The night sky of Nighttime stretched endlessly, a velvet tapestry adorned with the twin moons of the Goodnight Kingdom, casting their pale glow over the land. The air was still, thick with the kind of silence that spoke louder than any storm.

  From the high tower, Zanac played a mournful tune, fingers brushing over the worn strings of a guitar—Prince Tenebrae’s guitar. The sound drifted through the empty corridors like a whisper of sorrow, a lament carried by the wind.

  The pain was a rare thing for him. For what he was, feeling was both a blessing and a curse. Yet tonight, he felt it. Deep, twisting, unbearable.

  His heart ached.

  Not just for himself, but for the kingdom. For her.

  He had searched. He had cast every spell at his disposal—Where is Alliance? Locator’s Truth? A Scrying Pulse into the Astral Threads? But the answer never changed.

  The statue of Lady Aura, standing tall in the Main Court, confirmed what magic already knew. Its eyes had turned green—not stone, not the color of the lifeless, but of the dead honored by the royal line.

  A spell left behind by the previous king, an ancient decree that marked the fallen.

  Lady Aura was gone.

  So he sang.

  His voice was raw, cracking like broken glass against the strings. The melody trembled, a requiem to the woman who would never return.

  “Last night was the end of a dream when you left me…”

  “Last night was the end of a dream when you left me…”

  “Last night was the end of a real good dream when you left me, Lady—”

  “We didn’t say a single word… when you walked away…”

  “When you walked away…”

  His fingers faltered on the chords, but the song did not stop. The grief was woven into every note.

  “It’s my fault for not knowing how to love…”

  “A life without you is the nightmare I’ve been waiting to come…”

  “We both loved him like he was our son…”

  “I never knew one day that death would come for you, Lady… Never knew that death would come…”

  His voice faded into the night.

  The stars remained silent. The kingdom did not answer.

  Lady Aura was dead.

  And for the first time in what felt like an eternity…

  Zanac wished he couldn’t feel.

  Opal was sad.

  She curled up in the grand kitchen, where the scent of warm honey cakes and spiced cookies no longer lingered. Lady Aura had always been there, a quiet guardian who soothed fears with sugar-dusted pastries and whispered reassurances.

  Now, the kitchen smelled… empty.

  Like cold stone and memories that refused to fade.

  Opal clutched her knees to her chest, her small body trembling as sobs wracked her frame. Her grief was raw, too large for her to carry alone, and yet she tried. She tried—but the absence of Lady Aura was a hole too vast to ignore.

  A gentle hand smoothed over her hair, warmth against her shaking shoulders.

  Eliza.

  She said nothing, because what words could fix this? What words could stitch together a heart that had been torn apart? Instead, she held Opal close, rocking her softly as the girl cried into her chest.

  It wasn’t fair.

  None of it was.

  Across the hall, Mirabella moved in quiet, endless repetition.

  The statue of Lady Aura stood solemn in the court, its green gemstone eyes gleaming beneath the torchlight. The once-lively centaur, forever frozen in stone.

  Mirabella dusted the statue. Again and again.

  Her hands moved with a mechanical grace, her expression unreadable. The cloth passed over the carved features—over smooth, cold fingers that would never knead the dough again, over the gentle curve of a face that once held warmth—but there was no dust to be wiped away.

  Still, she continued.

  Wiping.

  Sweeping.

  Polishing.

  As if, by some miracle, she could clean away the cruel reality of loss.

  But the dust was never truly there.

  And Lady Aura was never coming back.

  Lilith did not intend to give them time to mourn.

  As grief gripped Goodnight, the Dark Queen was already setting her plans into motion. She commanded her forces to marshal and prepare for invasion—a relentless tide of nightmares crafted from the underworld of her dominion.

  And Zanac felt them.

  From his vantage in the tower, he sensed the weight of their presence pressing against the kingdom’s magical barriers. Goodnight still held its Three-Pronged Shield, a far cry from the legendary Seven-Pronged Ward that the old king had wielded, but it would have to suffice.

  Lilith’s forces were working through the first prong—grinding against the barrier with raw power, but without Hellfire, they lacked the speed they wanted. Yet, she was not one to take chances with death.

  Even after all these years, the mere remnant of Tenebrae’s energy had been enough to unsettle her. His power—sealed away in Lady Aura’s body and weaponized to burn Lilith in their last battle—was a wound she would not allow to fester.

  So, she chose overwhelming force.

