Time fractured into pieces. For an endless moment, Sarisa could see nothing but the flash of steel, the desperate glint in the attacker's eyes, and Lara bursting from the crowd like a streak of living fire.
The knife never reached her. Lara's hand was there first, crushing bone and sinew in a grip so absolute that the man dropped his weapon with a gasp of pain.
The sound echoed in Sarisa's ears, impossibly loud, as if the whole world had shrunk to this violent, blinding instant.
Gasps and shrieks rippled through the hall. Some nobles cowered; others surged forward, trying to see.
Vaelen stood stunned, halfway between intervention and paralysis, while Aliyah's small voice rose in a frightened cry somewhere behind the thrones.
Then came the second wave. A half-dozen figures broke free from the crowd—some in livery, some in the plainer clothes of lesser courtiers, all with murder in their eyes and knives or cudgels flashing in their fists.
The guards were slow, outflanked, reaching for weapons too late. The first attacker twisted desperately in Lara's grasp, but she flung him away with such force that he skidded across the marble, crashing into a table and scattering wine and glass in a scarlet spray.
"Get down!" Lara roared, already moving to intercept the newcomers.
For a heartbeat, Sarisa's mind went blank. She felt nothing but the heat of Lara's presence, the bright shock of near-death, and the sudden, wild surge of her own chains magic itching beneath her skin.
She forced herself to move—Aliyah—her daughter's terrified scream pierced through every other noise.
In the space of a breath, Lara was at her side, eyes blazing, yellow fire crackling from her fingertips like liquid sunlight. The nearest attacker lunged; Lara caught his arm mid-strike and sent him flying over a banquet table, the air shimmering with magical heat.
"Get behind me!" Lara snapped, not bothering with anything softer. Her body was a shield, her magic a wall.
Sarisa moved on instinct. She swept Aliyah up into her arms the child shaking and wide-eyed, but not sobbing. Brave, beautiful girl. Sarisa held her tight, pressing Aliyah's face to her shoulder.
Across the hall, chaos reigned. Another attacker veered for the dais, only to be intercepted by Malvoria, who had appeared as if conjured by fury itself.
Her fire was not gentle it was orange and red, volcanic, a living storm that crashed over the man and sent him sprawling. Malvoria's eyes were wild, her presence terrifying and absolute.
Elysia, always so composed, had scooped Kaelith behind her and was conjuring a shimmering shield of red fire, holding back the panic-stricken courtiers trying to flee the chaos.
The guards, finally finding their footing, surged forward in a ragged line, blades drawn. Vaelen tried to push through, but two more men intercepted him, wrestling him away from Sarisa and the thrones.
Another knife flashed, too close—Sarisa tightened her grip on Aliyah, trying to shield her with her own body.
Her magic flickered, chains coiling defensively, but she was no fighter; she had always relied on others to bear the brunt of violence.
Not Lara. Lara was everywhere—blazing, indomitable. She moved between attackers with an animal grace, yellow fire rippling over her fists and burning with every strike.
Two men rushed her at once. Lara ducked beneath a swinging cudgel, swept the legs from one assailant with a crackle of flame, and sent the other stumbling back with a savage kick to the chest.
The world blurred. Sarisa realized she was shouting—orders, warnings, anything she could think of—but the only voice that mattered was Lara's, fierce and commanding.
"Stay down! Do not let anyone through!"
Another attacker slipped around the dais, trying to get to Sarisa from behind. Lara saw him before anyone else and vaulted the throne in a single, impossible leap, landing squarely between Sarisa and the blade.
Aliyah whimpered, burying her face in Sarisa's neck.
"It's all right," Sarisa whispered, her own voice trembling. "Lara's here. You're safe. I've got you."
The words felt thin, but she poured every ounce of strength she had into them. She looked at Lara, not just as her co-parent or old friend, but as the one anchor she had left in this storm.
A crash. Another man was hurled across the room—Malvoria's work, by the flash of orange fire. "Guards, secure the exits!" Malvoria roared, her power a beacon in the chaos.
