Rose was dead. Dead. Truly and completely dead, forever and irreversibly gone. For the first minute she didn't believe it. Slowly, it sunk in.

Rose was gone. Forever gone.

Nala might not have been that close to the general, but they had spent five, almost six, years together, evading death and fighting for their countries. They had fought side by side forever.  Nala hadn't always agreed with her or even liked her that much but...she had been an ally. A friend. She still remembered the mischievous gleam in those now-lifeless eyes, the fierce determination that had driven her forwards, that laugh and that smile...Gone.

Next to her, Myra fell to her knees.

Dead. Nala didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. Rose had been so filled with light and laughter and life that it seemed impossible for her to die. That bright candle of spirit and hope and joy couldn't go out. The world suddenly seemed darker, colder, like the world was duller and dimmer without Rose in it.

In the distance, muffled sobs broke free. Myra or Gemma or maybe Kestra. Maybe some other friend of Rose's she had never bothered to get to know.             
"She's gone." Myra's words were the first to break the silence. "I failed her. With the ambush. I should have known—"

"It's not your fault," Kestra said softly, kneeling to comfort her mother. Nala could still barely breathe. Rose was gone. Gone forever.  How could they go on in a world without her in it? What on earth could they do now?

"We avenge her," Gemma said determinedly and her answer to Nala's silent question was a drop of water to break the dam. All around them, cries of vengeance came from not just the valkyries but the elves and the humans too, a roar of anger and determination. Nala trembled at the ferocity of it, her blood on fire as the roar spread through the crowd. Rose's death—the Empress' message—would not go unanswered.

They waited an hour and only to have Rose's funeral. The elves with the appropriate magic brought her down from the pole and gave her a shroud of mist. Nala bestowed her with her favourite locket, left behind when she went to the Bird of Prey Mountains, which contained a picture of her and Mia. Myra went last, draping her in her dark purple cloak and pushing her out to sea. No words were spoken except for the Blessing, as was customary of valkyrie funerals:

"Sarai, oh great goddess of warriors, receive this brave valkyrie with honour. Let her join you in the life to come, and know her greatness by the dark purple cloak. Rose Mariasdaugther Isidore, I say farewell to you, my sister. You died bravely, defending your people against evil and fighting, always, for truth. You stood beside me in war, and never faltered. May the sea, which you were born from, claim you again in death." Myra said the words again in the ancient language of the valkyries that was spoken before the common tongue had spread across the continent, her voice trembling with each word. When she finished, Gemma blew a horn—a replacement for the Horn of Sarai, which was lost in the last war. A single tear slipped down Nala's cheek at the sound—so deep and mournful, like a whale crying out in grief. It shook her to the core.

As she watched Rose's body float out to sea, Gemma's promise of vengeance burned in her mind.

————————————————

Talia

She had not returned to Silvera since the day she fled as a child forty years ago. Medea had wanted her to of course, but she had refused to and Lysandra helped her come up with excuses to avoid it. She didn't think she could bear it. Walking back into that city, the city that had destroyed her and her parents. It didn't feel like home anymore. Not just because she was a different person now but because its people had turned on her parents and wanted them dead for the simple crime of possessing a different kind of dangerous ability to their own. A mere forty years ago, these very people had thirsted for her blood. She had been only nine years old. This wasn't her home anymore. She hadn't particularly wanted to save it, but it had been the closest, the easiest. The most strategic.   
If it was up to Talia, she might have left them all to die.                                                   
The ships circled just out of canons and archers' range. Walls around Silvera—hastily built by the looks of things—were dotted with people carrying flaming arrows and preparing cannons. Talia drew in a deep breath as the Aerial Legion swerved closer and closer to the stone walls and what waited on them...           

The moment they came into range a hail of flaming arrows and cannonballs flew into the air after them. A few wyverns and gryphons were hit and plummeted; the rest continued on and swept chaos into the ranks of the defenders. Gryphon claws lunged and gutted archers before they could release their arrows. Wyvern flame incinerated cannons and their operators before they could release. The stone couldn't melt at the hands of fire but the gryphons tore great chunks of it with those legendary claws. Talia and the other elves unleashed, too. She gripped onto the minds of the Kallians and had them turning on their friends before they jumped into the sea themselves. FireBreathers and WaterWeavers worked together to wipe out lines of soldiers. LightningSifters and AirWhisperers picked defenders off one by one. Not to be left out, valkyries not part of the Aerial Legion sent arrows, some aflame and others dripping with poison, into the panicking ranks of the Kallians. They sent a few back but they mostly landed harmlessly in the water. No human soldier had the skill or strength to send an arrow across that distance.

