Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ALENA
“By the Moon…”
Where a village had once stood, only chaos and destruction remained.
Smoke choked the air, stinging Alena’s eyes and throat, making it nearly impossible to see ahead.
Through the haze, orange light flickered—buildings collapsing in on themselves, others swallowed whole by hungry flames.
The rest lay in blackened heaps, still smouldering, heat rolling off them in waves.
Pelagios and Danaos sprang into action, shouting orders over the roar of the fire. Soldiers broke formation and rushed towards the river. Buckets moved down the line, water sloshing, hands working with frantic precision in a race against the inferno.
Leukos’ grip loosened on her shoulder, his tone firm. “Stay with Phoebe. Search for survivors.”
Before she could answer, he was already striding towards Theo. The two exchanged a grim look before splitting off, each barking commands to more soldiers. Somewhere in the smoke, Nik vanished—no doubt scouting for a Rasennan ambush.
A sharp snap of Phoebe’s fingers yanked Alena from her thoughts. “Focus. Call the wolves. They can help us find survivors.”
Alena swallowed hard and summoned her Gift.
She reached for the familiar threads binding her to the wolves, tugging at the invisible bond.
Images flooded her mind—violent, raw. She saw through the eyes of the nearest pack: ruined huts, bodies strewn across the ground, smoking remains.
The wolves prowled through it all, hunger burning in their bellies.
Bile rose in her throat. She staggered, the brutal visions pressing in on her senses.
Phoebe caught her arm. “What is it?”
“Wolves,” Alena rasped. “In a village nearby. It was destroyed too—so many dead.”
Phoebe’s mouth pressed into a thin line before her gaze swept the mayhem around them.
“I’ve called for them, but…” Alena’s voice faltered. The wolves would take time to arrive—time the few survivors might not have.
“Then we save who we can here.” Phoebe unsheathed her sword, her Gifted eye blinking rapidly against the choking haze. “Can you clear this smoke?”
“I’ll try, but the wind might feed the flames.”
“Go slowly. I’ll guide you.”
Alena reached inwards to the South Wind’s Gift, feeling the familiar pulse of magic stir in her chest. A breeze curled around her arms, warm and humid, awaiting her command with a quiet hum.
Raising her hands, she pushed the smoke back, carving an opening.
The wind sliced through the haze, revealing the full scope of destruction.
Soldiers surged forward towards the largest blaze—the barn.
They joined surviving villagers, grabbing anything they could to haul water from the river.
Leukos strode past, hands sweeping outwards as ice spread across the structure in a tightening shell.
Water hissed against it, steam rising in bursts before the wind scattered it into the sky.
After several tense moments, the barn’s flames guttered and died.
Leukos lowered his hands, ice still crackling at his fingertips. His gaze brushed hers before sweeping to the other fires. “I’ll handle the rest. Keep searching for survivors.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, breaking into a run towards the next blaze.
Phoebe was already moving through the wreckage, checking mud-brick homes that had endured better than the wooden huts.
Alena splashed after her, sandals striking muddy puddles streaked with ash and blood.
Bodies littered the ground—every one of them a man, faces slack, eyes glassy, staring at the smoke-stained sky.
Where were the women and children?
She scanned the wreckage, her heart pounding. Then—a faint cry. “Help…”
She froze, head swivelling towards the sound, and sprinted for a collapsed brick wall.
A flicker of movement showed through the rubble.
Half-buried in the debris lay a pregnant woman, curled on her side, her face drawn tight with pain.
Soot streaked her cheeks, one arm and half her chest pinned beneath the fallen wall.
Her lips parted in a silent, desperate plea.
“I’m here!” Alena dropped to her knees, forcing steadiness into her voice even as panic clawed at her throat. “I found you!”
Brick by brick, she began clearing the rubble, careful not to bring more down.
Phoebe appeared moments later, her expression hardening at the sight. Without a word, she joined in, their movements quick and precise. Together, they freed the woman from the last of the debris.
“Get one of the healers,” Alena urged. Phoebe hesitated, eyes flicking towards the chaos beyond, then nodded and sprinted off.
The woman’s gaze darted to Alena, wide and shining with fear. Her free hand clutched her swollen belly. “My baby—”
“Don’t move,” Alena murmured, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “A healer’s on the way. You’re going to be all right.”
With practised care, she tore strips from a discarded garment, the fabric fraying under her fingers. She wound the makeshift bandage around the woman’s broken arm, just below the elbow. As Alena worked, she spoke in low, soothing tones until the woman’s breaths evened out.
