The battlefield roared with steel and stormlight. The sky above the plains of Elythros was torn in half — violet thunder rumbled as magic collided across nations. Screams echoed from the ground, cries of both courage and collapse.
And in the middle of it all, Elysera bled.
She dropped to one knee, panting. A shallow cut traced her chin — not deep, but bright with blood. Her blade trembled in her grip, not from fear, but from fatigue. Her armor shimmered with cracks of firelight, and behind her, the flag of Iveryn whipped in the wind.
A sudden ripple tore through the air — the scent of lavender and starlight filled her senses.
A portal shimmered into life.
From it stepped Nirelle, her lavender hair braided behind a silver circlet, her eyes lit with defiance.
"Princess," Nirelle called, already lifting her palms. Ethereal waves of energy bloomed around her fingers. "I've got you."
Elysera barely smiled. "Took you long enough."
Before she could speak again, a blast of lightning cracked nearby — Dravaryn mages emerged through flame-rimmed war circles, blades in hand and eyes glowing with runes. Six of them. Then eight. Then more.
Nirelle's expression hardened. She planted her feet in the blood-soaked earth, wings of spirit energy fanning behind her. "Stay down. I'll—"
SHHHHHHHK!
A blur of light ripped across the line.
And the mages fell. One by one — necks slashed, backs split, blades disarmed.
A shadow landed in front of them, kneeling, then rising to full height.
He stood tall, shirtless beneath an armored cloak that shimmered like starlight, his body marked with mirrored tattoos, twin swords humming at his sides.
"Step away from the heir of Iveryn," he said without looking back. "Or bleed."
Prince Caelen of Viremys — warrior of the Mirror Kingdom.
The Dravaryn line broke before they could blink.
Caelen moved like a ripple in glass. His blades did not swing — they reflected light itself, warping across space with hypnotic flashes. One soldier lunged; Caelen sidestepped and slashed upward, cutting through both armor and throat in a single motion. A mage summoned a chain — Caelen vanished in a blur, reappearing behind him with a downward stab.
Blood sprayed in lines across the battlefield, painting the banners red.
Nirelle had seen warriors. But nothing like this.
He turned briefly to her, sweat glinting on his jaw. "Can you heal her?"
Nirelle nodded quickly. "Yes, but I need—"
"Time," he finished. "I'll buy it."
He turned again — and ran straight into the next wave.
Nirelle dropped beside Elysera, placing glowing palms over her ribs and heart.
"You're okay," she whispered. "I've got you. I've got you…"
Elysera winced, but a flicker of defiance lit her eyes. "I'm not leaving this war, Nirelle."
"You're not dying in it either."
Behind them, Prince Caelen shouted, "More incoming!" and threw his left sword like a comet. It tore through three soldiers, then blinked back into his palm.
The Mirror Prince stood alone against a storm of fire — and smiled.
The battlefield thundered as lines clashed across the Plains of Elythros — a storm of steel, ash, and blood.
And then she arrived.
Through drifting smoke and broken earth, Lysenne walked forward like a calm tide before a hurricane. Her obsidian-black hair was tied tightly into a warrior's braid, her cloak trimmed with Iveryn silver. She carried no fear — only fire in her eyes.
King Varyn stood waiting in the center of the bloodied valley, surrounded by bodies — his infernal blade resting against one shoulder, embers crackling from his armor. His crimson cape fluttered behind him like a banner of defiance.
"Where's your sister?" he said, smiling without warmth. "Has Queen Ivera decided to hide behind her little generals?"
Lysenne didn't flinch. "She doesn't need to be here."
"Oh?" Varyn stepped forward, dragging his blade, letting the steel screech against stone. "Because she thinks you can win this?"
"No," Lysenne said, unsheathing her twin sabers in a smooth, precise motion. "Because she knows we already have."
Behind her, flames ignited across the line — Elysera arrived.
She walked side-by-side with her mother, her armor scorched and cracked, hair wind-tossed, her wound freshly sealed by Nirelle's magic. Her eyes were glowing now — not from pain, but wrath.
The three stood across from Varyn as thunder cracked behind them.
"Mother and daughter," Varyn muttered. "Sent to die side by side."
Lysenne raised a brow. "I'm here to finish what you started."
And then… they moved.