In minutes, chaos had exploded across Silvera's walls. For the first little while the rebels had the advantage. Their surprise and organisation had served them well. But as Kallians regained the wits to obey their drills and form lines, the time began to turn. They used the walls and defenders to their advantage and soon more bodies joined the first in the waters. At last the Aerial Legion was forced to retreat, ducking and diving to avoid enemy fire. The more injured landed on the ships to the complaints of creaking wood. Those with less wounds remained in the air, hundreds of flying sentinels above their ships.

Alarms were raised throughout Silvera. More rushed to the defence of the city-state, soldiers pouring out to the walls. Myra exchanged a worried look with her. More than they thought.         
"We have to get this city quickly," Talia said. "Before reinforcements can come," Myra gave her a terse nod.                   
"If everyone in Asriel comes, we're doomed," she agreed. "There's no way we can handle all of them at once. Not to mention what Medea decides to bring from Kallias." But more were flooding out every minute. They sent in wyverns and gryphons for a second attack, but they were repelled even faster than last time. Would the four months they had given Medea be their doom? The walls were impenetrable and they could only ever attack from the air and with the elves. There was no shore for them to land on. No place for them to dock.

A third attempt passed. Dozens—hundreds—of Kallians lay dead on the walls but only more took their place. Gryphon and wyverns' bodies lay strewn in the water, blood dying the Asrieli Strait a dark, ominous red. The walls were damaged, but held strong. There would be no way to bring them down without rendering themselves sitting ducks and losing dozens of gryphons. Medea had planned this well, too well. If they wanted Silvera, they would have to pay for it in blood.

After she returned from the attack, Myra began to study the walls pensively. Her blue general's eyes scanned the walls, looking for gaps in the defence or ways through. Talia could almost see the thoughts ticking by in her head and the diagrams she was sketching with her mind as she examined the walls. And she wasn't even using her ability.                     

"We need a battering ram. Or cannons." She shook her head. "If only the ships were armed." Myra turned to Talia. "What can your elves do? Any EarthShakers?"

"No," Talia replied distantly. "Their abilities are for sieges. The Second Army never had them because they were always meant to defend. If we did have any of those a MindWeaver could turn them against us."    

"ForceWeavers?" She asked. Talia began to shake her head, but then realised she had forgotten about one of their latest rescues.               

"One." She replied. "Moderate ability. Specialises in gravity."        

"How much of the wall could they bring down?" A slow smile spread onto Talia's face before she remembered how his magic was depleted already.

"Not much," she said, shaking her head. "A few metres maybe. More in a few days, but we don't have that time. His name's Jaron. Do you want me to find him for you?" Myra nodded, her eyes distant as she scanned the wall.

"Talia," she said slowly. "How many ships could we abandon without losing the ability to house everyone?" Talia frowned at her.                 

"One or two?" She guessed.  "Not many. One of Medea's small times managed to wipe out quite a few ships. And only if we moved the supplies too." The general smiled faintly.                           
"That's all I'll need. Bring Jaron. Lilith?" The valkyrie general snapped to attention. "Bring the dying elves. The ones who aren't going to make it anyway. If they can still use some amount of magic, then bring to me. And quickly. Oh, actually, bring the dying wyverns and gryphons too. Any that can still stand up but are hopeless causes.Infected wounds, probably." Lilith rushed off to fulfil her orders, and Talia followed her. She and Myra might be 'equals' in a more technical sense, but as always the Dragon ruled on the battlefield.

Within half an hour, she, Lilith and the others Myra dispatched after they were gone had brought was asked of them. Four dying elves and gravely injured wyverns and gryphons were supported to stand on the deck. Sticking out amongst the blood-soaked group was Jaron and a few other elves. Talia recognised them all as WindWeavers or Telekenetics.

Also at the gathering was the War Council: Talia, Zara, Nala and Myra herself. Kestra and Layla weren't present; they had been taken belowdecks for safety.              

"What plan have you cooked up now, Isidore?" Zara asked.               

"We evacuate two ships and move their supplies." Myra said. "Medium size,I suggest the Crow and the Seven Seas. Bring the dying elves, wyverns and gryphons who are willing—humans and valkyries won't be much use—and send them on the ships. Then the Telekenetics and WindWeavers come in and steer the ships towards the walls. The moment they hit, the occupants unleash chaos. Jargon brings down part of the walls and the dying use the last of their magic. There won't be much damage they can do with their abilities drained, but—"

"Actually, if they're not worrying about their limits, they can do huge damage," Talia interrupted. "There's a final burst elves can access when they embrace reaching the end of our power—and therefore doom themselves. Even the least powerful among us can do a huge amount of damage with that last burst." Myra nodded.

