Silence had shot on the palace.
Silence too heavy to be natural.
Ashen advanced, his boots slamming on white marble. His eyes flambed behind the madman's mask.
The nobles fell, pale, some stifling cries.
Then the elite guard deployed.
Ten men. Ten shadows of steel.
Their white armor reflected the light of the candlesticks. Everyone wore a blessed haller, and a badge marked with the royal seal.
Their captain, a scar crossing his face, made a step forward.
- "You won't have the throne, monster. King Maelrath is untouchable. »»
Ashen tilted his head slightly, almost courteous.
- "Untouchable?" He laughs, a long, broken laugh, which made the walls vibrate. "I have touched death a thousand billions of times, and I'm still there. So believe me ... Anything that lives may be hit. »»
The halberds fell.
The first soldier charged.
Ashen Pivota, drew his dagger and cut his throat with surgical precision. Blood gushes into marble.
The fight began.
Two blades struck aside. Ashen leaps back, dodging just.
He was still laughing.
- "Faster! Stronger! Give me a show worthy of your channels! »»
Three soldiers surrounded him.
Their weapons illuminated with a sacred brilliance - a blessing.
Ashen hugged his teeth. The divine heat almost burned his skin.
But his mask vibra, as if he resonated with their light.
He yelled, and with a brutal movement, he planted his dagger in the eye of one of the guards, then pushed him back to his comrades.
Two others immediately fell, plunged by their own weapons.
The captain made a gesture. The survivors retreated.
He drew his own weapon: a heavy sword engraved with royal runes.
- "Me alone will be enough. »»
Ashen turned his head to the side, his hair sticking with blood.
- "Finally ... a little music. »»
They set off.
The shock echoed like a thunder.
Ashen para with his dagger, but the captain's strength pushed him back, cracking the marble under his feet.
The captain roars:
- "In the name of the king, I take you! »»
Ashen laughs, a laughs denies.
- "In the name of nothing, I survive! »»
Their blades were still intertwined, rain of sparks, iron howls.
Ashen dodged a vertical blow, rolled on the side, and launched his dagger like an arrow.
The captain arrested him net of his blessed blade.
They stared at each other, breathless.
Their looks burned.
A whisper crossed the palace:
"It's a mad duel ..."
Ashen smiles.
- "No ... this is only the first act. »»
The palace vibrated.
Each captain's sword stroke resonated like a funeral bell in the throne room.
The nobles trembled, some had taken refuge behind the columns, others prayed a god who no longer responded.
Ashen did not pray.
He laughed.
His mask shone with unhealthy glow, his crazy eyes fixed on the man in armor.
- "Again ... Strike again!" Show me the strength of your king! »»
Captain Gronda, raising his runic sword. The royal engravings illuminated, and a shock wave split the ground when it struck.
Ashen was just dressed, but the marble exploded behind him.
A nobleman yelled. The debris buried him.
Ashen turned his head, breathless, then laughed:
- "Even your failed blows serve my theater!" »»
The captain attacked again, faster this time.
Ashen para with his dagger, but the shock made him burst the joints, his blood flabbed the ground.
He was lucky, laughs through pain.
- "Do you want to protect Maelrath?!" So you will have to drop a thousand billion times ... how death has tried before you! »»
The captain replied coldly:
- "I don't protect Maelrath. I protect the order. The throne. The law. »»
Ashen yelled, a cry that resounded into the canopies:
- "The law is just a mask! And me ... I'm the only one crazy enough to tear it away! »»
The captain charged.
Ashen jumps forward instead of dodging.
The sacred blade pierced him on the shoulder, tearing a flow of blood.
But Ashen, his eyes crazy, blocked the guard of the weapon with his own bloody hand ... and planted his dagger in the flank of the captain.
An icy breath crossed the room.
The captain took a step back, his face tense of pain.
Ashen fell on his knees, but still laughs, his whistling breathing.
- "I touched you ... the untouchable finally bleeds ..."
The two men remained frozen for a moment, each injured, each staggering.
Silence weighed.
Then the captain raised his sword again, ready to finish.
Ashen, a smile of dementia hanging on the lips, slowly raised his head.
- "So come ... come and kill me ... and I will show you how many times a dead can come back. »»
The entire room held his breath.
The silence in the room was unreal.
Only the drip of the blood echoed against the cracked slabs.
That of the captain ... and that of Ashen.
The madman's mask had split at the level of the temple, revealing an eye injected with blood, but brilliant with mad joy.
The captain, he straightened up slowly, the sword raised, despite the dagger that had pierced his side. His breathing was heavy, but his gestures remained precise.
- "You are just an insane. Your death will not save anything. »»
- " Save ? Ashen laughs, his voice resonating like a cracked bell.
- "I never wanted to save! I want to show ... I want to break ... I want them to see that madness has more sense than their rotten laws! »»
The captain leaps.
His sacred blade described a bright arc, a steel comet.
Ashen rolled aside, but the tip of the sword cut his side. Blood springs, warm and burning.
He groaned ... then laughing, again, always.
- "You cut me, you break me ... But I have already died a hundred thousand billion times!" What is one more scratch?! »»
He rushed in turn. His dagger struck, fast, vicious, aimed at the joints of armor.
The whistled metal. Captain Para, but not quite: an estafilade was emerging on his arm.
Noble blood against crazy blood.
Around them, the room turned into a silent slaughterhouse.
The nobles barely dared to breathe.
A priest fell, murmuring prayers with half-elevates.
The captain whispered, flamboyant eyes.
- "You are strong. But not enough. »»
Ashen approached, staggering, his arms wide open like an actor greeting death.
