CHAPTER 7 : WHISPERED CURRENTS

The dawn broke gently over Maelric Keep, pale light creeping over the weathered battlements like hesitant fingers brushing the kingdom awake. Ilyana stood atop the west tower, the wind tugging at her cloak as her gaze swept across the distant horizon. The sea beyond glimmered faintly, a deceptively calm expanse concealing the ominous fleet that approached from the west. The Eclipse Order—unknown in intention but terrifying in number.

Behind her, Torvell approached, his footsteps soft against the cold stone.

"They will arrive within days," he said quietly.

Ilyana nodded, her jaw tight. "And still, our allies waver."

"They await certainty."

She turned to face him. "Certainty is a luxury we no longer possess."

In the council chamber, the tension was palpable. Lords, merchants, and military commanders filled the room, their voices low and urgent.

Duke Harwin of the Eastern Reach spoke first. "We have not recovered from Renard’s treachery, and now you ask us to stand against a foreign fleet?"

"It is not a request," Ilyana said, her voice steady but calm. "It is a necessity."

"Our soldiers are weary," Lady Thora of the Southern Isles added, her brow furrowed. "The people need reassurance, not war."

"This is not a war of choice," Sir Alden interjected. "It is a storm that will drown us whether we welcome it or not."

Ilyana let the room settle before she spoke again. "I will ride to the western outposts myself. Let the people see that their queen stands with them."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the chamber.

Torvell placed a hand on the table. "While the queen rides, the council will prepare the city’s defenses. Every man and woman who can hold a blade must be ready."

Grudging nods followed.

That evening, as preparations began in earnest, Marin visited Solara’s bedside. The younger sister’s breathing had grown stronger, her face less pale beneath the healer’s careful ministrations.

"She spoke," the healer whispered. "In her sleep, she whispered your name."

Marin sat quietly, brushing Solara’s hair back from her brow. "The kingdom needs you, too."

The next morning, Ilyana and her retinue set out for the western border. The road wound through villages still scarred by past conflicts, where children watched from behind shuttered windows and farmers paused in their fields to offer cautious waves.

At Westmere, the outermost fortress, Commander Elric greeted her with a deep bow.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice strained, "the scouts report strange sightings along the coast. Lights in the night. Ships moving without sails."

"Magic," Torvell murmured, his brow creasing.

"We will hold," Ilyana said firmly. "We must."

Days passed in uneasy calm. Ilyana walked the ramparts, speaking with soldiers, listening to their fears and hopes. She ate beside them in the mess hall, tended to the wounded, and trained alongside the new recruits. Slowly, the men and women of Westmere began to believe not just in the crown, but in her.

But as each night fell, the lights on the horizon drew closer.

One evening, under a blood-red sunset, a lone rider approached the gates. Cloaked in gray, their face hidden by a hood, they carried a scroll bearing the Eclipse Order's seal.

"I come with a message," the rider declared. "The Eclipse Order demands your surrender. Lay down your arms, open your gates, and your people will be spared. Resist, and the sea shall claim your kingdom."

Ilyana met the rider's gaze without flinching. "Return to your masters. Tell them Avaran bows to no shadow."

The rider smiled faintly. "Then the sun will set on your kingdom forever."

They rode away without another word.

That night, Ilyana called her commanders together.

"We do not know their strength," she admitted, "but we know our own. We fight not for conquest, but for home."

Elric nodded. "We will hold the coast until our last breath."

Torvell spoke softly. "And beyond battle, there may be... other forces."

"What do you mean?" Ilyana asked.

He unrolled an ancient map. "Legends speak of the Guardian of the Western Deep. A creature bound by oath to the throne of Avaran."

"A myth," Alden scoffed.

"Perhaps," Torvell agreed. "But what choice do we have but to seek every advantage?"

Ilyana placed her hand on the map. "Where do we find it?"

"In the caverns beneath the Silver Cliffs."

The next day, Ilyana and a small group descended into the cliffs. The caverns were vast and cold, their walls glistening with veins of silver and quartz. Strange symbols lined the passageways, remnants of an age long forgotten.

Deeper still, they found the altar—a stone platform surrounded by carved runes. In its center, a single flame burned, untouched by wind or time.

Torvell stepped forward. "Speak, Your Grace. Call it by name."

Ilyana drew a breath. "Guardian of the Deep, by the blood of Maelric, I summon thee."

Silence.

Then, the earth trembled.

From the shadows emerged a massive form—part lion, part serpent, its golden eyes burning with ancient wisdom.

"Why do you wake me?" it growled.

"To protect Avaran," Ilyana answered, her voice steady.

The creature studied her. "And what will you offer in return?"

She knelt. "My life, if needed."

A low rumble echoed through the cavern.

"Very well, child of Maelric. I will stand beside you."

With the Guardian at their side, Ilyana returned to Westmere. The soldiers gathered, awe and fear mingling in their eyes.

"We stand together," she told them. "Against shadow and sea."

And together, they prepared for war.

The Eclipse fleet appeared at dawn—black sails against a blood-red sky. The coastline bristled with defenses: archers lined the cliffs, catapults ready to fire, soldiers poised at the gates.

Ilyana stood at the front, sword raised.

"Hold," she commanded. "Not yet."

The first wave of ships drew closer.

"Hold."

Torvell watched the winds shift, waiting for the perfect moment.

"Now!"

Flames erupted from the catapults, raining down upon the enemy vessels. Arrows darkened the sky. The Guardian roared, sending a wave of golden light crashing into the fleet.

But still they came.

The battle raged for hours. Ships burned and sank, soldiers fought and fell. Ilyana moved through the chaos like a storm, her blade striking down all who threatened her people.

And then, from the largest ship, a figure emerged—clad in obsidian armor, face hidden behind a silver mask.

The commander of the Eclipse Order.

They raised a hand, and the sea itself obeyed, rising in a massive wave aimed at the cliffs.

Torvell’s eyes widened. "It’s not just men we fight—it’s sorcery."

"Then we meet it with our own," Ilyana said.

She turned to the Guardian. "Now."

The creature unleashed a roar that shattered the sky, and the wave broke apart, falling harmlessly into the sea below.

The masked commander faltered.

"Press the attack!" Ilyana cried.

The soldiers rallied, driving the enemy back toward their ships.

One by one, the Eclipse fleet began to retreat.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sea calmed once more. The battle was won—for now.

Ilyana stood on the cliffs, watching the enemy retreat beyond the waves.

"They will return," Torvell warned.

"Then so will we," she answered.

That night, as the fires burned low and the wounded were tended, Marin approached quietly.

"Solara is awake," she whispered.

Ilyana rushed to her sister’s side.

Solara’s voice was weak but steady. "I hear you’ve been busy in my absence."

Ilyana smiled through her tears. "Rest now. I’ll need you for what comes next."

"And what is that?" Solara asked.

Ilyana looked to the stars beyond the window.

"A kingdom that needs more than a throne."

But far across the sea, within the shattered remains of the Eclipse flagship, the masked commander removed their helm.

A woman—pale, fierce, and smiling faintly.

"So the lion has teeth," she murmured. "Let’s see how long it roars."

She turned to her generals.

"Prepare the second wave."

The war for Avaran was only beginning.