"How much do you think we'll bring down with that considered?" Nala asked.                      

"Depends on how well things go." Myra sighed. "I won't lie. It's a risky plan, but I don't see how else we get the walls down before Medea's men arrive." She then turned to the waiting four.

"Who's willing to go?" She asked. "No one will blame if you don't. You've already given enough. You'll soon give your lives. This is just about how you do that. If you'd rather spend your last moments with your family and friends, then I don't blame you. Not in the least."              

"I'll go," the FireBreather said, speaking first.                                      

"Me too," two injured Telekenetics rasped out.                                         

"I'll come," the MetalWeaver choked out. Talia felt a sudden burst of pride for her soldiers. Two were from the Second Army, which she had dedicated years to training, the other two were of the Silver Guard that had come at her call six  years ago. They would fight to the end, fight for a better world they would never get a chance to see.                              

"Make the preparations," Myra commanded. "Look after our volunteers. We strike in an hour and a half."

————————————————

Myra

She didn't know if the plan would work. Honestly she sometimes felt like she was simply grasping at straws. If this didn't work she thought she might
run out of straws to grasp. She was tired. So, so tired. The war was swallowing her whole, always demanding more and more of her. There was nothing she wanted more than to hug her daughter and block out the world. Or to run away with Jasper and escape her responsibilities, her duties and this whole miserable war.

But she was as bound to Miras and her people as ever. Once her loyalty and sense of duty had been her pride. Now it felt like another set of shackles. When could she let it go? Or would it cling to her forever as surely as Jasper's guilt still clung to him?

Myra squinted to watch as wyverns and gryphons carried people and supplies to other boats. A few elves even levitated crates across the waters. The guards at Silvera watched with trepidation and even a little curiosity. They were far out of range, though, so there was nothing they could do. As they began to swap the fleeing for the dying, they relaxed, assuming it was only a reordering for a new and doomed attempt.' They clearly couldn't see their injuries from a distance. All the better for them.

Progress was slow despite everyone's efforts. By the time everything was prepared they had lost one of the gryphons and two valuable hours had passed. Myra nodded to the elves in charge of steering the ships and the two vessels began to cut through the water, churning white foam at an unnatural speed. The sentries and guards on duty immediately started to aim, releasing arrows and cannonballs just as they came into range. But their missiles were nothing. This was a ship of the dying. Nothing could hurt them now.

The soldiers began to panic as it became clear that the ships were about to crash into the walls. Many abandoned their posts and rushed as far as they could from the walls. Myra allowed herself a smile; an added bonus. The first ship-the Crow-hit the stone walls with a terrible groan, wood splintering as the elves in charge forced the ship to slam into the wall. Already damaged walls began to crumble and break. Fire exploded into life and lunged after Kallian soldiers. It sputtered out within half a minute, but while it still existed it sent chaos through the ranks of the enemy. Myra was suddenly reminded of the elves' attack from the tunnels during the first war. It was a cataclysm, a flood of flame roaring into life like a hungry beast.

Next came the Telekenetics. They lifted great chunks of wall and dropped it into the city and onto the fleeing soldiers. As their powers faded, soldiers were suddenly flung off the walls. Like the FireBreather, they used too much of their ability- far more than they could ever dream of using if they weren't dying already.

The MetalWeaver was last to strike. As the Seven Seas slammed into the wall, he unleashed on the Kallians. Metal was ripped from everyone he could possibly find it-homes, armouries deep within the city, even the soldiers' armour. A thousand steel and iron spikes tore into the wall and the sentries. His power lasted longest, only flickering after two minutes had passed.

Just as he faded, Jaron held his hands out into the air and pulled on the threads of gravity and lift around the walls. Metres of stone sank beneath the waves until what was left above sea water only amounted to the height of an average adult.

As the attack finished, Myra examined what was left of the wall. Much was half-ruined rather than being completed destroyed, but about six or seven metres was now brought down, revealing Silvera behind. A further twenty could be wrecked apart by a gryphon's impossibly sharp claws. For a moment, she tasted victory.

Then she turned to the horizon, where hundreds of ships now flew out of Silvera to face their own makeshift navy. Dread pooled in her stomach.
There were easily two hundred thousand soldiers on those ships.

So much for victory. So much for the rebellion at all.