[edited: 24/03/2018]

This was not the first time that Cliona Trevils had been a part of the Warlock Army; before her first child, Tykon, had been born, she had dedicated herself to fighting for Refilyn in any way that she could, whether that meant fighting in wars between the realms or simply maintaining peace among her own. This was, however, the first time that she had fought against dark magic, and that made her more nervous than she was used to.

Still, the anticipation of using her own magic buzzed through her veins and caused her eyes to glimmer an unnatural blue—not that they were usually a natural blue anyway. She had been searching for her husband ever since she had come through the portal, hiding behind jutting out cliffs and searching the endless throngs of red uniform for his familiar head of blue hair. 

Just as she was about to give up hope, her name was called above the chaos. "Cliona!"

She had no doubt in her mind that it was his voice, and she turned to him eagerly, relief flooding through her when she found the face of the person she loved most.

"Wayde!" she responded and pulled him into her arms briefly. As much as she would have loved to prolong this moment between them, she knew they did not have much time. By now, the Dark Ones would be on their way and soon they would be engaged in battle. At least now she would be fighting alongside her husband.

"Thank Refilyn I found you in time," she breathed as she found the will power to pull away from him. The pandemonium surrounding her seemed to dissolve into white noise as she made eye contact with her husband. "I was worried I would not see you before the battle."

"I am here," he reassured, kissing her forehead softly. His golden eyes twinkled with something that Cliona recognised well; excitement. She was not the only warrior in the family; in fact, she had met Wayde in the army centuries ago, and he looked just as he had then, now, with a fire lighting up his irises.

Her husband's eyes darted suddenly away from her as though he might have been looking for something. Cliona could guess what that was immediately. "Tykon was asked by August to stay in Astracia and carry out a personal errand for him. You do not have to worry."

It was clear that Wayde wanted to question his wife further, for his expression flickered with curiosity, but there was no time for that now. They were being guided towards the cliffs like water nymphs stuck in an ocean current, and it was all they could do to lace one another's fingers together determinedly.

"When we fight, promise me that you will stay by my side," Wayde demanded and squeezed Cliona's hand desperately. "We fight together or not at all, remember?"

It was what they had always said together when they had been soldiers in the army, and Cliona's heart panged at the sound of it now. So many years had passed, one would think all of that would be forgotten now, but it was impossible for either of them to forget the way they had felt for each other—and the way they still felt now. "Yes," she nodded and smiled up at her husband. "Always."

His hand was warm as the two began to climb up the cliffs cautiously, and she knew that he was preparing his magic in order to fight. She would not get much more out of him now; his eyes were narrowed and his hand clutched an enchanted blade. He was ready for battle. It still astounded her how at home he looked with a weapon in his hand, and more than that, how beautiful. She was lucky to be married to such a vibrant soul.

She mirrored his stance, pulling her own sword out of its sheath and holding it out in front of her. They would fight together or not at all.

It did not take long to climb the cliffs, and Cliona did not dare to look down onto the black waters beneath her. The sight had made her shiver as she had fallen from the portal, and she did not wish to be reminded of the darkness that surrounded her. Wind whipped through her silver hair and she wondered why it was so much colder here than it was in Astracia. This was not a place that she ever wished to go to again.

The crowd of warlocks and witches in front of her came to an unexpected halt, and almost automatically, Wayde squeezed her hand again, this time more firmly.

"Draw your weapons!" one of the leaders ordered from the front, and Cliona's heart began to pound even harder than it had before. She could feel herself and those around her teetering on the edge of battle. In a moment, the war would begin and she would be transported into another body that was stronger, faster, and more powerful than her own.

She would welcome it with open arms.

And that is exactly what she did as silhouettes began to emerge from behind the rocks, black sparks flying from their hands. The Dark Ones.

One of them was coming straight for her, but she did not give them a chance to get close. With a jolt, her arm extended out and her electric blue magic shot out and hit the figure straight in the chest. The Dark One toppled over the cliff and was gone.

Pride rushed through Cliona. After so long, the warrior within her still existed. She had not even seen the person's face, whether they were warlock or witch. They were merely a moving target that Cliona had hit with ease. She could do this a thousand times more.