Lysenne struck first. Her blades blurred into a spinning arc, wind rushing around her as she clashed steel to steel with Varyn. Sparks exploded with every impact. She ducked low, swept his legs, then spun upward with a slice that grazed his armor.
Varyn countered with a burst of flame — his blade erupted, forcing her back.
Elysera followed instantly — diving over her mother's head, flipping mid-air, landing a blade strike that sent Varyn sliding across the stone.
He roared.
Their synergy was unnatural — Lysenne's short-range slashes and parries kept Varyn boxed in, while Elysera unleashed mid-range fire strikes, keeping him pinned from above and behind.
But then...
A dark ripple cut through the fog.
A new figure appeared — tall, armored in shadowsteel, sword engulfed in black and crimson flame.
Varyn's son.
He landed beside his father with a thunderclap, blade resting across one shoulder. His voice was low, cold. "You called, Father?"
Lysenne turned, blades raised. "You're not welcome here."
The son smirked. "Neither were you, yet here we are."
Then he lunged — toward Lysenne.
Their clash was brutal: sword against twin sabers, fire against clarity. Varyn's son fought wild, brutal, unpredictable. He laughed while attacking, his style messy but explosive. He used momentum like a dance — spinning, leaping, hurling embers with each blow.
Lysenne matched him blow for blow — calm, sharp, calculated.
Each strike she landed bled through his armor, but he kept coming, eyes burning with madness.
Meanwhile—
Elysera and Varyn collided again.
This time there was no grace, no distance.
Varyn charged her with brute force, their blades locking between them. He whispered through gritted teeth:
"You fight well for a girl poisoned by legacy."
Elysera shoved him back and snarled, "You fight poorly for a man hiding behind his son."
Varyn roared and swung—
Their swords clashed in a burst of red and gold light.
They broke apart again—Varyn feigned exhaustion, dipping his head, panting.
Elysera narrowed her eyes… suspicious.
And in that blink of hesitation—
He struck.
Not a wide slash. Not a spell. But a small flick of his wrist.
A needle-thin blade, hidden in his vambrace, barely grazed her chin.
A line of blood appeared.
Elysera blinked. Her knees weakened.
Varyn's voice dropped to a whisper: "Goodnight, princess."
He grabbed her hair, pulled her close, and stabbed her in the stomach — the full blade of fire tearing into her side.
Elysera gasped — her mouth open in pain and disbelief.
Across the battlefield, everything paused.
Even Lysenne, mid-duel, turned as she felt the change in the air.
"ELY—!"
Elysera fell to her knees. Blood spilled from her lips.
She looked up at Varyn, her eyes dimming.
"You… cheated… coward… funking… king…"
Varyn bent lower, lips near her ear.
"We are going to win."
The scream that tore from Lysenne's throat cracked through the clouds.
"ELY—SERA!"
She dropped her guard and lunged toward her daughter, blades forgotten, her breath shattered into disbelief.
But Varyn's son wasn't done.
He spun, flaring his shadowfire blade to strike Lysenne from behind—
But the strike never landed.
A blade flew in like a flash of silver lightning—
Prince Caelen's sword.
It cleaved through the air in a tight spiral and pierced Varyn's son through the chest, stopping him mid-motion.
The young man gasped, stunned — staring down at the steel jutting through his ribs.
Caelen appeared in a blink behind him.
"I don't care whose son you are," Caelen whispered. "You don't touch queens."
He yanked the sword free.
Varyn's son collapsed into the dust, eyes wide, blood pooling at his side.
Across the battlefield, a silence spread.
Soldiers paused. Flames crackled. The wind itself seemed to halt.
All eyes locked on Elysera's crumpled body.
Her fingers twitched.
But the poison was working fast. Her veins pulsed a dark crimson. Her breath was short.
And then—
The wind shifted.
A quiet rustle… like wings.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, Lira stumbled to her feet, blood on her forehead. "Nyx…?"
Nirelle looked toward the ridge, eyes widening. "What… is that?"
From the center of the field, a soft glow erupted.
Butterflies. Thousands of them.
Shimmering, blue-white wings rose from the soil like petals.
They danced around the fallen, then toward the center… toward a body lying still.
Nyx.
Her blood seeped into the ground around her unmoving form. The Butterfly Blade, embedded nearby, pulsed with an ethereal hum.
The butterflies swirled toward it, like they knew.
Like they remembered.
