.

"That's an order!" Everyone fell silent.

Two minutes later, each one was in their place. Their breathing could not be heard, as if it were an abandoned place. Good boys , Uriah thought, pulling the dagger from her boot and hiding in an opening between two huts and tying her hair on top of the head, taking several deep breaths until her heart calmed down. The closer they got to the camp, the louder they made, shouting and celebrating, a technique her father used a lot, of seeming to enjoy attacking and killing. This terrified the opponent. It's a shame they used the strategy on the child of whoever invented it, this only gave Uriah time to prepare – and time to be angrier.

Stupid.

Looking at the sky, she finally saw the illyrians arriving, ready to land and finally falling silent, finding the silence there strange.

And no sign of her father.

They began to land in various corners of the camp and outside it, and their whispers of confusion were heard, she waited, when they all landed, not half a second later the screams of fright and pain began.

An illyrian was right in front of her, Uriah jumped on his back, pressing them against her and covering his mouth with one hand, while with the other she cut her throat, pulling him back, into the shadows. She waited for him to finish choking on his own blood and gently placed him on the ground.

One is gone.

Chapter Text

HER SWORD PIERCED FLES AS IF IT WERE THE SOFTEST THING THAT EVER EXISTED. She crouched and spun, cutting the legs of an enemy soldier with the sword in her right hand, quickly stood up and with her left sword stopped an attack coming from in front of her, took a few steps back while defending herself, attacks coming from all sides. Uriah didn't know how much time had passed, but she knew that by now, the cubs that hadn't hidden were dead while she was still fighting around the remains of the campfires. With the screams she allowed herself to hear, she assumed that they were starting to make it past the huts.

Turning to the side, she raised her left sword just as a soldier came from behind. After a while, attacking the hiding place stopped being an option when they realized they were attacking back. Fighting with the two, Uriah's instinct took over, rationalizing required time that she didn't have, enemies surrounded her on all sides and a second of hesitation could be her death. She kicked the one attacking her from the right with all her strength, sending him flying for meters before hitting the ground. As soon as she finished the movement, she crossed her swords over the blade of the other, who was attacking from the right, in a low blow. With a pull, Uriah broke it and stuck both swords in the soldier's chest, pushing him until he fell to the ground. Using her twin swords as support, Uriah pushed herself up and with both feet, kicked the chest of whoever was behind the now dead soldier. Uriah crouched down, pulling out her daggers and throwing them at the traitorous Illyrians who were running towards her. One managed to dodge, but couldn't get close enough because an arrow hit him in the neck. Uriah's arm was pulled, making her run away from the soldiers who were crowding in the middle of the camp. Running alongside Lydia, one of the female apprentices, Uriah drew the last two daggers she had and began to think. It was time to set fire to the wood line around the camp. The darkness was now an enemy, no longer helping them. Uriah couldn't dodge the punch that came out of nowhere towards her. The enemy's fist hit her with such force that it made her fall to the ground. At the same time, she saw Lydia try to attack, but the illyrian took the girl's sword and, in a movement that Uriah barely saw, he stuck the blade in her belly and dragged it between her breasts, tearing everything in its path.

Mumbling every possible curse in her mind, Uriah – still on the ground – kicked his legs. He grunted as he fell. The warrior quickly got up, but her blow was used against her when the stranger hit her ankle with such force that Uriah felt it crack. She managed to balance herself at the same time as he got up. Looking at him, Uriah saw that he was huge, almost twice her size, considering his kick and punch, she knew she wouldn't beat him in a fight, Uriah would have to be faster and more intelligent . Loosening the grip on the daggers, she wished had her swords, but they were lost in the middle of the camp, Uriah would have to make do with what she had available at that moment. The woman was too close to him to risk throwing the two daggers she had left and, being disarmed, wouldn't have time to tire him, so Uriah had no choice but to run away – and swallow her pride. She quickly advanced on him, who raised his sword, going down against her, who crossed her daggers, trapping the blade – the illyrian grunted and tried to pull, but Uriah quickly twisted the sword, breaking in two and making him lose on the ground. At that moment she thanked the blacksmiths in the camp, who were ridiculously good. With her ankles throbbing with pain, kicking wasn't a good option so she moved forward to cut him, but he dodged and his fist hit her again, this time above her eyebrow, with such force that it made Uriah's vision darken and he leaned back, but he didn't let her retreat, grabbing her by the neck and bringing Uriah close to him, lifting her off the ground so they were face to face, making her drop the dagger from her right hand. Uriah felt the burning in her throat and her eyes filled with salty tears, the increasingly tight grip preventing her from breathing made her mind divert from the pain of the punch. She tried to kick him, but with his other free hand, he punched her stomach, knocking all the remaining air out of her lungs. Uriah’s vision was already black and she knew her throat would be swollen for a long time.

