Only Ashes
Smoke.
Thick and acrid, it clung to the air, burning Kaya's nostrils as the distant crackle of fire merged with the cacophony of battle.
Shouts rang out. Soldiers barked orders. Steel clashed against steel. And beneath it all, the rhythmic, thunderous pounding of a battering ram slammed against the gates, shaking the very walls of the fortress.
The battle had begun.
Kaya sprinted along the ramparts, her hood pulled low, her footsteps silent against the stone. Below, soldiers scrambled to defend their positions, too preoccupied with the oncoming assault to notice the shadow moving above them.
Her opportunity came swiftly.
A lone guard stood near the edge; eyes locked on the chaos beyond the walls. He never saw her coming.
Kaya leaped, her body cutting through the smoke-laced air. She landed hard, driving him down with her full weight. The impact sent him sprawling, his head striking the stone with a sickeningcrack.
He didn't scream. He didn't move.
Kaya exhaled, rolling smoothly off his unconscious form.
One down.
"One got inside!" a soldier barked, his voice cutting through the chaos as he turned, eyes locking onto Kaya.
He barely had time to react before she closed the distance.
Kaya slammed into him with brutal force, driving him back against the wall. The air left his lungs in a choked gasp. With a swift motion, she hooked his arm, twisted her hips, and hurled him over the edge.
His scream was short-lived.
Below, his body hit the ground with a sickening crunch, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. He twitched once. Then, nothing.
"A demon!" another soldier cried out; his voice laced with terror.
Kaya turned sharply, just in time to see the glint of steel descending toward her. She shifted her weight, stepping to the side as the longsword came crashing down. The blade struck stone, sparks erupting as it carved a deep gouge into the rampart.
Below, shouts and orders mixed with the deafeningboomof the battering ram striking the wooden gate.
Boom.
The impact sent a tremor through the ground, rattling up Kaya's legs.
The doors wouldn't hold forever.
Kaya exhaled, steadying herself. There was no time to hesitate.
They broke through.
The gates groaned, then splintered apart, and the invading force surged forward, spilling into the fortress like locusts upon a dying field. Steel clashed. Men roared. The air was thick with the raw scent of blood and burning wood.
Kaya moved with precision, keeping her distance from the soldier before her. His longsword swung in wide, desperate arcs; each strike powerful but reckless. She sidestepped left, then right, reading his movements, waiting for the inevitable opening.
Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword as she drew it from her waist.
The soldier lunged.
Kaya pivoted, slicing upward in a sharp, clean motion. The edge of her blade met steel, deflecting the attack before she stepped in close—too close for his sword to matter.
She could feel his breath against her skin, see the beads of sweat collecting on his brow. His eyes were wide, caught between fury and fear.
"Godless demon!" he spat; his voice thick with rage.
Kaya barely heard him. She had already shifted, twisting her sword just enough to maneuver around his guard.
In one swift motion, her left hand shot up.
The hidden blade struck true, sliding deep into his throat.
A gurgled gasp escaped him, his body locking up as blood filled his lungs. Kaya pulled back swiftly, stepping aside as he crumpled. His body hit the ground with a dullthud,lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Without hesitation, she drove her boot into his chest, sending him tumbling down the ramparts.
Kaya ran, her boots pounding against the blood-soaked earth as she made her way up the hill. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and burned flesh. Fires consumed the thatched roofs of homes, their flames stretching toward the heavens like grasping fingers.
Sigurd's voice rang out like a war cry, cutting through the chaos, but she didn't look back. She didn't need to.
The battlefield was littered with bodies—the dead, the dying, and those too wounded to rise. Kaya barely spared them a glance. Her path was clear.
Ahead, another heavy door loomed, flanked by soldiers. More men. More steel.
She tightened her grip on her sword, her muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.
Then came the voices.
"Demon!" one soldier spat, his blade slick with blood. His face was twisted with hate, his stance eager for a fight.
"Godless wretch," the other sneered, brandishing his axe. "You'll die screaming."
Kaya tilted her head, unimpressed. "You first."
The first soldier lunged, his sword flashing in the firelight. Kaya sidestepped easily, her blade snapping up to parry the strike. Sparks flew as steel kissed steel, the clash ringing through the night.
