Five years had passed.
Five years of relentless conquest.
Five years of kingdoms falling beneath her banners.
Five years of fire, blood, and war.
The kingdom she had once called home summoned her back.
The roads leading to the family estate were lined with people, cheering, waving banners adorned with her sigil. Soldiers and townsfolk alike fell silent in awe when her name passed their lips.
The Bloody lioness of the south had returned.
But Selara did not smile.
No joy lit her eyes.
No warmth softened the sharp planes of her face.
Her expression was a mask of calm fury, of relentless resolve, but nothing human remained in it… nothing of celebration, nothing of happiness.
She returned to the estate, the place of her birth, the place where childhood laughter had once existed, and yet now felt hollow.
The gates opened slowly, creaking in time with her slow steps. Her father stood at the entrance, his posture stiff, eyes scanning, reading, understanding.
Selara stopped.
Time seemed to hold its breath.
And then… she looked into his eyes.
Tears flowed.
Not the controlled tears of a warrior.
But the uncontrollable, shuddering tears of a little girl who had lost everything.
He walked slowly toward her, each step carrying the weight of shared grief and unspoken apology.
Then he embraced her.
Strong, steady, grounding.
And she let herself break.
"I've been through too much…" she whispered, voice cracking, muffled against his shoulder.
"You've been through too much," he murmured back.
"You've carried burdens no one should bear. Rest now. Let me hold you."
She cried like she hadn't cried in years, like a child who had been abandoned in a world of violence and death.
Every conquest, every battlefield, every tear shed silently for Aren, for Ophelia, for her niece… all of it poured out in that single, shuddering moment.
Hours later, when her tears had finally slowed, she wandered alone through the estate grounds.
Her steps led her to a small garden at the back of the property.
And there… her mother's grave.
The stone was worn, the flowers around it carefully tended, but the silence around it screamed of years lost, of moments stolen by fate.
Selara knelt before the grave.
"Mother…" Her voice trembled, quiet, raw, nearly swallowed by the wind.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't protect Ophelia… or her child… or you."
She lowered her head, pressing a hand against the cold stone.
"You deserved happiness… but why… why did they all have to leave me?"
She thought of the battlefields, of every enemy slain, of every victory claimed in Aren's name, Ophelia's name, and yet…
Death had never come for her.
Never for her.
Only for those she loved.
Tears slid down her cheeks again, glistening like shards of broken glass.
"I poured my grief into the battlefield… into fire and blood… but all I could think of… was death. And death… death never claimed me. Why? Why must the people I love suffer?"
Her voice broke completely.
"Mum…"
She buried her face in her hands, the memories of Ophelia laughing in gardens, of letters she could never receive, of Lily's soft sleeping form, of Aren's smile… all of it collapsing into unbearable grief.
The wind stirred around her, brushing through the flowers, lifting strands of her dark hair, as though the world itself tried to comfort her.
But it could not.
No wind. No rain. No sunlight could fill the hollow left by years of relentless loss.
Selara stood slowly, her back straightening.
Her tears still lingered, but her gaze hardened.
The grief had not vanished.
But it had become purpose.
A purpose forged in the fires of everything she had lost.
The Bloody Valkyrie might weep alone, but the world would never forget her strength, nor her vengeance.
And somewhere in the northern wing of the palace, a small girl slept.
Named Lily.
Adored by Ophelia.
And unaware that the storm she would one day call aunt had returned.