Tsyra's silver eyes darted to Jake again, assessing him in a heartbeat before sliding back to Tazka, her posture rigid, her voice cutting through the room like ice. "I'm going to save my sister," she stated, flat and fearless, her words not a request but a declaration, her tail giving a single, decisive flick. "Alone if I must—or with your help."
Tazka's hand rose to rub her forehead, her gold chains clinking as she sighed, frustration etching lines into her regal face. "We haven't decided yet, Tsyra—give us time to weigh this," she replied, her voice tight, her tail curling back around the throne's armrest as she sank into it.
Tsyra didn't flinch, her midnight-blue scales glinting as she stepped closer, her silver eyes unyielding. "I'm not asking for permission, Tazka—I'm telling you I'm going," she said, her tone as emotionless as her face, a steel thread of resolve woven through each word. "She's my blood. I won't sit here while Kalthar breaks her."
A tense silence gripped the room, Tazka's fingers digging into the throne's bones as she grappled with the warrior before her. Tsyra was a prize of Valthera—her skill unmatched, her strength a cornerstone of their defenses—and losing her to a reckless solo mission could tip the scales against them.
Tazka had hoped to keep Ssyra's capture quiet, a secret buried among her inner circle, but Tsyra's bond with her twin sister had forced her hand. Now, that same bond fueled Tsyra's stubbornness, a force Tazka couldn't easily bend.
Veyra stepped forward, her leather corset creaking, her fair skin flushed with argument as she leveled a warning at Tsyra, her golden eyes sharp. "If you go alone, you'll just get nabbed like Ssyra—doubling our mess," she said, her voice low and firm, her crimson hair swaying as she crossed her arms. "Kalthar's not playing games out there. You'd be handing them another prize."
Tsyra's silver gaze met Veyra's, unflinching, her tail twitching once as she countered, "And if I'm captured, it doubles the stakes—forces your hand to act faster, to save us both." Her words landed like a slap, cold and calculated, cutting through Veyra's logic with a sister's fierce pragmatism.
Veyra's jaw tightened, her retort dying on her lips—she couldn't argue with that, not when she'd never felt the gut-wrench of a sibling's life hanging by a thread.
Tazka groaned, her hand dropping as she leaned back, her gold eyes flickering with reluctant surrender. "Fine—damn it, fine," she muttered, her voice a growl, her dark magic pulsing faintly in the air as she waved a hand.
"We'll plan a rescue for Ssyra. But it's tight—resources are thin, and Kalthar's watching." Rixa's tan face brightened, her bushy tail wagging with a sudden burst of energy, while Lyra's glowing eyes sparked with relief, her lace-clad chest rising with a sharp breath. Tsyra's expression remained a stone wall, her midnight-blue scales still, her silver gaze fixed forward. Veyra's fair features stayed grim, her arms crossed tighter, and Jake stood silent, his gray tunic rumpled, waiting for a chance to speak, his nerves coiled but his resolve steady.
"Plans, then," Tazka said, her tone shifting to command as she straightened, her silver gown shimmering. Lyra stepped forward, her magic flaring as she raised her hands, violet tendrils snaking toward a nearby curtain—heavy burgundy velvet hanging against the wall.
With a flick of her wrists, the fabric shimmered and stretched, transforming into a sprawling map of Valthera's borderlands, its edges curling slightly as she spread it taut, pinning it midair with glowing runes. The room's torchlight danced across it, revealing jagged peaks, winding rivers, and the sprawling badlands where Kalthar's forces loomed.
Tazka rose, her tail flicking as she approached the map, her gold eyes narrowing, her fingers curling as dark magic seeped from her—a thick, inky mist that coiled around her hand like a living thing, its edges pulsing with a faint, guttural hum that sent a chill down Jake's spine.
This was her power, raw and horrific, a glimpse of the queen's true might, and he froze, his breath catching as she extended her hand. The mist darted forward, marking the map with precise, shadowy strokes—a large circle blooming over a cluster of crude barracks at the border, Ssyra's prison, surrounded by smaller circles, each pulsing faintly to show guards, dozens of them, their numbers a silent threat.
"She's here," Tazka said, her voice low, her magic retreating as the marks settled. "Temporary holding—Kalthar will be moving her to their capital soon. We've got a narrow window."
Her hand swept again, the inky mist sketching Valthera's own forces—thin lines tracing their border strength, a scattering of dots marking soldiers. She paused, her gold eyes calculating, then drew a dozen larger dots near the barracks.
"This is what I can spare," she said, her tone grim, her tail coiling tighter. "Twelve warriors—any more, and we risk the border collapsing under Kalthar's push. It's tight, but it's what we've got."
Rixa's tail wagged, her tan hands flexing as she nodded, her voice eager. "Twelve's enough—I'll lead 'em, smash those barracks, get Ssyra out fast." Lyra's magic pulsed, her glowing eyes fixed on the map, her lace top shifting as she leaned in, murmuring, "I can cloak them—keep Kalthar blind 'til we're on top of them."
Tsyra said nothing, her midnight-blue scales still, her silver eyes tracing the circles, her mind already on the fight ahead. Veyra's golden gaze lingered on the map, her fair skin taut with unease, but she held her tongue, her leather creaking faintly as she shifted.
Jake stood at the edge, his heart pounding, the map's shadowy marks burning into his vision—