The sun hung high as Arasha rode through the tree-lined path toward the new sanctuary nestled at the edge of the hills near their Order's base.
Despite its recent completion, the grounds were serene—vibrant with fresh greenery, polished stone archways, and clean, white structures that glowed under daylight.
A large protective ward shimmered subtly in the air above, its magic humming with stability.
Her horse's hooves slowed to a quiet halt at the outer gate where uniformed guards respectfully bowed.
"Commander Arasha, welcome," said the head of staff, a red-haired woman named Elura, her eyes sharp and calm. "The last wing was finished yesterday. We're running full operations as of this morning."
"Thank you," Arasha nodded, her voice steady but touched with awe as she surveyed the place. It was more than she expected.
Walking through the courtyard, she passed groups of awakened individuals—young and old—training under instructors, meditating under trees, or learning to control their gifts with careful guidance.
Healers stood at ready, and counselors spoke with anxious family members offering comfort and answers.
Everything operated in seamless, calm precision.
Inside the main building, Arasha reviewed the full report from Elura.
The sanctuary had five departments: Training, Healing, Spiritual Wellness, Control & Talismans, and Civil Integration.
Each one was staffed with specialists, most of whom had volunteered after hearing about the sanctuary's purpose.
She scanned the budget breakdown, nodding at the efficiency of the allocations. "Excellent work," she said. "I want bonuses arranged for your team. And I'll be doubling next quarter's budget to account for the growing influx of awakened."
Elura's eyes widened slightly. "You're too generous, Commander."
"I'm realistic," Arasha declared. "We need to be ready for more. We can't fail them."
Once the reports were signed and sealed, Arasha stepped out onto the upper balcony overlooking the sanctuary grounds and activated the sigil communicator in her palm.
A moment later, the image of her great aunt, Valmira, appeared in crisp clarity—wearing a wide hat with embroidered feathers, seated at a lush garden veranda with tea in hand.
"You look thin," Valmira said immediately, eyes narrowing.
"Good afternoon to you, too, Great Aunt," Arasha stated, lips twitching.
Valmira smirked. "Don't deflect. Did you see it?"
"I did," Arasha said with quiet gratitude. "It's... magnificent. Efficient. Clean. Safe. Thank you, Great Aunt. Truly."
Valmira waved it off with a casual flick. "It's the least I could do. You've protected this kingdom with every part of yourself—even before the rifts spread. This sanctuary benefits the many, yes, but it also reflects your legacy. I'm just giving shape to what your heart already forged."
Arasha's gaze lowered, throat tightening just a little. "Still. I want you to know that I'm grateful."
"Oh, please," Valmira said, sipping her tea. "If you really want to repay me, eat more, rest occasionally, and let that handsome young mage of yours know he'd better not break your heart."
"Great Aunt—" Arasha began, exasperated.
But Valmira had already ended the call with a smug wink.
Chuckling, Arasha turned and looked out over the grounds again. Several awakened individuals below noticed her presence.
One of them—a boy with trembling hands wrapped in magical bandages—bowed deeply.
Others followed suit, whispering her name with reverence.
A woman—his mother, perhaps—stepped forward and called up with emotion, "Thank you, Commander! You didn't just save us—you gave us hope."
Arasha didn't speak right away. The words struck her hard and deep.
She placed a hand over her heart and gave them a dignified nod in return, eyes full of meaning.
In the silent moment that followed, one thing became clear: she had earned more than loyalty. She had inspired trust, even among those born into chaos.
****
A rare summon from the High Court of Luxurite arrived in the Scion Order's base, telling Arasha dire news that that nobles had put forward a legal accusation against her.
And as the mass was informed, they had called forth for a fair and open trial overseen by the neutral High Court of Luxurite for their dear Commander.
And the High Court of Luxurite agreed to oversee the trial.
The masses had not forgotten her, her kindness and sincerity.
And her promises that were fully fulfilled while the nobles threw parties and balls to ignore their pleas.
Arasha didn't waste time and went to the capital to answer the summon.
She won't waste the commoners good will and effort.
The vast chamber of the high court was draped in crimson and gold, sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows as the nobility gathered, whispers already stirring like snakes beneath the surface.
The session was delegated to the High Court of Luxurite, most were powerful individuals independent from the crown and noble influence created by the previous king.
A high court which holds enough power to counter royals but functioned more like a decoration most of the time, indifferent to all matters not concerning them.
But now, with great upheaval, called to action by the masses for a fair trial.
Reluctantly, High Chancellor Alfonse led the high court to answer the call.
The court was abuzz with expectation.
At the center of it all stood Commander Arasha, calm, poised, cloaked in her Scion Order's mantle.