“My husband…” the woman rasped, eyes drifting to the smoking ruins.
“They killed him. We saw smoke on the horizon and then—soldiers on horseback. They tore through the village, pillaging, burning, killing all the men.” Her voice cracked, urgency surging beneath the grief.
“My children—they took my son and daughter. I have to find them, I have to—”
“Please, don’t move,” Alena said softly, brushing the woman’s soot-streaked hair from her face. “Think of your baby. Let the healer see to you.”
Just then, one of the healers arrived, flanked by two soldiers. Without hesitation, she knelt beside the woman and placed her hands on the swollen belly. A bright yellow light bloomed from her palms, warm and radiant as the sun, spreading calm despite the devastation around them.
The Archer’s Gift, Alena recalled from the healer who’d treated the frostbite on her jaw.
“The baby is strong,” the healer said with a reassuring smile. “But you must stay still. We’ll take you back to Tiryns, and there you’ll be safe.”
“But my children—” The woman shook her head, voice fracturing into a desperate sob. Dust and ash clung to her skin, streaked with tears.
Alena clasped her trembling hand, speaking with as much steadiness as she could summon. “We’ll find them.”
The woman’s gaze dropped to Alena’s hand, where the shimmering Omega Mark caught the weak light filtering through the smoke. Her eyes widened, disbelief and hope flickering in their depths. “It’s you… you’re the Omega. They said… they were looking for you.”
A cold wave rolled through Alena’s veins, numbing her limbs. For a moment, the world seemed to close in, the chaos muted to a whisper beneath the pounding of her own heart.
The woman lunged forward, clutching Alena’s arm with desperate urgency. “The rumours were true. My husband heard whispers in the east. He said the Omega was chosen by the gods, that you would help us. But the Twelve have forsaken us—they’ve—”
Alarmed, the healer grabbed the woman’s shoulders, gently pressing her back down. “Please, don’t exert yourself.”
“My children!” The woman’s nails dug into Alena’s arm, drawing blood. “I beg you. Please! They came here looking for you. You have to save them!”
Alena flinched, heavy guilt crashing over her. At the healer’s quiet command, a soldier carefully lifted the trembling woman into his arms, while another steadied her head, murmuring comfort. But her pleading sobs sliced through the smoke like blades.
“Please!” she cried as they carried her towards the cluster of injured survivors. “Please!”
Alena stood frozen, surrounded by ruin, the survivors’ sobs and screams echoing through the devastation. None cut deeper than a mother’s cry for her children. She couldn’t help but remember San’s raw anguish back at the slave market—her panicked shrieks when she’d seen Kaixo locked in that crate.
How could the Rasennans do this? How much war and death had they endured themselves to become numb to the devastation they now inflicted? Alena couldn’t comprehend such cruelty.
War is horror, Damocles had once said. But in her mind, war had always been two armies clashing on open fields. Soldiers against soldiers.
Not this.
Not the slaughter of innocents. And for what? Petty revenge? To send a message?
If the cohort’s goal was to capture the Omega’s attention, they had succeeded.
Amid the destruction, Alena let every heart-wrenching cry pierce her to the core, carving into her very bones, chipping away at the softness inside her. Each scream tore pieces from her heart, leaving behind something colder. Harder.
She knew what had to come next.
She was ready for it.
And just in time, distant howls echoed from the north.
The pack of wolves had arrived.
Soldiers milled along the riverbank, dipping their hands into the icy water to wash grime and soot from their faces. Nearby, healers crouched over the wounded, their hands glowing with the Archer’s magic, casting flickering gold in the dim morning haze.
Alena pushed through the throng with one thought in mind: finding Theo.
With his Gift, he was their best chance of tracking the cohort.
The pack of wolves padded silently at her heels, their fur matted with blood and ash.
The sight of them sent an involuntary shiver through the soldiers, who gave her a wide berth as if she were as wild and dangerous as the beasts she commanded.
Theo stood with a pair of scouts, their heads bent over a map spread on a makeshift table—a broken, charred plank salvaged from one of the burned barns. His bloodshot eyes flicked up at her approach.
“Did you find them?” she demanded. Her gaze darted to the map, but she didn’t recognise the landmarks.
“Not yet.” Theo’s calm demeanour was a sharp contrast to the storm inside her. “It would help to know which direction they went.”