The Rise Of The Omega Luna

CHAPTER 75

The square was dying.

Flames clawed at the night sky, painting it blood-red as roofs collapsed in bursts of sparks. The mob had scattered—some fleeing into the alleys, others crushed beneath the stampede, their bodies trampled and broken. Smoke hung low, choking, thick with ash and blood.

Elise stumbled forward, half-dragging Kai, half-dragged herself. Her spear was still clenched in her hand, though her fingers had gone numb. Her wounds burned like fire, every step a scream.

“Keep moving,” Kai rasped, his weight heavy on her shoulder. Blood soaked through his tunic, hot and wet, but his grip on his sword had not loosened. His jaw was set, eyes fixed on the dark street beyond the inferno.

Behind them, Mira staggered, one hand pressed tight against her ribs. She coughed, the sound raw, tearing, but her voice held. “Alley—there, before it closes.”

Elise forced her legs to obey. They veered into a narrow passage, shadows swallowing them whole. Behind them, the square collapsed into chaos—timbers falling, flames devouring, the roar of fire louder than the screams. Becky’s corpse burned somewhere within, unmarked, indistinguishable from the ruin she had birthed.

Elise didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

The alley twisted, black with smoke, lined with broken shutters and crumbling stone. Every corner felt like it might hide another mercenary, another mob, another death. Elise tightened her grip on her spear and pushed on, every breath a battle.

Finally, when her legs gave way, they collapsed into the shell of a half-burned shop. The ceiling had caved in, ash drifting like snow, but it was shelter. For now.

Elise leaned against the wall, sliding down until her knees hit the dirt. Her vision swam, the world dimming, but she forced herself upright again. She couldn’t fall. Not yet.

Mira dropped beside her, face pale, lips cracked. Her sword clattered from her hand, and she pressed her bloody fingers to her temples. “We barely… barely got out.”

Kai lowered himself slowly, groaning as he leaned his back against the wall. His face was white as bone, his breath ragged. “We killed her,” he said hoarsely, almost as if testing the words. “We killed Becky.”

Elise met his eyes, her own hollow, heavy. “We killed her… but not what she started.”

The words hung heavy in the silence. Beyond the ruined shop, the city still burned.

Mira lifted her head, eyes glassy. “They’ll blame us. You know they will. The council, the guards, the families—Becky’s death won’t stop this. It’ll… it’ll ignite it.”

Elise’s hand tightened on her spear, blood streaking the wood. She remembered Becky’s last laugh, the words rasped between blood and fire: Fire always spreads.

And Mira was right. This was only the beginning.

For a fleeting moment, silence settled—the kind that tasted of exhaustion and ashes. But then, through the night, voices carried. Shouts, running feet, word spreading faster than flame.

“Elise!” Kai forced himself to stand, listening hard.

The voices grew clearer. From the alleys. From the broken streets. Frantic, disbelieving cries:

“She lives!”

“Becky lives!”

“They say she rose from the fire!”

Elise’s blood ran cold.

She staggered to her feet, gripping her spear so tightly it cut her palm. “No,” she whispered. “I killed her. I saw her fall.”

But the shouts swelled louder, echoing across the city, a tide that would not be stopped.

Becky’s body might have burned to ash in the square. Yet already, her shadow walked the streets again—alive in rumor, alive in fear.

And fear was enough to set the city ablaze all over again.

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Everglade House had not burned.

Its windows were dark, its gardens overgrown, its walls slick with moss where the city’s damp crept in. Once, nobles had feasted in its halls. Now it was a ruin of whispers, a place where no one dared tread—except those who knew better.

Becky lay on a torn velvet couch, her body a map of wounds. Her cloak was gone, burned to cinders. Her skin blistered in patches, her shoulder bound clumsily in blood-stiffened cloth. Every breath scraped her ribs raw, each inhale a war.

Yet her eyes—her eyes still burned.

Luka knelt at her side, grinding herbs into a paste with slow, deliberate motions. His hands were steady, though his jaw was tight, his brow lined with shadows. The small clay lamp between them sputtered, its flame barely enough to hold back the dark.

“You should be dead,” Luka muttered at last, not looking at her. “Any other soul would be.”

Becky’s lips curled, though blood streaked her teeth. “But I’m not.” Her voice was a rasp, thin as smoke but sharp. “Do you see, Luka? Even the fire couldn’t take me. I was chosen in the flames.”

He pressed the paste against her shoulder. She hissed, but her hand shot out and seized his wrist with surprising strength. Her nails dug into his skin.

“Don’t look at me as if I’m broken,” she whispered. “I am not broken. I am… reborn.”

Luka’s eyes flicked to hers, unreadable. Then, after a long moment, he nodded once. “Then let us make use of that rebirth.”

He tied the bandage tight, his motions brisk, practiced. “The city thinks you’re ash. Whispers of your survival spread already. That fear is worth more than a thousand blades.”

Becky laughed—low, hoarse, dangerous. She shifted on the couch, forcing herself upright though the movement tore at her wounds. “Yes. Let them whisper. Let them choke on the thought of me. Fear is the leash they will wear willingly.”

She leaned back, eyes closing for a moment. Pain rippled across her face, but the smile remained. “Elise thinks she killed me. She thinks she’s ended this.”

Her eyes snapped open again, pupils wide, wild. “But I am not finished. No. The fire was only the beginning.”

Luka sat across from her now, elbows on his knees, his voice low and steady. “Then tell me what comes next. What is it you want me to set in motion?”

Becky’s head turned toward him, the flicker of the lamp casting her face half in shadow. Her grin widened, cracked lips splitting.

“You’ll know soon enough,” she said softly. “It begins tonight.”

The lamp guttered, the flame almost dying, and for a heartbeat the room was swallowed in darkness. When the light steadied again, Luka was watching her closely, his expression unreadable.

Becky reclined against the torn velvet, her breath shallow, her body failing—yet her will, her hunger, was undiminished. She whispered a final word, so faint it was nearly lost to the shadows:

“Everything will burn.”