Her presence drew tension—admiration from some, veiled contempt from others.
The accusations from various noble houses had been made:
Arasha was using the awakened for personal gain, monopolizing their power to increase her influence over military and political affairs.
"Commander Arasha," began Lord Vernax, his voice lined with smug entitlement, "this court has gathered to determine whether your so-called Sanctuary of the Awakened is a means to centralize power. Rumors circulate—awakened ones answer only to you. Nobles and governors alike find themselves blocked when requesting assistance. Is it not concerning that one woman commands so many newly empowered individuals?"
Murmurs rippled through the court, but Arasha raised her head, her gaze unwavering and cold.
"I'm amazed on how predictable you were, I didn't expect to use all the documents and evidences this soon," she began, her voice cool and resonant. "I hope you came prepared as I am."
She waved her hand. Magic shimmered—silent, clean.
A collection of documents, bound in formal seals and floating beside her, descended into the hands of appointed scribes and recorders.
"Inside are records of every awakened individual registered under my care, their voluntary signings, public testimonies, and the policies I've submitted and had ratified for their protection."
Chancellor Alfonse nodded. "We see the transparency. But what of the accusations of withholding support from noble districts?"
At that, Arasha's amber eyes hardened. Another flick of her hand.
This time, magically recorded scenes—glowing illusions conjured from crystal—hovered in midair for all to see.
In one, a noble house lord shouted at an awakened youth, demanding that they serve his family exclusively or be imprisoned.
In another, supplies meant for refugee towns were diverted by the same lord, resold in private markets.
One by one, faces from among her accusers turned pale.
"I did not hoard awakened talent," Arasha stated evenly. "I protected them. As it was my duty and as I had promised."
Silence followed like thunder.
She didn't let it end there. Her voice dropped into a commanding timbre.
"And yet, despite these injustices, these people—the awakened—still chose to serve this kingdom. Many have given their lives closing rifts you would never dare look upon. You accuse me of seeking power? I sought safety for those without it. I acted, while you hid behind polished gates."
Lord Vernax staggered for a retort, but Chancellor Alfonse raised a hand.
"All of the evidence and supporting documents hold weight and must be taken seriously. The court shall convene privately to verify and act upon these charges. Commander Arasha... your actions, though independent, are justified by necessity and results."
Arasha bowed. "Thank you, Chancellor. And while this court considers judgment, I have further proposals."
She handed over her final documents—well-prepared legislation for:
Checks on awakened ones who show signs of instability or criminal intent.
Protective measures to keep them from being exploited or recruited into dangerous cults.
A joint oversight council, formed from the Order, overseen by the High Court of Luxurite, and civilian representatives.
The nobles who had opposed her stiffened but remained silent.
The others, previously skeptical, now eyed her with a strange mix of wariness and respect.
By the session's end, Arasha had not only cleared her name—she had gained greater authority.
The court ratified her proposals, binding them into law under emergency governance.
Her influence grew, but so did her responsibilities.
As she walked out of the court chamber, Leta met her with a grin.
"You really do like slapping nobles in the face with paperwork and righteous fire, don't you?"
Arasha exhaled slowly. "Only when they deserve it."
"And here I thought you were too tired to fight."
"I always have enough strength to defend the ones who cannot speak for themselves," Arasha answered.
****
The path through the Looseleaf woods was quiet—too quiet for comfort.
The trees swayed, heavy with mist, muffling every step of the Order's returning procession.
Arasha rode at the front, flanked by Captain Caleb and Sir Garran, a trail of knights following behind, Leta in the middle, their senses sharp after the tense court session in the capital.
Then it happened.
Without warning, the trees screamed with magic flaring crimson in the air.
The earth cracked.
Dozens of cultists, cloaked in midnight-black threads with sigils burned into their flesh, surged from the woods.
Behind them—awakened ones, their eyes blank and glowing violet.
"AMBUSH!" Garran roared.
Blades sang. Magic lit the forest like a storm.
Arasha dismounted mid-motion, her sword drawn in a heartbeat, fire and warding light erupting around her.
The knights held formation, pushing back the cultists with precision, but the awakened fighters were strong—too strong, their gifts twisted by rift corruption and warped conviction.
One surged at her—a young woman, barely older than twenty.
Arasha parried her flames, countered with ice, then caught the brief flicker of something behind the rage in the girl's eyes—regret.
"Stop!" Arasha shouted, breathless. "You're awakened—we can help you. Let us help you!"
But another fighter—a boy no older than sixteen—snarled, voice cracking. "Why now! They have our families—our families!"
He struck. Arasha deflected, heart shattering with every swing.