Suddenly—
A burst of white light exploded from the center.
The blade lifted itself into the air. The butterflies scattered.
And Nyx stood.
Her silver hair shimmered in the light, now cascading like silver silk to her waist.
A woven braid wrapped around her crown, glowing with glyphs of the Azura bloodline.
Her eyes, once storm-gray, now burned sapphire.
Her armor had changed — now laced in midnight silk threaded with butterfly-wing patterns, glowing veins of azure light running through her sleeves.
The Butterfly Blade pulsed at her side, now longer, sleeker — its guard shaped like two unfolding wings, each feather etched with ancient runes.
Nyx had become the heir of Azura.
The battlefield turned as one to face her.
Lira stepped back, whispering, "What the hell…"
Nirelle couldn't speak — her eyes welled.
Even Varyn, looming over Elysera's body, slowly turned his head.
"…You."
Nyx walked forward, silent, each step echoing.
The butterflies floated with her — around her — like her breath summoned them.
Varyn scoffed. "Demon of Elara's forge. So the blade wasn't dead after all."
Nyx didn't stop walking.
"You'll fall just like your little heir," Varyn snarled, raising his blade.
Still… she walked.
"Say something!" he roared.
Nyx lifted her eyes.
"I'm going to unmake you."
And then… she ran.
The ground cracked beneath her feet.
Nyx ran like a comet, silver hair streaming, butterflies spiraling around her. The battlefield trembled. Her boots hit the cracked stone of Elythros like thunder. The Butterfly Blade pulsed in her grip — alive, whispering through the air.
King Varyn turned, blade igniting in flame, eyes wide now — not with rage, but something else.
Fear.
She leapt — a high arc, impossible to track.
Varyn swung upward—
She vanished midair — then reappeared behind him, blade slashing across his back.
Sparks burst. Blood hit the ground.
Their fight had begun.
Steel met steel. Fire met light.
Varyn's flaming longsword crashed into Nyx's butterfly-forged blade, sending bursts of molten air and glowing blue dust into the wind.
He was a warlord of destruction — broad swings, waves of fire, force-driven technique.
But Nyx…
She was a ghost.
Every movement was a glide — she spun under his strikes, flipped through fire, and slashed with surgical precision.
Every time her blade cut, butterflies burst from the wound — glowing, weightless, beautiful and deadly.
She danced.
He roared.
"You think you're a queen?" he growled, spinning his blade into a wave of magma.
"No," Nyx said, sliding beneath it and slicing upward through his thigh. "I'm a reckoning."
He stumbled.
She pressed forward, whirling.
He countered, barely — blocking three strikes, four, five — until finally he managed to knock her back with a flaming explosion.
She crashed into the ground, skidding, but rose in a blink.
Her silver hair flowed behind her like moonlight on water. Her blade hovered slightly, vibrating in her palm.
She breathed in once.
The wind shifted again.
The battlefield had stopped. Both armies were watching.
It was no longer a war.
It was a duel between death and divine fury.
"You… are a mistake," Varyn spat, raising his hand. "I'll erase you, and everything Elara stood for."
"You already tried," Nyx whispered.
And she charged again.
Their second clash was faster, brighter, final.
Each strike lit the battlefield in waves. Every parry from Nyx shed feathers of glowing light. Every swing from Varyn cracked the earth.
She ducked, slashed — left shoulder, ribs.
He grabbed her wrist.
She twisted — her blade spun behind her, reversing mid-air — and stabbed him in the gut.
Varyn coughed blood. "No—"
She leaned closer.
"And now… you're done."
The Butterfly Blade plunged through his chest.
A final explosion of butterflies burst outward, scattering across the sky — spinning, glowing, free.
Varyn gasped, his flame extinguishing.
And slowly… his body collapsed.
Dead.
Nyx stood above him, chest heaving, eyes glowing.
Her blade dropped to her side.
The wind carried the butterflies into the sky, and from her back…
she began to fade.
Her skin glowed soft white. Her body shimmered.
"No… wait—" Lira screamed from afar, running.
But Nyx turned once, smiled.
"It's okay. Tell her… she was never alone."
And then…
She vanished into butterflies.
The wind howled across the frozen cliffs of the north. In the heart of the blizzard, carved into the mountain itself, stood Elara's secret castle — a monument of silence, sorrow, and secrets too old to forget.
