Led By Fiery Passion (currently being revised)

Part 81

She tore up the spiral staircase, lungs burning, heart hammering with savage rhythm. Every guard who dared intercept her met the tip of her spear, flesh and bone yielding beneath her merciless strikes. Blood coated her armor and hair, warm and slick, and with every body that crumpled, a dark exhilaration surged through her veins. This was what she had always been meant to be—a warrior, a force of wrath. Unstoppable, unrelenting, she carved a trail of carnage behind her, leaving no fear but only ruin in her wake.

Aemond, please be here.

She whispered a silent prayer to the gods, lungs heaving, chest burning with exertion. At last, Aenyra stumbled onto the top landing. A narrow hallway stretched before her, cloaked in shadows, torches flickering as if struggling to hold back the darkness. Two guards waited, swords raised, their steel glinting like predators in the gloom. From farther down the hall came the muffled pounding of a door, each strike hammering in her skull, drowning out all thought but one. She had to reach him. She had to scream his name, to know that he was truly there.

AEMOND!" she screamed, voice raw and ragged with desperation, praying that this long, harrowing journey had not been in vain.

"AENYRA!" His voice rang back, charged with the same frantic need, reverberating off the stone walls.

She didn't hesitate. Charging forward, she met the guards head-on. The first lunged, but she thrust her spear, only for him to twist aside and seize the shaft, trying to wrench it from her grasp. The second moved to strike from her flank, and she reacted with lethal precision. Drawing her knife in a single, fluid motion, she slashed across his throat. Blood sprayed warm and slick, coating her face and hair, yet she did not flinch. Every heartbeat pounded with fury, every breath driven by a singular purpose—to reach him, no matter the cost.

With a savage kick, she sent the remaining guard sprawling, forcing him to relinquish his hold on her spear. The distance between her and Aemond shrank with every heartbeat, each step bringing her closer to him. He was almost within reach—so close she could feel the pull of him through the stone corridor. Nothing could stop her now; she was a force of fury, relentless and unstoppable, and every ounce of herself surged forward toward him.

Aenyra's heart raced, a rush coursing through her veins as she faced the guard. She could feel the weight of his sword swinging fiercely above her, each strike coming down with a punishing force.

Behind the guard, Aemond's desperate attempts to break through the heavy wooden door echoed in her ears. "Aenyra! I can't— get it open, FUCK!" Aemond shouted, frustration lacing his voice as he slammed against the door again and again.

Aenyra's gaze never wavered from the guard as she circled him, every muscle coiled and ready. She studied the subtle shift of his weight, the way his hands tightened on the sword, the brief hesitation before he struck. Patience was her weapon now—one misstep from him, one precise moment, and it would be over.

"I see a walking dead man." she taunted, a cruel smirk cutting across her face. The guard lunged, teeth bared, fury clouding his judgment. Over confidence and rage made him reckless, and that was all the opening she needed.

In a heartbeat, she dropped low, sweeping her foot beneath his legs with fluid grace. He crashed to the stone floor with a deafening thud, the impact echoing off the walls. Time seemed to stretch as she raised her spear, its tip glinting like a shard of night. With one swift, merciless motion, she drove it into his chest. Flesh and bone yielded beneath her force as blood pooled beneath her boots.

He gasped, a strangled sound of shock and disbelief, blood spilling from his lips as his strength ebbed away. The final spark of life left his eyes, and Aenyra felt a cold, terrifying satisfaction settle in her chest. He lay broken and lifeless at her feet.