Gathering her remaining strength, Uriah raised her free hand and quickly stuck her fingers in the eyes of the traitorous illyrian. Even though he screamed in pain, he didn't let her go. Taking advantage of the distraction, she stuck the second dagger that her trembling hand was holding in the crease between her neck and chin, the blade piercing the back of his neck. Blood splattered all over the face and chest before the grip on her neck finally came off, sending them both crashing to the ground. The first gust of air made her cough before she got to the knees and looked for the dagger she had dropped before. There was no way she was going to touch his body and take the one in his bloody neck.

When she found it, grabbed it tightly and stood up, taking a quick look at Lydia's dead body before running again. Uriah didn't have time for feelings, she would regret it and let the guilt take over later, when all that was over.

Limbing, Uriah reached the edge of the camp where the wood was mixed with the dry leaves to facilitate the spread of the fire. She threw herself on her knees and with heavy breathing, Uriah stretched out her arms and picked up the two pieces of wood she had separated earlier – a thicker one, split in half and a thinner one, with sharp ends. Using the larger one as a base, she placed the second one upright, with the sharp end touching the wood and rubbed it quickly, making it hot.

Despair took over, her breathing was labored and her whole body ached. A quick relief came to Uriah when she saw a light smoke begin to come out of the wood, she stopped and leaned over, blowing on the place where the smoke was coming from and a light and weak flame appeared. Uriah quickly picked up the two pieces of wood and threw them among the dry leaves, then grabbed the dagger and stood up, turning her back to the fire that was growing fast.

Breathing t hrough her mouth, she watched as everyone noticed her there. With the fire glowing and illuminating her back, there was no way Urah could go unnoticed.

One.

Two.

Three.

All the illyrians invaders began walking towards her. Uriah had no way to escape now – and she didn't even want to. She just needed to hold on until her father arrived, Uriah just didn't know if that would be possible, she had never been cornered before, having always fought alongside the other soldiers, but now she would have to fight alone. Resist alone.

Tightening her grip on the dagger and shrinking her wings as much as she could, Uriah positioned herself. The first one to reach her was quickly killed, with a smooth and calculated movement, Uriah cut his throat and kicked him, making the body fall on top of the one who was coming next. Uriah threw the dagger at one who was approaching and pulled the sword from one lying on the ground. She wasn't fast enough to dodge the next blow that was coming to cut her belly, managing to soften it, but it still left a mark on her skin, luckily not cutting that deep. She quickly stuck the stolen sword in the attacker's neck, pulled it out and immediately attacked the next one that followed him. Taking steps back, they began to surround her, in no hurry to attack. They were no longer one-a-one, everyone could attack whenever they wanted. Taking a deep breath, Uriah knew that this would be her end, but her heart was calm, knowing that she would die the way she lived: as a warrior .

Then something landed in front of her, so strong that it shook the ground. Being surrounded by shadows was a wall hiding her from those who were about to attack her. She couldn't see his face, with his back turned to her, Uriah could only see his wings, but barely, because something about that illyrian seemed to attract all darkness of the night. With a sword as long as Uriah’s body, he advanced on those who surrounded her, each blow making the sound of thunder. Uriah froze for a few seconds, but quickly fought again, now with renewed hope.

Attacking, dodging and cutting, the two were quickly advancing and defeating one by one of the traitors. When no one else came to attack them, she noticed her father's soldiers all over the camp.

He had arrived, after all, a little late , but in time.

Uriah threw herself on the ground with relief, lying on the warm dirt and looking at the starless sky, taking a deep breath and letting the adrenaline finally go.

The shadow of the slender body stretched over her. The being who had helped her revealed himself, the shadows moved away and she saw.

It was the most beautiful male she had ever seen in her entire life.

He was slightly dirty, as if he had just come out of battle, which was not a lie, but his eyes shone in her direction, a tightness in Uriah's chest took hold, making her breathless. Looking at him, it seemed like something in her soul had clicked into place.

A few seconds passed and, shaking her head, she sat up. Still staring at him, she watched as he extended his hand in a simple gesture – but for some reason it seemed to mean much more than just helping her get up. She didn't know what it meant, and given the speed at which her heart was beating, she didn't trust her voice to ask.

So, with goosebumps rising all over her body, she took his hand.