Inside, Queen Elara walked slowly through the stone corridors of her tower, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness. In her hands she held the relics — the Leviathan's skin and tooth, shimmering faintly with deep-sea magic. Her face was unreadable. But in her chest, her heart burned with the weight of centuries.
She reached the top — the chamber of the Second Gate, hidden from the world. Runes etched across the floor pulsed with ancient power.
She knelt and placed the relics at the gate's center. Energy surged. The walls trembled.
Far below, beside the frozen river, Ren stood with the Thal'Zirak.
"Careful, Ren,"Thal'Zirak the Leviathan said. "She's not the same anymore."
Ren nodded. "Neither am I."
He turned and ran — scaling the cliffs, weaving through the illusions of maze magic guarding the castle. The ground shifted, walls bent, but he didn't stop.
He leapt to a window ledge, smashed through the glass, and landed hard inside the tower.
Light surged.
Elara was already starting the ritual.
Without hesitation, Ren threw his blade at her. It spun through the air—
—and she caught it with two fingers.
She turned slowly, her voice cool and calm.
"Aww… clover boy," she said. "You escaped from the First Gate's sealed curses."
"I closed it," Ren said. "And the Third Gate? Queen Ivera destroyed it."
He pointed at the glowing glyph. "That's the Second Gate. The power to change reality. To find anything lost. You're trying to undo the Iveryn Empire's loss."
Elara smiled faintly. "So you figured it out. You came to stop me?"
"You built this castle to hide it. Didn't you?"
She summoned a blade of light. Then threw his own sword back to him.
"No magic," she said. "One-on-one. Show me if you're worthy."
They charged.
Their blades clashed, sparks flying. No spells — only fists, feet, and steel.
Elara struck low — Ren blocked, twisted, slammed his shoulder into her. She flipped backward, landed in a crouch, then launched herself at him again. He ducked under her kick, punched her gut, struck with a fast uppercut — but she caught his wrist and slammed him to the ground.
The floor cracked beneath them.
She raised her blade — ready to stab—
A sudden shockwave exploded.
Queen Ivera appeared in a storm of wind and light. With a wave of her hand, she flung Ren out the window. He vanished from sight.
Elara staggered back. "You're protecting him?"
Ivera stepped forward. Her voice was soft — almost sorrowful. "I know what you're trying to do, Elara."
"I'm trying to change the past," Elara said. "Because that's what everyone expects of me."
She turned away. "Because all of you… you all see me like this."
"Elara—"
"No!" Her voice cracked. "The kings. The queens. The other Empires. They whispered it. Behind their golden thrones. *She cast her child out.* *She has no heart.* *She's the cold queen.*"
She laughed bitterly.
"And you know the worst part?"
Ivera didn't speak.
"I started to believe it too."
She sank to her knees. "I forgot what I was. Who I was. I only remembered what they turned me into."
Ren burst back into the tower — blood on his cheek, rage in his eyes.
"She's manipulating you!" he shouted. "She doesn't care about anyone!"
He ran toward Elara — sword raised.
Ivera stepped between them.
"You can't kill her."
Ren growled. "Why not?!"
"Because..."
Ivera looked into his eyes.
"Because she's your mother."
The world fell silent.
Ren froze.
Elara's breath caught. "No..."
Ivera walked forward.
"You were taken from her. After her husband died, his soul was stolen — Varyn destroyed it. Her mother-in-law blamed you. She thought you were cursed. She had you thrown out. Your name was erased."
Ren whispered, "My name…"
"Your real name," Ivera said, "is Elarin."
Elara collapsed.
Her hands trembled. Her voice broke.
"Elarin… we chose that name… before he was born…"
She looked up at Ivera, tears falling. "It's him. It's really him…"
Ren staggered backward.
"You lied to me…"
"I didn't know," Elara sobbed. "I would've died before giving you up. I swear."
"I spent my whole life thinking I had no one!" Ren shouted. "And now you tell me this?!"
He turned, ran from the tower.
Elara dropped her face into her hands.
"All of them believed I had no heart," she whispered. "Even you."
Ivera knelt beside her.
"I did. I hated you. Because I believed your father killed my mother."
"But he didn't."
"No. He didn't."
Elara sobbed harder. "You came here to finish your revenge. Go ahead. Kill me. I've already lost everything."
Ivera pulled her close.