The second soldier came in fast, swinging his axe low. Kaya twisted, barely avoiding the blade as it carved through the space, she had occupied a breath before. She countered with a sharp kick to his ribs, sending him stumbling back with a grunt.
The first soldier took advantage of the opening.
A fistful of dirt exploded in her face.
Kaya reeled, blinking furiously as grit stung her eye.Bastard.Her vision blurred, but she felt the shift in the air—the oncoming attack.
She ducked just in time.
A sword whooshed past her head, missing by inches. Blindly, she lashed out with her own blade, her strike finding flesh. A gurgled scream followed as her sword bit deep into the soldier's side.
She ripped the blade free and spun just as the second soldier charged.
Still half-blind, she let her instincts guide her. She stepped inside his swing, twisting her body to avoid the axe. Then, with ruthless precision, she drove her hidden blade up beneath his chin.
His body stiffened. A strangled sound escaped his lips, blood bubbling at his mouth. She withdrew the blade swiftly, letting him crumple at her feet.
The first soldier was still alive, clutching his wounded side, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Kaya wiped the dirt from her eye, fixing him with a cold stare.
"You should've aimed better," she said, before plunging her sword through his throat.
He collapsed with a wet gurgle, his blood mixing with the dirt at her feet.
She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. More were coming. She could hear them.
Eivor surged up the hill, his breath steady despite the chaos unfolding around him. He had seen a flash of gray in the distance—Kaya, moving like a specter through the battlefield, cutting down soldiers with ruthless precision.
Then came the shouting.
"The pagans have summoned a demon! Shoot down the heathen!"
Eivor barely spared them a glance. Let them tremble. Kaya could handle herself.
His focus remained ahead, where heavier opposition awaited.
A group of soldiers stood in formation near the second gate, their armor thick, their shields locked in a tight defensive line. Their helmets gleamed in the firelight, their swords raised, waiting for the charge.
Eivor grinned.
Good.
Sigurd was beside him, matching his pace, their weapons gleaming with blood. This was not just war—it wasthrill.
The first armored soldier stepped forward, swinging his longsword in a sweeping arc. Eivor didn't bother dodging. Instead, he lifted his axe and met the strike head-on. Steel clashed, the force rattling through his arms, but he was stronger.
With a roar, he shoved forward, throwing his weight into the attack. The soldier staggered back, unbalanced for just a second—long enough for Eivor to bring his axe down like a thunderclap.
The blade cleaved through the soldier's shoulder, crunching through metal, bone, and flesh. A strangled cry escaped him before he collapsed.
Another came at him, a hammer raised high.
Eivor twisted, sidestepping the downward strike. The hammer smashed into the ground, sending dirt and stone flying. Before the soldier could recover, Eivor seized his arm, yanking him forward.
He drove his knee into the soldier's gut, forcing the air from his lungs. Then, gripping his axe with both hands, he swung upward burying the blade beneath the man's chin. Blood sprayed, and the soldier crumpled like a felled tree.
A third came at him, shield raised, sword thrusting forward.
Eivor snarled, raising his arm to absorb the blow. The sword scraped across his bracer, the impact jarring, but it was not enough to stop him.
He grabbed the soldier's shield, wrenching it downward before planting his boot against the man's chest. With a mighty shove, he sent the soldier sprawling onto his back.
No mercy.
Eivor lifted his axe and drove it down, splitting the helmet open like a hollowed skull.
The bodies lay at his feet, blood pooling in the dirt. More were coming, the clash of steel echoing through the fortress.
He rolled his shoulders, breath steady, heart pounding with exhilaration.
Sigurd stepped beside him, his own blade dripping red. "They fall too easily," he muttered, eyes scanning for the next target.
Eivor grinned, gripping his axe tighter.
"Then let's find more."
The battering ram struck the massive wooden doors with a deep, thunderousboom.
The gates shuddered under the repeated blows, splinters flying from the impact. The men working the ram grunted with exertion, sweat mixing with the grime of battle, their bodies tensed with the effort of each strike.
Above them, shouts rang out.
"The demon has the power to climb the walls! The Lord is mightier than the demon!"
Eivor heard the cry from the other side, followed by the telltale whistle of arrows slicing through the air.