"I'll save them!" she cried, fighting back tears as she deflected another surge of power. "If you surrender, if you come with me—I swear I'll do everything in my power—"
"They'll kill them!" another awakened cultist screamed, sobbing as they hurled arcane spikes at the knights.
There was no choice.
With gritted teeth and trembling resolve, Arasha fought—and when necessary, she ended them, her strikes swift and merciful.
The last to fall was the teen boy, struck down as he lunged at Leta with his lightning-wreathed blade.
He fell at Arasha's feet.
Bleeding, coughing, he looked up at her. His eyes were brown—clear now that the glow was fading.
He reached for her cloak, fingers trembling.
"Why… didn't you find us sooner…?"
Arasha dropped to her knees, catching his hand in hers.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
His breath faded before she could say more.
The battlefield fell into silence. Cultists routed or slain. Awakened ones—those who hadn't survived—lay still among the moss and broken branches.
Leta stood a short distance away, eyes red, but her voice steady. "They were just kids."
Arasha rose slowly, bloodied, her sword heavy in her hand. "We'll find their families," she said hollowly. "Every last one. We'll save them."
Garran placed a hand on her shoulder. "And we'll bring justice to whoever turned them into weapons."
Arasha looked down at the boy again, then turned away, wiping her blade clean with a slow, shaking breath.
"Prepare the dead," she said. "We'll bury them as soldiers… not as enemies."
The gates of the Order's base creaked open under the weight of silence and exhaustion.
Rain drizzled over steel helms and cloaks, the storm clouds mourning with them.
The knights dismounted with grim efficiency, their eyes dulled, movements sluggish.
Not a word was spoken as they passed through the courtyard. Even the ever-watchful sentries offered no greetings—only solemn bows.
Arasha's expression was unreadable. But behind her amber eyes, a storm raged fiercer than any sky-born tempest.
She strode into the command hall with rain still on her armor, her cloak trailing dirt and blood, and called out:
"Sir Garran."
The veteran knight, already removing his gauntlets, stood to attention with a clenched jaw. "Commander."
"You're in charge of the base for now," Arasha ordered, voice brisk, commanding. "Handle all internal affairs. Any message from the capital, the nobles, or the royal court—direct them to you. If it's urgent, send it to my relay sigil."
He nodded. "Understood. You're leaving again?"
"I don't have a choice."
Without waiting for further protest, Arasha turned and headed down the corridor, her stride relentless.
"Leta," she called sharply.
The combat medic appeared beside her instantly, boots thudding against stone.
"I need a group of elite medics. Ones like you—fast, resourceful, and skilled under fire."
"How many?" Leta asked, already scanning her mental roster.
"Eight. Ten if they're ready. I want them armed. This will not be a safe mission."
Leta's brows furrowed, but she didn't argue. "Give me an hour."
"Half."
Leta gave a crooked smile, the kind that masked worry. "Of course."
Arasha stopped briefly by the training grounds, her gaze scanning the knights training there despite the night and storm—those awakened by recent events, each adapting to their newfound powers with a fervent discipline.
"You five," she called out sharply, selecting them with practiced eyes. "Ready yourselves. Arm for travel and combat. You're coming with me."
I need the awakened to call out to those who were awakened, like the ones who ambushed us…hopefully they would listen to them…
The selected knights saluted at once, their faces hardening with the weight of what such a summons meant.
Only then did Arasha retreat into her private chamber, quickly wiping her hands clean and activating the sigil comm link.
The air shimmered. A moment later, a solemn, silver-armored man appeared in the reflection, Sir Alvin the paladin commander.
"Commander Arasha," he greeted with a deep nod, already sensing the urgency in her gaze. "I heard rumors from the northern pass. Was it true?"
"Yes. The cult ambushed us. They had awakened ones." Her voice was low. "Children. Teens. Their powers used like weapons—and they claim their families are being held hostage."
Alvin's eyes darkened.
"I need help tracking them down. You have operatives with access to divine scrying and sanctified relics—we have to find these people before the cult does more damage."
"You have my aid," Alvin said without hesitation. "I'll dispatch two of my best clerics and a team of Seekers. They'll meet you en route."
Arasha's posture loosened, ever so slightly. "Thank you, Commander Alvin."
His gaze softened, the worry behind his noble features briefly surfacing. "No need for thanks for it's also part of our duty, Commander Arasha. Please be careful."
"I will," she answered, and severed the connection.
Outside her door, the base was already stirring. Knights assembling. Leta barking orders. Horses being prepared under torchlight.
Arasha, once more, donned her armor. Cleaned and reinforced.
She fastened her cloak, strapped her father's sword, and opened the door.