It did not occur to her that her husband's hand was no longer in hers as she branched out of the crowd and found the next person to fight. Black robes distorted her vision as she began to fight, this time with her sword, but she would not let them hurt her. She jabbed the sword straight in the warlock's chest and watched as his body turned to ash in front of her.

Later, she would think of the way the warlock had looked so fearful in his last moments. She would think of how she showed no mercy to those weaker—both physically and mentally—than herself, but now she did not think of any of that. Now she simply fought.

Other warlocks and witches were falling down in front of her, some of them Council members and people she had known in her many years of living in Astracia and some of them people who were unrecognisable, with pitch black eyes and faces of evil. She could not process the amount of lives being lost. She did not have the time. She had found herself fighting again, this time with a Dark One who also possessed a sword, but where her metal was silver, his was black. The heat from it tingled against her face and beads of sweat trickled from her hairline, but she barely noticed.

In this moment, she was not Cliona Trevils, a mother of two and respected Council member. In this moment she was an avenging angel, a warrior as great as Hecate herself. She belonged to war, and war belonged to her. She eliminated the threat, watched as her sword pushed another enemy off the cliffs.

Then she noticed a flicker of bright blue hair and lost her breath for a moment. Wayde. He was dangerously close to the edge of the cliff and inching further away from her every second as a Dark One urged him backwards. In a mere second, her fight had been lost, and before she could regain her alternate self, she felt a sharp pain stab through her lower abdomen. She looked down and her eyes widened. A black blade had pierced straight through her and her blood was already spilling onto the grey chalky rock beneath her.

She wanted to turn to face her attacker, but she could not. The blade was pulled forcefully from her body so that she was left to bleed out, and if she did not do that, she knew that the dark magic that had enchanted the blade would kill her first. She could already feel it poisoning her veins, burning her skin.

She fell to the floor, waiting for the darkness to come. This had always been a risk, and she had never been afraid to die before, at least not when she was a young witch who had joined the army because there was no use for her anywhere else. Now, things were different. She had much more to lose.

Her husband was suddenly in front of her, his devastated expression consuming her now blurred vision. "Cliona. I am here."

She had already heard those words once today and they sounded just as good to her now as they had then. She smiled, wondering if perhaps it would be her last. She sensed it would not be long now before she was gone. A hot tear rolled down her cold cheek. "I am sorry, Wayde. I truly am."

He shook his head and pulled her onto his lap gently. "I can take you away. I can take you back through the portals, to the Medical Wing."

"No," she whispered sadly. "There isn't time. You must survive this for both of us now, Wayde. We cannot both leave our children behind. They need you still, even now."

He knew of course that she was right; she could see it in his expression, in the way he nodded defeatedly because he knew there was nothing else to do but agree.

"I love you," he said through newly fallen tears. She hadn't seen him cry for so long and she wished more than anything that she could pull herself up and wipe those tears away, tell him instead that he would be just fine because she was here.

But she wasn't. She was fading. There was so much blood, and though she couldn't see it, she could feel it pooling between her fingers and dampening her fighting gear. She supposed that dark magic could cut through even the strongest of materials.

"This is not goodbye," she promised, "and I will always fight with you. Always."

He kissed her forehead again and she thought about all of the things that she had done today for the last time; talk to her son, put on her fighting gear, travel through portals, walk through the center of Astracia. She knew she had had more than enough time to live her life to the fullest, and she had, but one was bound to get used to immortality—take it for granted, even, and now it had been ripped away from her she was not quite sure how to manage.

She didn't have to. She could feel the darkness flooding through her body, turning her bones to ice and her skin to fire. She looked up one last time at her husband and pretended for a moment that he was Tykon, with his identical blue hair and warm features. Then, she pretended as though she could see her daughter, Tabitha, instead, who shared more features of her mother's but was still somehow just as beautiful.

For a moment, she convinced herself that conjuring their images up in her imagination was enough.

She did not have time to realise that it was not enough at all, for she had stopped thinking, stopped breathing.

She was gone, and had left everything that she loved behind. Still, she could not regret dying in battle. She could not regret sacrificing herself if it meant that she had helped to stop those with dark magic.