He glanced up. Archers lined the walls, their bows drawn, but something was off. They weren't aiming at the men at the gate—not entirely. Some of them were turned, loosing arrows at something unseen along the fortress walls.
"Your friend is helping us," Ubba remarked, tilting his head upward.
Eivor followed his gaze, watching as several archers shifted their focus away from the men below, their arrows flying toward a different threat.
A shadow moved swiftly across the upper levels of the fortress.
Kaya.
She was barely visible in the flickering firelight, her figure weaving between the chaos above, scaling the heights with unnatural ease. She was fast—inhumanly so—slipping through blind spots, vanishing into the smoke, only to reappear in another place entirely.
It was as if she were something more than mortal.
Eivor met Ubba's gaze for a brief moment but said nothing.
Then, the doors shuddered again—this time, with a deafening crack.
The barricade was failing.
The battering ram struck again.
Boom.
The impact sent tremors through the ground, shaking dust loose from the ancient stone walls. The heavy wooden door splintered further, groaning beneath the relentless assault. Men roared on both sides—some with battle cries, others with desperate orders to hold the line.
Kaya barely heard them.
Her chest heaved as she sprinted up the hill, dodging the chaos of the battlefield. Her body ached, her breath came in sharp gasps, and her muscles screamed in protest from the relentless onslaught. Blood—hers and others—streaked her arms and legs, soaking into the fabric of her cloak.
And still, she ran.
Soldiers swarmed like locusts, their steel flashing in the firelight. She weaved through them, blade slicing, dodging, striking when necessary. Her movements were precise, fluid—less like a warrior and more like a force of nature, slipping past defenses before the enemy even realized they were dead.
She had lost count of how many she had cut down.
To them, she was thepagan demon.
The one who climbed walls. The one who struck from the shadows. The one who did not stop.
Kaya gritted her teeth, pushing forward. She was close now—so close to the heart of the battle.
Then she saw him.
Through the haze of smoke and torchlight, Eivor fought.
Two soldiers engaged him, their forms leaner than his—quicker, lighter on their feet. They moved with precision, not like the usual Saxon fighters. These weren't ordinary soldiers; they were trained, disciplined. And they were fast.
Eivor's strength was his greatest weapon, but these men weren't meeting him with brute force. They dodged, weaving around his swings, testing his reach, searching for an opening.
Kaya knew that kind of fight.
She didn't hesitate.
She launched forward, her exhaustion forgotten, her sword gleaming under the flickering light.
Eivor could handle himself—but that didn't mean he had to fight alone.
"It's the demon!"
The cry barely registered before Kaya was already moving.
She lunged forward, slamming into one of the soldiers with brutal force. The impact sent him stumbling, boots skidding over dirt and blood. Before he could regain his footing, she twisted, slashing her blade across his chest. The steel bit deep, cutting through chainmail, and the man let out a strangled cry as he staggered backward.
Beside her, Eivor swung his axe in a wide arc, his raw strength forcing the second soldier to duck. The man was fast, dodging with precision, but Eivor adjusted, reversing his grip and driving his shoulder into the soldier's chest, sending him reeling.
Kaya didn't wait for her opponent to recover. She pressed the attack, feinting left before striking low, her blade slicing across the back of his knee. He howled, his leg buckling beneath him. She stepped in, hooking her arm around his throat, dragging him down.
The soldier struggled, his hands clawing at her arm, but Kaya leaned in, her voice barely a whisper.
"Demons don't need gods."
With a swift motion, she drove her hidden blade up beneath his chin, the steel punching through flesh and bone. His body jerked, then went limp. She shoved him aside, turning just as Eivor roared.
The second soldier had found his footing again, his sword flashing as he darted forward, aiming for Eivor's exposed ribs.
Kaya moved instinctively.
She dropped low, sweeping her leg out, knocking the soldier off balance just before his blade could connect.
Eivor wasted no time.
As the soldier staggered, he brought his axe down in a vicious arc, the blade burying itself into the man's collarbone with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed, and the soldier crumpled.
The battlefield was momentarily still around them.
Eivor exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his grip still tight around his axe. He turned to Kaya, grinning. "You're quick."
Kaya smirked, wiping her blade against the fabric of her cloak. "And you hit like a bear."
He let out a short laugh, nodding in approval.
