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Chapter Text

Sofia

Falling.

The sky above was a swirling blur of purple and orange, streaked with the last remnants of daylight. The wind howled past her ears, drowning out the frantic shouting from above. The sensation of weightlessness clawed at her stomach, but it wasn’t fear that tightened her chest.

It was acceptance.

If her throat weren’t so thick with unshed tears, she might have whispered the words to save herself. Might have closed her eyes and wished her body away from its inevitable fate. But she didn’t.

I deserve this.

The thought curled bitterly in her mind as she let herself fall, gravity embracing her like an old friend. The tears she had refused to let spill now slid upwards, carried away by the rush of air, her body unmoored, like an impossible weightless thing. Somewhere far below, she heard the distant sounds of those who could not yet understand. The helplessness in their voices did not reach her.

But she knew their hearts. Her family, her friends, all of them. Their pain, their guilt, their whispers of helplessness. She could almost hear her mother’s soft voice, filled with that thick, wounded care, begging her to come back. She could feel the burden of all their hearts beating in her chest.

But Sofia didn’t want to come back. The burden of their love was too much. She had failed them. They had placed their hopes on her shoulders, expecting a protector who could not be broken. The princess with the golden amulet. But amulets couldn’t save anyone. They couldn’t fix the heartache of a family who had already lost so much.

Her mind circled back to one word, one truth she refused to confront until now.

I failed.

The fall seemed endless. She wanted to close her eyes, to shut it all out. But in the fading light, the world stretched before her, impossible and vast. A rush of air—so cold, so sharp—stung her skin, almost like a slap.

A crack.

Pain bloomed, sharp and all-consuming. Her world went black.

Amber

There was nothing Amber despised more than paperwork.

She had spent years preparing to become queen, yet nothing had readied her for the sheer monotony of ruling. She was no stranger to hard work—she had, after all, molded herself into the perfect successor to the throne since she was a child. She had studied tirelessly, learned every law, every diplomatic tactic, every skill a ruler should possess. All of it had led her here, to the royal desk in the palace, surrounded by the heavy weight of her duties.

But no one had warned her about the handwriting.

Amber groaned, rubbing her eyes as the words on the parchment blurred into an illegible mess. The letter from King Habib of Tengu sat before her, its ink barely decipherable despite the newly established common language for royal correspondence. It was baffling how so many monarchs had yet to grasp the concept of clear penmanship.

“Would you care for some water, Princess Amber?”

She nearly jumped at the voice, snapping her head up to see Baileywick standing beside her desk. The ever-faithful butler, still impeccably dressed, still as composed as ever. Despite being well past seventy, he hardly looked a day over fifty. Was he immortal?

Amber exhaled tiredly, offering him a weak smile. “Yes, please, Baileywick. Thank you.”

He handed her the goblet, and she drank in hurried gulps, the cool water soothing her dry throat. Baileywick set the empty cup aside, his gaze shifting over the countless documents scattered across her desk. He sighed.

“Princess Amber, don’t you think it’s well past time for you to retire for the evening?”

It was phrased as a polite suggestion, but Amber knew better.

“I can sleep later, Baileywick,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “Right now, I need to finish reading up on Tengu’s recent magic carpet thefts.”

Baileywick cleaned his glasses with his pocket cloth, shaking his head. “I had this same conversation with Prince James, and I must say, you’re both far too old to be ignoring the basic need for rest.”

Amber frowned, setting down her quill. “Wait, did you say James is awake?”

Baileywick sighed, clearly just as exasperated with her twin brother as she was. “The news is a shock to me as well. However, he refuses to leave the training yard and won’t tell me why.”

Amber’s heart sank.

“Oh, James,” she murmured.

Rising from her chair, she abandoned the paperwork and strode swiftly through the palace halls, her golden gown billowing behind her. The corridors were dimly lit by flickering lanterns, casting long shadows against the walls. The evening air was crisp as she stepped outside, the scent of fresh-cut grass mingling with the faint traces of iron and sweat.

Sure enough, she spotted James in the training yard, his sword slashing through the air as he hacked away at a straw dummy. The glow of the moon reflected off his blade, his movements sharp but reckless. Each strike landed with force, frustration evident in every motion. His hair, usually so carefully combed, was wild, falling into his eyes.

“James!” Amber called, her voice cutting through the night.

James

Each strike of the blade was another reminder of his failure. The wooden dummy barely had time to spin before he was hacking at it again, his sword slicing through the air with a desperate need to do something—anything—that might release the pressure in his head. He barely noticed the sweat dripping down his face or the way his breath came in shallow gasps. The only thing that mattered was the sword, the rhythm of the strikes, the numbing sensation of the repeated motions.

