Page 165 of When Sisters Collide
“Another watched her bathing, now he wears a gown. Silly, silly Orion tried to take her…”
The forest fell silent all at once.
Then the voice sharpened into a hiss:
“…but she shot him down.”
A storm of arrows cut through the air, striking exposed necks before the soldiers could react. One by one, they crumpled to the ground. In the next breath, the hounds scattered through the trees, tearing into the fallen, ensuring none survived.
Alena rose to her feet, adrenaline burning through her veins. The sight of the beasts should have chilled her to the bone, but the tug on the silver threads pulled at her senses, confirming their loyalty.
The nymph hadn’t lied—they were hers, bound to her by the Huntress’ magic for one day and one night.
The monstrous hounds paced in a slow circle around her, jaws flecked with foam. They waited for her command, the air between them thrumming with wild, dangerous anticipation.
“He’s calling for you.”
Alena spun. The little girl—or rather, the nymph—stood among the ferns, her eyes unnervingly calm, fixed on the distant Rasennan camp.
“He needs you,” she murmured. She didn’t speak his name, but Alena felt it echo through her all the same.
Leukos.
Somehow, his distress bled across the battlefield into her—an ache in her head, in her heart, in her sou?—
Alena!
“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with urgency. “I’m coming, Leukos. Just hold on.”
She gave the nymph a quick nod and broke into a sprint. The hounds leapt ahead, massive bodies blurring as they bounded forward.
They poured through the trees like a dark flood, a feral, unstoppable force.
Ahead, only five Tirynthian soldiers still held the line beside Phoebe. Their ranks were broken, Rasennans pressing in. Phoebe’s left arm hung limp, her sword gone, but her shield still braced in her good hand. The enemy closed around them, jeering, blades poised for the kill.
They never got the chance.
The hounds hit them like a storm—black fur, silver eyes, flashing teeth. One moment the Rasennans were sneering; the next, they were on the ground, throats torn out by the Huntress’ beasts.
Phoebe staggered back, her eyes wide at the slaughter. Relief softened her dirt-streaked face when she spotted Alena. She nodded towards a blade half-buried in the mud.
“Go,” she rasped. “They need you.”
Alena seized the hilt, the familiar weight settling into her palm. Heart pounding, she pushed forward through the chaos.
The hounds carved a path ahead, shadows with teeth ripping through tents, soldiers, and anything foolish enough to stand in their way.
Her gaze locked on the gate. The Rasennans had fortified their position, forming a formidable shield wall. Interlocked shields gleamed in the fading light, their discipline and sheer numbers forcing the last Tirynthian warriors back against the frozen palisade. The ground was littered with bodies.
In the midst of it all stood Pelagios. His silver Gifted armour blazed against the dusk, dented and smeared with blood. He barked hoarse orders, rallying the tattered remains of the Tirynthians. Around them, the Rasennans pressed hard—hundreds of them—an unyielding tide against a dwindling flame.
Another leader might have faltered at the sight of such flawless military prowess.
But not Alena.
No shield wall, no army, could stop her now. Not when her friends’ lives hung in the balance. Not when the gods themselves had marked her for this moment.
Shine your light, Omega.
