The Last Banner

The moon hung high over Lysara, its pale light casting long shadows across the quiet palace halls. Helena sat by the window in her chambers, her gaze drifting over the city below. The streets that had been bustling earlier were now silent, their vibrant energy replaced by an eerie stillness.

She traced the edge of her goblet absently, the faint metallic chill grounding her. Her thoughts wandered as they often did these nights—to Thrace, to her family. She could almost hear Cassandra's mischievous laughter or Sophia's quiet voice asking for her opinion on some childish game. And Hadrian—his sharp, calculating gaze lingered in her mind most of all.

A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. She straightened, smoothing the folds of her gown. "Come in."

A young courier entered, his uniform bearing the sigil of Thrace. He bowed deeply, holding out a sealed envelope. "A letter for you, my lady. From your father."

Helena's chest tightened as she took the letter, her fingers brushing the familiar seal. "Thank you," she said, her voice steady despite the sudden weight pressing down on her.

The courier bowed again and left without a word.

She broke the seal with deliberate care, unfolding the parchment. Her father's handwriting, precise but faint, filled the page. She read each word slowly, her breath hitching as the meaning sank in.

My dearest Helena,

I pray this letter reaches you in good health. Lysara, I trust, is treating you well, and I know you are making me proud as you learn to navigate its courts. But I write to inform you of a grave matter.

Thrace faces an imminent attack. A goblin horde, larger than any we have seen, marches upon the city. Preparations are underway, and your brothers lead with strength and courage. But the threat is great, and I cannot guarantee that we will emerge unscathed.

Know that I am proud of you, Helena. You are the light of this family, and though you are far from us now, your presence is felt in every decision I make. Stay strong, and trust your brothers. Hadrian and Alexander are more capable than even they know.

May the Flame watch over you, always.

With love,

Father

Helena's hands trembled slightly as she lowered the letter. Her mind raced, picturing the city's walls, the soldiers, and the faces of her family standing against an overwhelming tide.

Her eyes drifted back to the window, the moonlight catching the faint shimmer of tears she refused to let fall. She gripped the letter tightly, her jaw setting with resolve.

"I shouldn't have left," she whispered to the empty room. Her voice hardened. "But I'll return. Stronger. And when I do, none of this will happen again."

The city below glimmered faintly, its beauty now a cruel contrast to the dread that filled her chest.