Chapter Text

WITH HER HEART BEATING SO FAST AND HARD THAT IT FELT LIKE IT WOULD BURST OUT OF HER CHEST, Uriah used the strong grip of the male in front of him as leverage and stood up. The warm touch of his hand on hers sent shivers thru her body. Like every Illyrian, his hand was calloused from years of training, and hers was also full of her own injuries. The heat that overwhelmed her caught her attention, she had been beaten, pushed, cut, and hanged, and yet the strongest sensation she felt was how comfortable her skin felt next to his. She stood under his heavy gaze for a few seconds, not backing down and returning it with the same intensity until something the female had never felt before ran thru her chest, slowly burning it to the point of leaving her in embers. Fearing to turn to ashes, she moved away from him, dropping his hand as quickly as she could, trying to leave that sensation behind by taking three steps back.

Uriah, ignoring the male in front of her, looked over her shoulders and saw the Illyrian soldiers finish capturing and eliminating the traitors and quickly began to walk among them, greeting those she already knew. He recognized her father's face among the soldiers and went to him.

As she entered the camp, she could see that some cabins had failed to remain sealed and had been invaded, inside them some familiar faces beheaded, bleeding. Dead. Knowing them made everything worse, and to keep from bursting into tears, she turned her face away; it was easier to pretend she didn't know who they were, making the grief more bearable.

Reaching Devlon, she noticed that he was accompanied by an Illyrian she didn't know, who wore black armor with seven bright red stones distributed throughout his body that she recognized as the siphons. The Illyrian was also incredibly handsome, but unlike the god who had saved her, he had a wild and raw beauty, as if he had been built for war. Uriah decided she liked him, even tho she had never seen him before, Uriah definitely knew who he was.

Cassian, the general of the Nite Court's army. The best warrior his father had ever trained.

Devlon hated him and that made Uriah adore him.

Before she could say anything, Devlon saw her and closed the remaining distance, coming toward her. Cursing as she saw her father's irritated face, she wondered what the hell she had done to make him angry at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking her up and down, a flash of concern crossing his expression.

“Yes, m–“

“What happened here? I was gone for just one day, Uriah!” She shouted, interrupting her. Even standing, Uriah had still been cut, beaten, and hanged, she saw people she knew die in front of her that nite. Her patience for dealing with her father's outbursts had run out, the only thing that stopped her from completely losing it was that at least he had asked how she was before starting.

“Obviously, we were attacked.” Again, that didn't stop her from retorting, Uriah didn't have cold blood. He stretched out his arms, gesturing around. “Just take a look around.” The sarcasm dripping from her mouth like snake venom, she continued: “You left me here alone, with children who haven't been bled, I did what I had to do to hold on until you arrived.”

The look Devlon was giving her could be terrifying to anyone else, but Uriah was quite used to those looks to care enough.

“It could have been worse.” A deep voice was heard behind Uriah. The shiver that ran up her spine gave her a good idea of who the voice might belong to.

“I didn't ask for your opinion.” Grumbled Devlon. “I know how to deal with my daughter.”

Commander Cassian's eyebrows rose so high in astonishment that it was almost comical: “Daughter?”

Now, knowing that if Cassian was there, the other stranger must be Azriel, the Spymaster of the Nite Court.

Uriah relaxed slightly. She had already heard stories about him, both in wars - his reputation as a warrior being almost as good as Cassian's, in Uriah's opinion - stories that said he was born in the darkness and lived among them long enough to become a Shadow Charmer. They said that he not only controlled them, bending them to his will, but that he was their friend, that the shadows had welcomed him when his own people did not. And, of course, the rumor that filled Uriah with the most horror: that until he was free, he had never flown. Just the thot of not being able to fly terrified him to the core.

Looking at him, she observed that he really had some connection with the shadows, as translucent black lines surrounded him and sometimes accumulated so much that they hid him. Thinking about how close she had been to them, she was sure that the shivers and strange sensations he caused in her body were due to that. The shadows. A curiosity took hold of her, imagining what it would be like to touch them.

Azriel walked until he stopped beside Cassian, his eyes staring at Uriah without looking away for a second: “Uriah, isn't it? The only female who managed to survive the Blood Rite.”

The shiver, which apparently would become frequent, ran up her spine again, and something in the way the Shadow Charmer said her name pleased her deepest self. Uriah got irritated.

“And you must be Azriel,” he tilted his head to the side, staring at him intensely, as if challenging him. “Rhysand's Master Spy. Yeah, I also know who you are, big deal.”

Cassian's lips almost curled into a smile, but his face still expressed the purest seriousness. Uriah soon regretted her words, reminding herself that he was her superior and she owed him due respect, but before she could gather the courage to apologize, Cassian spoke:

“Why were you the only warrior here?”