Even now, even after fighting side by side, she could not shake the weight of that night—the night she had almost killed Eivor in her sleep. The memory clung to her like smoke, suffocating and bitter. She had thought that, perhaps, he would bring it up in anger. That he would look at her differently.
But when she turned to face him, she found only understanding in his eyes.
Eivor exhaled, gripping his axe loosely in one hand. His breathing was heavy, his armor slick with sweat and blood, but his voice was steady when he spoke.
"I am not mad at you for what happened," he said. There was no hesitation in his tone, no lingering resentment.
Kaya swallowed, looking away. "You should be."
Eivor shook his head. "I have seen men turn on their brothers for far less. I know whatever haunts you runs deeper than one night's mistake." He met her gaze then, holding it firm. "I only ask that, when you are ready, you tell me what it was."
Kaya hesitated, then nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. "In time."
Eivor clapped a hand against her shoulder, a silent gesture of trust. "Good."
Before another word could be spoken, the sound of a war horn bellowed through the fortress.
The deep, reverberating call signaled only one thing—victory.
Eivor turned, looking toward the distance where the last pockets of resistance were falling, their forces retreating in disarray. The Saxon banners wavered, crumpling under the weight of their defeat.
Kaya exhaled, exhaustion pressing against her bones. She wanted to fall to her knees, to let the strain of battle finally settle, but her gaze locked onto the longhouse before them.
Heavy footsteps crunched over broken stone and trampled earth.
Eivor and Kaya moved forward first, side by side, their weapons still drawn, their bodies tense despite the battle's end. Behind them, Ubba and Ivarr approached, their movements a stark contrast to one another—Ubba steady and composed, Ivarr grinning like a beast still hungry for blood.
Smoke curled into the air from the burning remnants of the battlefield. The cries of the wounded still echoed behind them, but none of them turned back. The longhouse was ahead, its wooden doors sealed, its walls silent.
Kaya glanced at Ivarr from the corner of her eye. His grin hadn't faded, his hands twitching as if he were itching for the next fight.
Ubba, ever the measured one, walked with a sense of finality, his gaze locked on the longhouse doors. "Burgred is inside," he muttered. "No doubt cowering behind whatever guards he has left."
Ivarr chuckled darkly. "Let's knock, then."
Eivor rolled his shoulders, his grip tightening around his axe. "No need. He knows we're coming."
The heavy wooden doors groaned as they were pushed open.
Inside, there was nothing but silence.
Nothing but disappointment.
Kaya exhaled sharply, a breath of relief mixed with exhaustion. No last stand, no desperate resistance—only the emptiness of a throne room abandoned in haste.
Behind her, warriors entered, their boots thudding against the wooden floor as Ubba gave orders.
"Take three men and search the rear," he commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness.
Kaya barely listened. She leaned against one of the pillars, rolling her sore shoulder as she scanned the hall. The space reeked of sweat, fire, and the lingering presence of men who had fled too quickly to cover their tracks.
Ubba strode further in, surveying the room like a man who had already claimed victory. "Look around. See what you can find. I'll send for Ceolwulf… tell him we found a throne."
Kaya's gaze flicked toward the center of the hall.
Ivarr was already there, lounging in a wooden chair, his legs spread in lazy dominance. His axe rested against the armrest, his fingers drumming idly against the hilt. He grinned, satisfied, as if he had been the one to drag King Burgred from his seat.
Kaya wanted to say something.
But she was too tired tocare.
Her silence must have spoken for her.
"Worn out?"
Kaya didn't need to look to know it was Sigurd. His voice carried that same ease, that same knowing tone that made her feel seen even when she wanted to disappear.
She huffed, wiping at her face before turning to him. "Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?"
Sigurd smirked. "No, just that you move like it."
Kaya scoffed but didn't argue. Every muscle in her body ached. She had run, climbed, cut, and bled through an army of men to get here. She had earned her exhaustion.
Across the room, Eivor was already searching through the longhouse, kicking over crates, pulling back curtains—hunting for any sign of Burgred's whereabouts.
"Ah, that was a good scuffle, hm?" Ivarr drawled, sprawled lazily upon the throne as if it had always been his. His grin was wide, eyes gleaming with lingering bloodlust. "But I noticed we were short oneæteling."