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  She summoned Incubi, Succubi, and several dungeon bosses from her domain, creatures whose very existence defied mortality. They did not fear death because they had never truly lived. They only knew hunger, blood, and the will of their queen.

  The kingdom trembled.

  Eliza felt it first. A ripple in the fabric of reality, a shift in the weight of the air, as though Goodnight itself had flinched.

  She grabbed Opal’s hand and rushed through the castle halls, searching for Zanac.

  When she found him, he was already moving.

  “Come with me,” he ordered.

  He led them swiftly, weaving through corridors lined with silent statues and empty thrones, taking Opal and Mirabella to a secure housing area, ensuring their protection. The war was coming, and they would not be caught in its jaws.

  Then, he turned to Eliza.

  “We go to the army.”

  The Living Water had arrived.

  Carried by Cenmoles, a rare and powerful race—part Centaur, part Mole, with scorpion tails sharp enough to pierce steel. They were allies of old, their presence alone a reminder of the kingdom’s fading alliances.

  The vial they brought was small, containing only a few drops of the sacred liquid. Not nearly enough to resurrect a kingdom, but enough to awaken those who had already been called.

  Zanac held the vial, turning to Eliza.

  “You are their queen,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “And while I will give them orders, you must give them their life.”

  She hesitated. Queen. The word felt foreign, too heavy for her shoulders. But there was no time for doubt.

  She stepped forward, heart pounding, and poured the Living Water over the fallen warriors.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  The water dispersed into mist, a pale gas curling around the still corpses, but they did not stir.

  Silence.

  Zanac’s jaw tensed. He already knew.

  They did not see her as their queen.

  He stepped forward, his metallic boots clanking against the stone floor. His voice boomed across the cavern, rattling against the very bones of the dead.

  “Attention!”

  Nothing.

  “Stand at attention!”

  Still, nothing.

  A cold fury burned in his chest. He clenched his fists and shouted, his voice ringing with authority, with power, with centuries of duty:

  “Are you going to stand idle while your purpose stands before you?!”

  The cavern remained still.

  Zanac’s voice rose, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

  “Your souls have been summoned back to serve—to avenge the fallen who swore loyalty to this kingdom! You are here because you loved the crown! You are here because of your honor! You fight without end because—”

  His eyes burned, and the magic in his voice crackled through the air.

  “YOU ARE DRAUGR!”

  A sudden shockwave of magic pulsed through the chamber.

  The stone statues hummed with dark energy.

  The Living Water ignited, turning from mist to something unnatural—something hungry.

  Their eyes snapped open, glowing a brilliant, eerie green.

  The stone encasing them cracked, then shattered, falling away in heavy slabs as rotting flesh and silvered armor were revealed beneath.

  A sound like thunder filled the cavern as boots slammed to the ground.

  The army of the dead stood once more.

  A roar erupted from them, a battle cry that shook the very foundation of Goodnight. The Draugr clashed their weapons together, the sound echoing as Zanac raised a hand.

  With a single motion, portals split the air, glowing rifts leading directly to the front lines.

  The undead warriors marched forward, stepping into battle, vanishing into the war awaiting them.

  Eliza stood frozen, watching it all unfold.

  Then, she turned to Zanac, expression grim.

  “Was there a reason they only respond to you?”

  Zanac met her gaze, his expression unreadable. He already knew what she was thinking.

  “It’s as I said,” he answered. “I am their commander. And you… are our queen. But they do not see you as queen.”

  He did not elaborate.

  There was no time for that now.

  He turned away, already focusing on the war before them.

  But deep within his metal heart, a bitter truth settled.

  For the first time in his existence, he was without both his king and Lady Aura.

  And though his duty was clear, though his will was ironclad, one simple, undeniable fact gnawed at him.

  The Prince was dead.

  And for the first time, the Tin Man found himself without hope.

  But still, he would fight.

  Because it was all he had left.

  Zanac moved swiftly, leading Eliza through the castle to the War Room.

  Zanac led Eliza into the war room, where the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, ink, and burning candle wax. The great table at the center bore a detailed map of Goodnight, its defensive layers etched into the surface in glowing runes.

  Zanac wasted no time. His metal fingers traced the three-pronged shield sigil, illuminating the barriers protecting the kingdom.

  “We have three shields standing between us and annihilation,” he began, his tone mechanical but resolute. “If the first falls, we lose one-third of our defenses immediately.”

  Eliza folded her arms. “And if it does?”

  “The army will fight to buy me time to reinforce or restore it. As long as none of them are completely destroyed, I can keep them operational.”

  His voice darkened as he continued.