I couldn’t protect her.

The thought nagged at him, louder than anything else. Sofia. It didn’t matter that she had a magical amulet, magical bracelet, or whatever other magic that made her a perfect protector. It was them who took her away.

But he wasn’t the one with the power to fix it.

He wasn’t the one currently missing because of “the dangers of protecting common good.”

The prince landed another swing, but the guilt was just as suffocating.

His sister’s voice reached him, cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He ignored her, focusing instead on his next strike. If he just kept going, maybe he would be numb enough to fall asleep.

“Go back inside, Amber.”

“And what, let you waste away like the common weed?” Amber’s voice was sharper now, more insistent. “What are you even trying to do hacking at that old thing? Come inside to rest.”

Rest?

How can I rest when my little sister’s gone?

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. His grip on the sword tightened. “I just need to… I need to do this.”

Amber stepped closer, her silhouette a calm presence against the chaos in his chest. “James, stop it.” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “You’re not okay. You haven’t been okay for days.”

The sword tightened in his grip as Amber’s words cut like a knife. He hadn’t been okay for longer than a few days. He wasn’t ever going to be the moment Sofia abandoned them. It had been almost three years since she left and the letters stopped after one.

His twin must have seen his spiraling because she soon met him with a pitying gaze.

“I-” he started, his voice cracking. “I can’t take her silence anymore Amber.” He dropped his sword, feeling the weight of his own words settle like stones in his stomach. “I can’t- I can’t bear the thought of her finally coming home just to be put in a coffin.”

Amber’s hands were on him then, steadying him, pulling him into her arms. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t.

“Sofia didn’t leave because of you James,” she whispered, her voice steady and sure. “We’ll find a way to bring her back. We won’t stop until we do.”

He buried his face in her shoulder, his chest heaving with the force of his breath. “I should have protected her, Amber. I should have known being a protector would-.”

“Mom didn’t even know you idiot.” Amber’s voice was firm, but there was an underlying tenderness in her words. “It all happened suddenly for everyone. All we can do now is hope she continues to be the kind, strong, and intelligent girl we remember. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

James clung to her, allowing her words to slowly settle in. He wasn’t alone in this. No matter how much guilt he carried, Amber and the rest of his family would be there. The guilt still weighed heavy on his chest, but the fire in his sister’s eyes, that unwavering belief, gave him a moment of peace he hadn’t felt in months.

Chapter Text

The princess didn’t expect to be alive.

Sofia had never known what came after death, but she’d hoped it would be kinder than this—anything had to be better than the agony now anchoring her to reality. When she first opened her eyes to a blinding white light, there’d been a flicker of relief. Maybe this was it. Maybe she’d finally made it to the other side.

But then came the pain.

Agonizing, pulsing, breath-shattering pain tore through every inch of her body. Her lungs burned like they’d been filled with fire, her ribs splintered with every breath. The light that had once seemed soft and final now seared into her like punishment. With a sharp groan, she squeezed her eyes shut, curling inward like a wounded animal, her fingers clenching the edge of the cot beneath her.

“Well, look who finally decided to wake up.”

The voice drifted from her left—familiar, teasing, and infuriatingly calm. Chrysta. Still ageless. Still dressed in the deep red she always favored. She looked exactly the same as she had when Sofia was eleven. Time hadn’t dared touch the fairy. Sofia, now twenty, might have caught up to her in height and confidence, but the gap in power still yawned between them.

Sofia tried to speak, but her lips were cracked, her tongue thick with dehydration. Still, the words came anyway—fragile and instinctual, pulled from memory and desperation.

“I wish to be physically healed.”

The amulet heard. It always did. A golden warmth surged through her, radiating from her chest outward. It was like being set on fire from the inside. Bones snapped and fused with a quick precision. Torn muscles rewove themselves. Bruises bloomed, then faded. Cuts sealed shut. It mimicked natural healing—just too precise to be painless. When it finally stopped, she dared to open her eyes.

The Isle of Protectors’ infirmary stared back at her—crystal blue walls, shelves of enchanted salves, humming wards embedded in every corner. She had been here too many times. The sterile glow, the faint scent of peppermint and chamomile from the healing charms—it was all too familiar. Almost comforting.

“How bad was it this time?” she rasped, already knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.

Chrysta sat at the foot of her cot, legs crossed, gaze unreadable. “They were about to send out a funeral notice.”

Sofia sat up with a hiss, bracing herself against the cot’s edge. Her fingers trembled, and her heart pounded like a war drum. “Well, at least I have a new lead on the villain amulet.”

Chrysta raised a single eyebrow. “Oh really? Then you better save it for the debrief, princess. Might keep everyone from yelling.”