Lara's eyes met Sarisa's for a split second—wild, focused, utterly alive.
Then she was moving again, dragging Sarisa and Aliyah back, always keeping herself between them and every blade.
"Move!" she barked, pushing them behind a row of overturned chairs. Lara's magic flared, yellow fire weaving a protective barrier as she held off another attacker, this one desperate enough to try tackling her bare-handed.
He never stood a chance. Lara's fist met his jaw with a sickening crunch, and he went limp. She glanced over her shoulder, breathing hard.
"Stay down," Lara repeated, voice softer this time. "Do not move unless I say so."
For a moment, Sarisa could only stare. Lara was bleeding, she saw it now, a shallow cut across one cheek and a gash on her arm but she looked invincible, terrible, and beautiful in the glow of her own power.
The last of the attackers tried to break for the dais, perhaps hoping to claim some desperate glory.
Malvoria met him head-on, her fire flaring so bright it lit the marble orange, and the man screamed as he went down.
The hall was a wreck—tables overturned, food and drink spattered across the floor, nobles cowering in corners, guards finally dragging the wounded attackers away in chains.
For a few seconds, the world was nothing but ragged breathing and the crackle of lingering fire. Then the silence crashed back, sharp and absolute.
Sarisa did not let go of Aliyah not for an instant. Her hands trembled as the adrenaline drained from her system.
She looked at Lara, who was wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, expression unreadable.
Aliyah stirred. "Is it over?" she asked in a small, shaky voice.
Sarisa kissed her hair. "Yes, love. It's over."
Malvoria strode over, eyes wild, checking both of them for wounds. "You're safe," she said, voice gruff. "Thank the abyss for that." She looked at Lara, a question unspoken: Are you hurt? Are you whole?
Lara nodded. "Just a scratch." She glanced around, jaw clenched. "They went for Sarisa. Not for the court. They meant to kill her."
Sarisa's heart thudded painfully. For all her training, all her control, she had never felt so fragile. If not for Lara, the knife would have found its mark.
Vaelen stumbled forward, pale and shaken but unharmed, flanked by two guards. "Is everyone all right?" His voice wavered, but he tried to compose himself.
"We're fine," Sarisa said, but the words felt unreal. She clung to Aliyah, feeling every tremor in her daughter's body. "Thanks to Lara."
The room was already filling with voices—guards barking orders, nobles demanding explanations, the queen's voice ringing out for calm.
Lara knelt by Sarisa's side, reaching for her free hand. Her grip was warm, solid, and for a moment, Sarisa let herself lean into it.
"I've got you," Lara murmured, and for a moment, Sarisa almost believed nothing in the world could break through this circle of fire and love.
The queen arrived, fury in her eyes, her presence commanding the crowd into submission.
"No one leaves! Find out who let them in search everyone, question every servant, every guest!" Her gaze landed on Sarisa and Aliyah, then softened—barely. "Is anyone hurt?"
Sarisa shook her head, only now feeling the ache in her limbs, the bruises that would bloom tomorrow.
The queen's expression twisted—a brief, raw moment of fear before the mask of command returned. "The banquet is over. Take the princess and the child to safety."
Lara helped Sarisa to her feet. Malvoria gathered Kaelith and Elysia, her fire dying to a smolder. The group moved as one—wounded, wary, and unbowed—toward the exit.
Behind them, the hall was a ruin. Broken tables, shattered glass, the sharp scent of burnt silk and spilled wine. The guards swarmed the attackers, dragging the survivors away in chains.
Sarisa let herself be led, holding tight to Aliyah, her other hand wrapped around Lara's arm. Each step away from the hall felt both like a reprieve and a retreat.
In the corridor, Aliyah finally burst into tears. Sarisa knelt, hugging her close, whispering reassurances she could barely believe herself.
Lara crouched beside them, her voice soft. "You're safe. I promise."
Malvoria stood watch at the end of the hall, her presence a warning to any who might dare approach.
For the first time in years, Sarisa was at a loss—no speech, no composure, only raw gratitude and a fear that would not soon leave her.
She looked at Lara, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words not nearly enough.