"I saw the truth in the Third Gate. You didn't throw him away. You didn't fail him. They lied to you. And I was wrong to ever believe them."
They held each other — shaking, broken, sisters again after decades apart.
"I saw it," Ivera whispered. "The first time I met him… I saw you in him. The way he fought. The way he stood. I didn't know why then... but I knew."
Elara trembled. "Do you hate me still?"
Ivera held her tighter. "No. I missed you."
They cried — two rulers, two mothers, two daughters of history — finally free of the lies.
After a long silence, Elara stood.
"We need to go. To the battlefield. I want to help end this war."
Ivera smiled. "We already won."
Elara wiped her tears. "Then let me be there... when the world sees me for what I truly am."
Snow drifted gently across the battlefield as Elara and Ivera returned together — not as enemies, not as rulers, but as two women who had lost more than anyone would ever know.
The sky had cleared. The war was over.
In the capital of the Iveryn Empire, celebrations had begun. Flags waved. Trumpets roared. Soldiers raised their swords in victory. But as the castle gates opened and the two queens walked through side by side, the cheering stopped.
All eyes turned.
Gasps rippled through the court. Queen Elara, the one whispered about for years — heartless, cursed, cruel — stood beside Queen Ivera.
The silence was deafening.
Lira stepped forward, stunned. Lysenne and Elysera stood beside her, eyes wide.
Ivera raised a hand.
"Elara is not our enemy," she said, her voice steady. "The rumors you heard — that she abandoned her child, that she brought darkness to our lands — were lies. Lies created by Varyn to divide us."
Elara stood tall, though her eyes were red.
"I lost everything to those lies," she said softly. "But I'm here now. Not for revenge… but to begin again."
Lysenne ran forward, and without hesitation, embraced her.
"I'm sorry," Lysenne whispered. "I believed them too."
Tears streamed down Elara's face.
Lira stepped forward, trembling.
"Queen Ivera…" she said. "There's something we must tell you."
Elysera spoke — voice broken:
"It was Nyx who killed Varyn. She saved us all."
"She was incredible," Lysenne added. "Fast… fierce… fearless."
"But at the end," Elysera said, voice shaking, "a white shield of light covered the battlefield. No one saw what happened. And when it ended… Nyx was gone. All that remained were butterflies."
The court fell into silence again.
Queen Ivera stepped forward and held Elysera's face gently.
"We will find her," Ivera promised. "I don't believe she's gone. Not forever."
In the great hall, thrones were rearranged. A new age was dawning.
Queen Ivera addressed the gathered rulers from every realm — elves, humans, merfolk, and winged tribes.
"With Varyn gone, the Dravaryn Empire has fallen. But we will not let another tyrant rise in its place. From today onward, it will be reborn — not as a kingdom of fear, but of unity."
She turned to a young man in silver armor — Prince Caelen.
"You fought with honor, wisdom, and heart. That is the kind of leader we need. Today, I name you King of the New Dravaryn Realm — a kingdom reborn in peace."
Cheers rang through the hall.
Then, Ivera turned to a cloaked figure standing quietly behind the court.
Seretha, Varyn's widow, stepped forward.
"Seretha," Ivera said. "You lived under his shadow. You did not share his cruelty. You opposed him quietly, even when it was dangerous. And you protected others when you could."
She walked toward her.
"I believe in second chances. I name you Royal Advisor of the Iveryn Crown — to guide us forward. Not to honor Varyn's legacy… but to help heal the damage he caused."
Seretha bowed slowly, tears in her eyes.
"Thank you… for believing I was not like him."
Ivera nodded. "You never were."
Three months later
Peace returned to the kingdoms. The skies were calm. Trade roads reopened. Children played. The world was rebuilding.
But one name still echoed in quiet corners:
Nyx.
Posters hung across towns:
"Missing: Nyx — Princess of the Butterfly Blade"
Some said she had become a spirit. Others said she would return when the world needed her most.
No one truly knew.
In a mysterious village, far from the cities and empires, an ancient house sat at the edge of the woods.
Inside, a woman in flowing robes sat in meditation — her eyes closed, her face peaceful.
A creaking door. Footsteps.
A voice:
"Mom… I'm back."
Ren's voice.
The woman opened her eyes slowly and smiled.
"Good," she whispered. "My child."
And the screen fades to black.
End of Volume 1: The Butterfly Blade