Uriah hesitated. Commander Cassian was Devlon's superior, but he was still his father and feared that the answer would harm him. She decided to be honest, imagining that her father would be even angrier if she lied to him.

“Captain Devlon ordered.” The gaze of both turned to Devlon, who stared back at them, arrogance etched on his face.

“I won't explain myself to either of you “he turned to Uriah. “I have a job for you. Find your swords and come.

Devlon marched toward one of the large huts, one of those being adapted to care for the wounded tonight. Uriah rolled his eyes and turned to Cassian and Azriel, who were now standing side by side, and greeted them with a nod. Before going after his twin swords, he took one last look at the Spymaster, who was dressed, like Cassian, in black armor that covered his entire body. His wings were closed and long, extending a few inches past his head and almost touching the ground. Seven blue siphons were the only colorful point in his outfit, and a long sword was on his left side, while on the right he had a shorter blade, a dagger. Looking at his face again, she noticed details she hadn't noticed before, such as the elegant features and the gaze that seemed to hold all the existing secrets.

Fearing she had spent too much time staring at him, Uriah turned her back and went after the Illyrian she had stabbed her swords into before someone stole them. It had taken her too long to forge them the way she wanted for some fool to end up with them.

When Uriah finally went to her father, she was feeling terrible. Her throat was swollen and her voice was nonexistent, the cuts on her body had already stopped bleeding with the dried blood stuck to her skin, she was sure that at least one of her eyes was bruised and swollen, but she suspected it was both since her vision was completely blurred. Limping, she stood beside Devlon, who was observing Lydia's dead body.

“Before you say she died because she was a female and in combat, she saved my life.” Uriah whispered with the last of his voice, and even then it was almost torture.

“I wasn't going to say that.” She whispered back, but if someone else asked, yes, that was why she was staring at her. “I was mourning. She died to save my daughter. I shouldn't have left you here alone, you could have died.”

Uriah sighed, not knowing how to react to this version of her father. As far as her career as an Illyrian warrior was concerned, Devlon was never easy, demanding the most from her to the point where she thot about giving up several times over the years, but she knew that was her goal, so every morning she was there, standing, ready for another day. But at nite, at home, when the training was over, he took care of her wounds, cooked for her, he was a good father, after all, and he loved her.

Devlon loved her from the moment he laid eyes on that little chick covered in dirt and all huddled under her tiny wings. And he loved her even more when he lost his beloved and she was the only thing he had left.

Uriah knew that Devlon mourned Lydia's death not just as her captain, but as a father.

If he could answer him, Uriah leaned against him and rested his head on his shoulder, as he used to do when he was a cub.

The two stood there in silence, looking at Lydia's gutted body and remembering her while she was alive. She was intelligent, always kept a bit distant from the others, and was a promising future warrior. Lydia was the first to speak up when Devlon was forced to train other females, he noticed that she looked at his daughter as if she idolized her and wasn't surprised when she wanted to follow in her footsteps.

And the result of years of life was there. Lydia was now a lifeless body on the ground. Devlon decided that even tho she wasn't bled, he would bury her like a warrior, her and all who perished to save the camp.

“Come on, let's go home and stitch up these cuts. You look terrible, it doesn't even seem like you were trained.” She left the cabin and went to the cabin she shared with Uriah.

In the following hours, Uriah was stitched up and had his ears throbbing with pain after hearing everything that had gone wrong with his plan, but he always retorted how stupid Devlon had been to leave the camp with a single warrior, to which Devlon replied that if she couldn't take on a responsibility, she shouldn't have become a warrior, something Uriah responded to by reminding him that he was just following his orders.

Devlon watched Uriah sleep in her bed. She was all curled up, she had always slept like that, as if she didn't have enough space. He examined every little bruise on her body, bruises that he knew, even indirectly, were his fault. She was right, leaving her alone here was stupid, he should have imagined they would attack the camp, but that possibility hadn't even crossed his mind, not when his only concern was keeping Uriah away from the war, his little girl had already seen too much horror.

If this attack served any purpose other than exposing that the traitors were willing to do anything, it was that Uriah would be safer on the battlefield with him looking after her than alone and far from him.

Thinking about this, he made his decision.

He would no longer leave Uriah behind, he would not make the same mistake twice. Wherever he went, no matter the battle, he would bring her into the fight.

He sighed. When she found out about this, she wouldn't stop asking questions and irritating him, but it would be worth it if he didn't see her the way he had been seeing her lately: covered in her own blood.