“They have no reason to yell,” Sofia said with her signature smile, the one she wears to disarm enemies and calm the fearful. “The amulet always brings me back.”

That got Chrysta’s attention. She leaned back, arms folding. Her tone lost its teasing edge. “So imagine how worried we were when you didn’t wake up for three days. The amulet only responds to you, Sofia. None of us could do anything. You had a shattered ankle, two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and so many lacerations we ran out of salved gauze.”

Sofia flinched. That part she didn’t remember.

“You think the amulet stitched all that up on its own?” Chrysta added, voice tight.
Sofia’s smile faltered. She remembered flashes—blood-slicked rocks, the roar of the wind, Gaston’s mocking voice just before the drop. Then the fall. Then—

Nothing.

Chrysta stood with a sigh and nodded toward the door. “The others are waiting.”

In the Meeting Chamber

The moment Sofia entered, the room tensed. The chamber was circular, ringed with arched windows that overlooked the swirling pink and orange sky.

“I engaged with Gaston,” Sofia began, standing before the round stone table that had seen too many of these meetings. “Stupid, I know. But he was heading toward the crystal caves. I couldn’t let him—”

“And so you threw yourself off a cliff again,” Orion interrupted coldly, his eyes sharp beneath dark brows.

“It wasn’t—”

“You jumped, Sofia,” he said, each word flat and heavy.

Silence followed. Thick. Suffocating.

Sofia drew in a slow, painful breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “He was summoned. I swear it. He said he was summoned by a second amulet—one I’ve never heard of before.”

That got their attention.

Vega leaned forward, her red-streak catching the light like fire. “Summoned? By who?”

“He wouldn’t say,” Sofia replied. Her voice steadied as she spoke, every word like a foothold on solid ground. “But he made it clear he wasn’t alone. Someone—or something—is using ancient magic to bring back villains who should’ve stayed dead. Gaston wasn’t just resurrected. He was reborn. He was strong. Strong enough to drag me off that cliff with him.”

A few jaws clenched. She didn’t mention the way he’d laughed during the fall. Or the way she held her amulet, just for a second, right before she hit the rocks.

“Should I have brought the fight there? No. But we both fell. One of us died.” She paused, letting that settle. “The price was worth it.”

Garish narrowed his gaze. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a glamour?”

“Not even a glamour could recreate his horrible manners,” Sofia said with a dry laugh. “He kept going on and on about how he’d finally defeat me because ‘men are stronger than women,’ or as he so eloquently put it, ‘some puny little girl.’” She smiled faintly. “I take great pleasure in knowing he’s gone.”

A ripple of murmurs went through the table. Even Turon, who rarely spoke, shifted in his seat, expression dark.

Galial exhaled through his nose. “That’s the third resurrection this year. First that tiger. Then those dagger twins. Now someone we actually recognize.”

“And they all mentioned the same thing,” Sofia added. “Another amulet. One that can bring back ghosts. Or worse.”

Nerissa’s voice cut through the buzz. “And you nearly died chasing one. What happens when you find whoever’s behind all this?”

Sofia blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You need a break, Sofia,” Orion said. “We’re putting you on leave.”

“What?” Her chair scraped back sharply as she stood. “No. You can’t—”

“You’re too close,” Vega said gently. “Too invested. You’re throwing yourself into every lead like it’s a distraction. We’re not trying to bury you. Not like this.”

“You think I’m obsessed,” Sofia whispered.

“You are,” Galial said. “We all care about stopping this, but you’ve turned it into something else. You won’t rest. You won’t breathe. You’re trying to outpace death, and one day, the amulet won’t catch you in time.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. The weight of their eyes was unbearable. She wanted to scream that they didn’t understand, that she was the only one they went after. That she could feel something pulling at the edges of reality, something old and hungry. But what would she say? That she had nothing else?

“You can’t just bench me—”

“We’re sending you home,” Turon said, final and unyielding. “Back to your family. Just for a while. Clear your head. Be something other than the Protector of the EverRealm.”

“Think of it as a vacation,” Nerissa added. “I’m sure Enchancia misses you.”

The word landed like a stone in her stomach.

Home. Where people remembered her as a child with wide eyes and a bigger heart than sense. Where the castle still smelled of lavender and wax-polished wood. Where her mother would ask questions she didn’t want to answer. Where Amber would look at her and see the cracks she tried so hard to hide.

Sofia stood there, breath ragged, every muscle taut with protest. Her hands clenched at her sides. But she said nothing.

Because deep down, beneath the battle training and the bruises and the magic and the titles, she knew they were right. And going home terrified her more than any villain ever could.

She pictured the bustling of her old palace. Her mother’s guilty stare. And the dusty room with a dead bunny’s bed still by the window.