  “But if a shield is ever fully shattered… only the ruler or the prince can restore it.”

  Eliza’s gaze flickered toward the sigil. “And Tenebrae is…”

  She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. The silence was enough.

  Zanac nodded, grim but unwavering. “That is why we cannot let them break entirely. The magic required to rebuild them is beyond what I can risk using in a battle like this. So, we will let each shield drop to ten percent integrity before I trigger its failsafe. This will force it to fall temporarily—giving me time to repair it—while still maintaining the others.”

  She studied the map. The plan was sound. Logical. But war wasn’t always so predictable.

  Her fingers brushed over the first shield’s marker, pulsing faintly as the enemy forces crashed against it like waves against a stone.

  “How long do you think we can hold?” she asked.

  Zanac’s metal fingers curled into a fist against the table.

  “As long as Lilith does not join them, we can hold for some time.”

  Eliza frowned. “Is there a reason she wouldn’t?”

  Zanac exhaled, stepping back from the map, his mechanical joints whirring softly as he crossed his arms.

  “She would need to be summoned inside the realm by one of her own,” he explained. “To force her way through the Miasma surrounding this realm is suicidal—even for her.”

  Eliza swallowed.

  “There are things in the Miasma,” he continued. “Things that do not recognize royalty, do not care for war, do not bend to any crown. They see us as nothing more than… minor inconveniences before a meal.”

  The memory of their desperate carriage ride resurfaced, and she shuddered. It had been more of a frantic, high-speed race through a nightmare than a leisurely journey between worlds.

  Zanac met her gaze, his voice as cold and sharp as the steel of his frame.

  “That is why only her foot soldiers are here. Lilith herself would never take such a risk unless she was certain of an opening.”

  A flicker of something dark passed over his glowing eyes.

  “Besides,” he added, “her forces feel… thinner.”

  Eliza blinked. “Thinner?”

  Zanac’s lips pressed into a grim line.

  “Thanks to Lady Aura.”

  A silence hung between them, weighted with the loss they had yet to fully process.

  Lady Aura had been one of their strongest warriors—and she had not died quietly.

  She had taken many of them with her.

  Eliza stared at the map, watching the battle unfold in real-time through the enchanted runes that tracked movement.

  “Then she bought us more time than we knew.”

  Zanac nodded.

  “Let’s not waste it.”

  Eliza’s fingers curled into her palms. “How can I help?”

  Zanac turned to her, his glowing eyes unreadable, his frame casting a long, unwavering shadow across the war table.

  “Well, in lieu of a King, you are our Queen.”

  The words struck her in a way she hadn’t expected. Not a title. Not a choice. A truth.

  “You are the last piece of our Prince that we can protect,” Zanac continued. “So, while I would normally tell you to stay with Mirabella and Opal… if things go bad, you will need to take the emergency portal back to the human realm.”

  Eliza frowned. “And how would I get back?”

  Zanac’s voice was quiet but absolute.

  “You won’t.”

  Her stomach turned cold.

  She glanced around the room, noticing for the first time that something was… different.

  The door was gone.

  Her breath hitched. He had led her here, separated them all intentionally, and now—she was trapped.

  Zanac stepped forward, his tone somber but unwavering.

  “If things go bad,” he said, “you will walk through that portal mirror and forget your life here.”

  Her heart pounded. “Forget?”

  He nodded.

  “Find a human man—or woman, I do not judge—and forget this place. Forget us.”

  A lump formed in her throat.

  “You may meet Opal again,” he admitted, voice lowering slightly, “but you will never see us.”

  The weight of his words settled like iron in her chest.

  “Because you’re staying.”

  Zanac’s jaw tightened.

  “We are loyal to our Prince.”

  His voice held no hesitation, no waver of doubt.

  “And while some of us may have the power to fly away from the humans, Mirabella and I will not. Nor will we ever serve Lilith.”

  The weight of it all crushed down on her. There was no middle ground, no bargaining, no alternatives.

  “We will live here under siege,” he said simply.

  “Or we will die here on our feet.”

  And with that, he turned on his heel and vanished, leaving her alone.

  Trapped.

  With only one way out.

  A crystal sphere of water formed in the center of the room, its shimmering surface flickering with images of the kingdom, shifting between the front lines of war and the streets of Goodnight where its people fought for their survival.

  Eliza stepped forward, her reflection distorted in the sphere.

  Zanac had given her a choice that wasn’t a choice at all.

  Escape. Forget. Leave it all behind.

  Or stay in a kingdom that had already decided its fate.