The air was thick with tension. The wind that once whispered through the trees now howled like a wounded beast. Smoke rose from the edges of the capital, curling skyward like ghostly serpents. The rebellion had reached its boiling point—and at the heart of the storm stood Ella.
No longer the timid daughter of the king, Ella had transformed. Her once-golden hair, now streaked with ash, fluttered in the chaos. Her eyes—fierce, glowing with determination—had shed their old obedience. She had become something new. Something feared. Something revered.
They called her Neo Ella now.
Rez, the once-rebel who had fallen in the first clash, returned—not in flesh, but steel. Rebuilt by the underground techno-mages, Rez had become a cyborg warrior of mythic proportions. He moved like smoke, fought like thunder, and his loyalty to Ella was unshakable. Together, they led the resistance against the tyrant king—Ella's own father.
But the deeper they marched into the heart of the kingdom, the clearer it became: this war was not just against the king. It was against fate itself.
They reached the edge of the Citadel, a towering structure of living metal and ancient stone. Inside were the remaining guards, elite enforcers, and the king himself. Skelly, Ella's younger brother, had warned her that it would be a trap. But she was resolute. She had to end it—with her hands, not just her words.
"This is madness," Rez said, his voice metallic, yet softened by the remnants of his human soul. "You don't have to go alone."
"I was born into this palace. I will end it inside," she replied, gaze unwavering. "I need you to hold the line outside. The people believe in us—they need time to escape."
Rez hesitated, then nodded. "Don't die, Ella. Don't make me lose you again."
She offered him a rare smile. "I'll try."
She stepped into the Citadel, her footsteps echoing through marble and memory. As she passed through its cold corridors, images of her childhood flickered in her mind—her mother's lullabies, the king's cruel lessons, the day she first saw Abdulsamad, the shepherd who'd sparked her heart and awakened her courage.
Her steps led her to the throne room.
The king sat upon the obsidian throne, his armor gilded, his face hard and unreadable. He looked upon his daughter not with fear, nor hate—but with disappointment.
"You look like your mother," he said, his voice rasping like a blade on stone. "She was weak too."
Ella's jaw clenched. "She was strong enough to love. That's more than I can say for you."
He rose slowly, drawing his jagged blade. "So, the traitor daughter returns to play hero. Tell me, Ella—how many have you led to their deaths in your crusade for the 'people'?"
"I've given them hope," she said. "And I'll give them peace."
Without another word, the king struck.
The clash was thunderous—steel rang against steel, will against will. Ella dodged with grace, retaliated with fury. Every blow was a memory released—every parry a scream silenced. She fought not as a princess, not as a rebel, but as the storm forged by pain.
Blood spilled. Her shoulder—cut. Her cheek—bruised. But she pressed on.
"I raised you to follow," the king hissed. "Not to lead."
"And I was born to break your chains!" she roared.
With a final cry, she drove her blade into his chest. The king gasped, staggered, then smiled bitterly.
"You've won, my daughter. But power… always finds its price."
He collapsed.
Ella stood over his fallen form, panting, bloodied, but alive. The Citadel trembled—the very roots of its magic tied to the king's life. It began to collapse, stone and steel groaning under a dying legacy.
Outside, Rez watched in horror as the palace began to crumble.
"No," he muttered. "No no no—"
Skelly ran up beside him, panic in his eyes. "Where is she?!"
"She went in alone," Rez said. "She told me to wait—told me to protect the others."
Skelly didn't hesitate. He bolted toward the ruins.
Inside, Ella stood among the wreckage, broken pillars and crumbling walls closing in around her. She coughed blood, her legs giving way. She looked up at the cracked dome above her—the sky free for the first time.
This was her end.
She smiled.
But just before the final collapse, shadows darted behind her. A hand—familiar, warm—gripped her wrist.
"Skelly?" she whispered, barely conscious.
"I'm not letting them bury you a second time," he said, voice trembling.
With one final burst of strength, he dragged her through a secret tunnel their mother once showed them. The Citadel collapsed behind them, a monstrous groan of history breaking apart.
Days passed.
The rebellion had won. The people were free. And in the aftermath, legends bloomed.
They said Ella the Bad Girl gave her life to save the world. That she stood alone in the heart of darkness and conquered it. Her name was sung in alleys, carved into monuments, and painted on walls.
But few knew the truth.
In a quiet village beyond the forest, Skelly tended to a garden. Inside the small cottage, Ella rested—scarred but alive. Her eyes sometimes wandered to the window, where she would watch the birds and think of Abdulsamad.
She was free, but hidden. Alive, but mourned.
And in silence, she waited—for the day she would rise again, not as the hero the people remembered, but as the guardian the world would one day