Rescuing Childern & Punishing Baroness Lethia

Ardellon was eerily silent that morning. The fog had finally lifted, revealing the shattered ruins of the castle. But the sharp scent of burnt magic still lingered—the tang of blood not yet dried.

Lyselle stood at the stone gateway, gazing into the now-empty town square. The Tower's guards were gone—those who remained were either bound or had fled into the countryside. She had said little since the Guardian fell. But the fire in her eyes burned brighter than ever.

Behind her, Niran approached, carrying a report from Therran, who now led the surviving children.

“Lyselle,” he murmured. “We found three more children in a storage chamber beneath the eastern wing of the palace. They’re alive, but weak. One has a magical absorption sigil carved into his spine.”

Lyselle turned. “A siphon seal?”

Niran nodded gravely. “They really intended to drain these children completely…”

Lyselle’s teeth ground together.

“They will never harm another child again.”

---

Below Ardellon, a room once used by Lethia for secret rituals had been transformed into an emergency infirmary. Three children lay on tattered cloths—their bodies gaunt, their skin translucent—but they were still alive.

A little girl with dark hair gripped Lyselle’s hand as she stirred awake.

“You… you saved me?”

Lyselle offered a gentle smile. “Not just me. So many helped. But I promise—you’re safe now.”

In the corner, Niran knelt cross-legged, eyes closed, drawing healing runes into the air around the children. He moved with the calm precision of a seasoned healer, not a boy.

“You’re a quick study,” Lyselle observed softly.

“If your life depends on learning, learning becomes duty,” Niran replied without opening his eyes.

Therran entered, worry etched across his face.

“There’s word from the north. The Central Tower has sent observers, but they haven’t intervened yet.”

Lyselle’s reply was quiet but resolute:

“They’re waiting.”

“For what?”

“To see… if we are strong enough to win, or weak enough to be crushed.”

---

Outside, in what used to be Ardellon’s grand square—now declared a neutral zone—Baroness Lethia sat bound by magic seals. She was seated on a stone throne once reserved for nobility—now her final judgment seat.

Her hair was disheveled, her cloak charred. Yet she sat proud and defiant, as if she still ruled.

Lyselle stepped forward. The gathered survivors—children, townsfolk, and even former supporters of Lethia now held captive—watched.

Lethia hissed angrily,

“You think you’ve won?”

Lyselle met her gaze steadily.

“I know I haven’t—not yet. But you—you’ve already lost.”

“The Tower will hunt you all. You’re just a foolish child defiling centuries of tradition. Magic must be controlled. Sacrifice is necessary for balance.”

Lyselle’s voice stayed calm, unwavering:

“And you believe that sacrifice must always be innocent children? You didn’t maintain balance—you trafficked it.”

Stepping closer, Lyselle’s aura began to glow, the air warming around her.

“I used to fear you,” she admitted, voice steady. “Your words about magic as if it belonged to you. Your power. But I see now—you’re hollow. You have no strength of your own. You're sustained only by the blood of others.”

Lethia sneered back.

“So you’ll kill me? In front of all of them? The great savior’s morality?”

Lyselle’s response was low and unwavering:

“I don’t save the world by being merciful.”

The Nethra crystal hanging at Lyselle’s throat began shining bright. It lifted into the air, encircled by glowing sigils—symbols identical to those from the ruins where her magical journey began. This time, they obeyed her will.

Lethia screamed as the binding seals melted away under the radiance of pure magic. She tried to retaliate, but her staff lay smashed, her power crumbling along with her pride.

“I don’t kill because I am angry,” Lyselle said softly. “I kill because you crossed a line from which there is no return.”

She raised her hand. The Nethra crystal split in two—light pouring from the jagged gap like a spear of pure energy.

The luminous lance floated upward, then—

ZRAAAK!

It pierced the Baroness’s chest.

Lethia’s scream echoed as her body bent backward. Her power exploded outward—but it was consumed by the protective wards Niran had crafted around the perimeter. Her body cracked into ash, disintegrating from her chest upward—until at last, Baroness Lethia… vanished.

---

No one cheered.

Only an unbearable silence hung over everyone. A silence heavy with meaning.

Lyselle sank to her knees, breath ragged. The crystal fell to the ground—now dark, irreparably shattered.

Niran rushed to her side.

“You—"

“I’m okay,” Lyselle murmured.

Therran helped her stand, supporting her gently. Around them, the children began to cry—not from fear, but from the release of grief. Finally, justice had been delivered to the monster who stole their childhoods.

They lacked words to describe the moment. But they knew something fundamental had changed.

---

That night, a great bonfire was lit in the center of town. Not to celebrate, but to mark the end of a long nightmare. The survivors formed a circle, sharing food, stories, and moments of hushed quiet.

Lyselle sat close to the flames, wiping dried blood from her arm.

Niran sat beside her.

“The Central Tower will come for us.”

Lyselle nodded, exhaustion lining her voice.

“I know.”

“Are we ready?”

Lyselle stared into the fire.

“We must be.”

“And if they refuse peace?”

She turned to him, voice firm:

“Then they will learn—magic… has found a new form.”

In the night sky above, the stars shone clearer than ever, as if gazing down with newfound hope.

And under their light, the children who had lost so much… were finally free.