CHAPTER 3 -The Wrath That Burns
Naelira's hands trembled, gripping the edge of the shattered wall as her heart hammered in her chest. Dust and debris swirled around her, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were locked on the battlefield below, where Rigorus had faced Kaelvron and the air still shimmered with the echoes of their clash. She was not a warrior; she was just a daughter, trembling at the thought that the life of the man she loved her anchor in this chaotic world might be snatched away before her very eyes.
"Rigorus…" she whispered, her voice cracking and swallowed by the chaos. Each heartbeat felt like a hammer strike against her ribs. Please… please survive…
Far across the battlefield, moving with impossible speed, a shadow streaked over the rubble. Dust spiraled around him in his wake. Every movement measured, every step deliberate. Kaelen Vorath Nemoran the Imperial Protector, the so-called "Traitor Son" bore Rigorus across his back.
How… how did he survive? Kaelen's thoughts churned like a storm. That boy… he faced Vaelus. The same Vaelus who shattered entire legions… who annihilated my brothers in the clan. And he's still alive? Lucky… lucky the Prince and Princess warned me. Lucky I arrived when I did.
His black armor gleamed faintly under the dim, dying sun, scratches and dents marking his centuries-honed battles. His eyes, sharp and calculating, darted around. Every second counts. If Vaelus pursues… if Kaelvron's remnants try… he must not fall into their hands.
The Imperial gates appeared on the horizon, looming like a promise of safety. Kaelen's steps carried him faster than the eye could follow. Guards at the gates froze, their hands tightening on spears, jaws dropping as the figure and the man he carried approached.
"H-Halt!" one barked, voice trembling. "Who… who is that…? Is he… alive?"
"By the gods… is he… alive?" one whispered, hand trembling as he reached for his sword.
"Keep your distance!" barked another, voice cracking with urgency. "That's no ordinary man. Whatever he carries… it's dangerous!"
Kaelen ignored them, moving as if the guards weren't even there. The wind from his speed rattled armor, tore at banners, and lifted dust in great spirals around him.
Inside the Imperial infirmary, Princess Aelistra paced near the central stairwell, her fingers drumming against the polished railing. Her silken gown caught the morning light, glimmering like molten silver. Her sharp gaze pierced the smoke-flecked air below, every movement tense with worry. Beside her, Prince Daevoryn remained calm on the surface, though his knuckles were white against the railing.
"What… what is happening down there?" Aelistra whispered, voice low but trembling. "Is he… still alive?"
"Keep your composure," Daevoryn murmured. "He has survived worse. He'll survive this." Yet even as he spoke, his eyes followed the scene like a hawk circling a storm.
The healers and medics scrambled below, their voices mingling with the anxious murmurs of guards. "He's alive! He's alive!" one cried, though the uncertainty in his tone betrayed the danger they had just witnessed. Another healer shouted, "We need hot water! Bandages! Quick!"
Kaelen's strides carried him inside the gates. The infirmary doors burst open, splintering slightly under his momentum. He set Rigorus down gently, as gently as his hands, hardened from decades of combat, could manage. The young man's skin was pale, almost luminous in the dim light. Dark blood matted his torn garments, streaked across his face, arms, and torso, glinting crimson in the flickering torches. His eyes remained closed, lashes clinging to bloodied cheeks, lips slightly parted.
Naelira pressed her hands to her mouth, the sight almost too much to bear. "Rigorus…" she whispered, a sob catching in her throat. She didn't dare step closer, afraid she would break the fragile thread keeping him tethered to life.
A week passed in silent vigilance. He lay in the imperial infirmary, tended to by healers under Princess Aelistra's strict orders. Each day, potions, poultices, and divine incantations stitched flesh, restored strength, and banished infection. The princess herself rarely left the bedside, sitting quietly, hands folded, eyes following every twitch, every shallow breath.
On the seventh day, Rigorus's eyes fluttered open. The pale skin still bore the hue of recent trauma, but strength had begun returning. His voice was hoarse, fragile yet commanding even in weakness.
"Where… where is my family? My clan?" he croaked, sitting up slowly. His gaze searched the room, piercing through the walls, the guards, and finally landing on Kaelen.
Kaelen stepped forward, voice calm, almost a murmur but carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Relax. They are safe. I went to find them. They are in a hidden ancestral shelter built centuries ago by the Draevens. Water, food, protection everything they need to remain hidden until this threat passes."
Rigorus exhaled, a hand going to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I… I understand." He lay back down, exhaustion overtaking him. Sleep claimed him almost instantly.
The door opened quietly. Princess Aelistra stepped in, her expression a mixture of relief and frustration. She caught sight of Rigorus's still figure, already drifting back into slumber. A small sigh escaped her lips. "Why… why does my heart care so much for him?" she murmured to herself, eyes lingering on the pale, sleeping form.
Kaelen, ever watchful, gave her a brief nod, acknowledging her presence but saying nothing. Outside, the city resumed its hum of life, oblivious to the inferno and the godlike powers that had just shaken the heavens. Inside, a fragile calm reigned, but beneath it, the storm of blood, power, and unbroken will was only beginning to stir once more.