Kaya shot him a sharp look but said nothing, turning her attention to Sigurd instead.
Ivarr wasn't finished, of course.
"Iknowyou were there," he continued, his voice laced with amusement. "Fighting like a shadow."
His grin only widened as he tilted his head toward her. "Impressive, really."
Kaya groaned, rolling her shoulders, already tired of him.
Sigurd leaned closer, murmuring just loud enough for her to hear. "He's not wrong."
Kaya scowled, elbowing him slightly before muttering, "Shut it."
Sigurd smirked but said nothing more.
Ivarr chuckled at their exchange, then leaned forward, draping his arms over the sides of the throne as if the weight of ruling meant nothing to him. "Now, where was the son of our king?"
"Ceolbert was around. It may be you missed him," Eivor said as he stepped out of a dimly lit chamber, his voice even but guarded.
Kaya and Sigurd immediately noticed the parchment clutched in his hand.
Ivarr scoffed, shifting on the throne like a restless predator. "Your lies are just like you, Eivor—big and bold."
Eivor ignored him, stepping past the taunts and standing before Kaya and Sigurd. Without a word, he extended the parchment to Kaya.
She took it, her fingers tightening around the aged paper as her eyes scanned the words.
Her stomach turned.
No.
The blood drained from her face as she read, her pulse hammering against her ribs. Burgred had called for aid—not from mere lords, but from powerful men, ones who could tip the scales before they even realized it.
The parchment crumpled slightly under her grip.
This was not just about Mercia anymore.
She needed to return to Ravensthorpe. She needed to send a message.
They hadalreadymade their move.
The weight of the realization hit her like a blow, and for the first time in a long while, she felt her knee hit the floor—not out of weakness, but from the sheer force of urgency pressing down on her.
Ivarr, of course, saw an opportunity.
"Well, well," he drawled, standing from the throne and taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. "The mighty demon falls to her knees. What's the matter? Not so supernatural after all?"
Kaya exhaled sharply, her jaw clenching. She rose to her feet in a fluid motion, her dark gaze snapping to his. "Careful, Ivarr," she warned, her voice low, dangerous. "You're poking at something thatbites."
He wasn't done. "Tell me, little shadow, do you bow so easily for all men? Or just the ones that know how to play with you?"
Kaya inhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay still.Patience,she told herself.Just stand and walk away.
But that wasn't who she was.
Kaya rose slowly, her expression shifting into something dangerous. She turned to Ivarr, tilting her head as if studying some rare, grotesque creature. "I should gut you where you stand."
Ivarr only chuckled. "And yet, you don't."
Kaya's eyes narrowed. "Maybe I just enjoy watching you run your mouth. It's entertaining, like watching a dog chase its own tail."
Ivarr barked a laugh, stepping closer. "You enjoy it, do you?" He leaned in slightly, just enough to invade her space. "I should confess, you amusemeas well."
Kaya arched a brow. "Amuse?"
His grin didn't waver. "A warrior, a shadow, a woman with a bite sharper than steel. I can't say I hate it."
Kaya gave him a slow, unimpressed look before deadpanning, "I don't go for men twice my age."
Silence.
Then, laughter.
Not from Ivarr—but from Sigurd and Eivor, both standing just behind her, smirking like wolves catching the scent of fresh prey.
Ivarr, however, did not laugh.
His smirk remained, but there was something darker behind it now, something that neither amusement nor arrogance could fully hide.
"You wound me,little shadow." His tone was playful, but his eyes glinted with something unreadable. "No taste for experience? A pity."
Kaya scoffed, crossing her arms. "If experience only comes in the form of a mad dog who doesn't know when toshut up,then I'll pass."
Eivor and Sigurd, wisely, did not interfere. Not yet. They simply shared a knowing look, one that promised they would speak to Kaya about this later.
They had seen Ivarr taunt countless men before, watching them rise to his bait. But this—this was different.
Ivarr wasn't tiring of Kaya's insults.
He was enjoying them.
And that was dangerous.
Eivor sighed, rubbing his temple. "We'll talk to her later," he muttered under his breath to Sigurd.
Sigurd nodded, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression. "Aye. Before she puts a knife in his ribs."
For now, they let the two bark at each other.