- *"Not enough? He yelled, the laughing laughter in his throat.
-"So look at me well ... because it's not me who fights. He's the madman. »»
His mask vibrated, his eyes were filled with an unhealthy fever.
He struck again, not with technique, but with rage.
Each dagger was a cry.
Each cut, a syllable of his madness.
The captain flicker for the first time, his breath short, his support less safe.
Ashen, he was bleeding everywhere, but continued to laugh, as if the blood was only an instrument in his theater.
The captain's breath resonated in the throne room like a hammer breaking an anvil.
Each inspiration was tearing off his chest.
His blood flowed to waves, but his gaze ... remained proud, burning of this unshakable faith that was instilled in the King's dogs.
Ashen contemplated him.
The split mask suggested a tense, soaked blood smile.
His eyes shone with almost inhuman clarity.
- "Do you still think you stand up by your strength?" He asked in a soft, almost tender voice.
The captain hugged his teeth, straightening his sword.
- "I stand up because I protect the king. »»
Ashen burst out laughing. A long, nervous laugh that made the whole room vibrate.
- "The king?" Maelrath?! You are not even his protector, you are only a toy. A puppet attached by invisible threads ... and you continue to dance while your flesh rots already! »»
A silence.
The captain groaned. Her sword trembled slightly.
Ashen took a slow, slow, theatrical step, like a executioner who enjoyed every second.
- "Look around you. No one admires you. Not one of these nobles will dare to say your name when you fall. You think you serve a cause ... But when you die here, alone, they will applaud the show. »»
The captain took a furtive glance.
And lives, in the gaze of priests, nobles, terrified spectators ... not faith, but fear.
No one would cry.
His fingers trembled a little more on the guard.
Ashen got closer.
He almost put his dagger on the captain's throat, without pressing.
- "You thought your blade was your life. Do you understand? Your sword cuts the flesh. I cut souls. »»
He broke out with a denied laugh, screaming:
- "And I'm starting with yours!" »»
Captain Chancela. His legs refused to follow.
He dropped his shield.
Ashen approached his mask with his ear, and whispered:
-"Tell me ... what is your faith for now?" »»
A guttural cry escaped from the captain.
Not a war cry. Not a cry of pain.
A cry of despair.
Ashen raised his dagger and, with a clear gesture, planted it in the throat of man.
Blood gushes into a dark wreath, splashing its mask.
The captain fell on his knees, his eyes still wide, filled with doubt and fear - exactly as Ashen wanted.
Ashen opened his arms, splashed, laughing with throats deployed.
- "Ladies and gentlemen ... Here's how we kill a man. Not by the sword. But by the truth! »»
He applauds slowly, bloody hands, the burning look of madness.
The captain's body was lying to the ground.
The whole room was frozen in a tomb silence.
Ashen, breathless, broke out again with a hysterical laugh, resonating like a broken church.
And he looked up at the high marble doors.
- "Who's turn now?" »»
The Captain's body still lay on marble, its broken blade alongside it.
But Ashen no longer looked at the corpse.
His eyes got up towards the stands.
The nobles, adorned with bristles and jewelry, were frozen as statues. Some were standing, others clung to the armrests of their seats. All feared to become the next.
Ashen took a few steps. Her dagger left behind a trail of fresh blood.
- "What a beautiful assembly ... silent actors, all dressed in fear. »»
His laughter broke out, dry, creaky, filling space.
Bond, he climbed in the stands, grabbed a young aristocrat with the hair and picked up his blade against his throat.
The nobleman froze, with his eyes repulsed.
Ashen lifted his head towards the others.
- "This is my first actor. But you, ladies and gentlemen ... You will play too. »»
A lead silence.
Then, slowly, he yelled:
- "On his knees!" »»
The first resisted. But when Ashen traced a bloody line on his hostage throat, the flow gave way.
One by one, the nobles folded the knees, until the whole row was lowered before him.
Ashen laughed, throwing his head back.
- " Gorgeous ! The powerful who bow down, not before a king or a God ... but before a madman! »»
He forced his hostage to crawl in front of him, pushing him from the end of his boot.
- "You, what is your name?" »»
- "A ... Albrecht, Lord of Trine ..." stammered the man.
Ashen supported the dagger against his neck.
- "Albrecht?" More now. Here you are nothing but a puppet that moves if I shoot the sons. »»
He let go, and the man crashed on his knees.
Ashen posted in the center, his arms wide open.
- "You laughed at us. You crushed our bones to pave your palates. You have prayed to your gods to justify your crimes. »»
He marked a break, his eyes shiny with an insane fever behind the mask.
- "But today ... you are not spectators. You are prisoners. And this palace ... is no longer yours. »»
A heavy silence.
Some nobles began to cry.
Others whispered inaudible prayers.
Ashen put a bloody hand on his mask, as if he greeted an invisible audience.
- "Ladies, gentlemen ... The first act has just started. »»
The big room of the palace was plunged into a steel silence.
The stained glass windows danted red bursts on the walls, as if even the light announced an execution.
King Maelrath, seated on his ornate iron throne, held in his hand the letter that a messenger had just given him.
His fingers were barely shaking, but his gaze - cold, heavy, freezing - had not left the words scribbled in a hurry.
"The madman took the nobles hostage in the high-time.
The captain of the third circle is dead. »»
A whisper ran into the room. The advisers looked at each other, pale like corpses.
Maelrath crossed the letter. His voice, when he spoke, echoed like a death knell:
- "He has fun ... He thinks I'm going to fold. »»
A minister dared to raise his voice.
- "Your Majesty ... If the madman holds the nobles, he holds the keys to the capital. The people could rise up if ... "
Maelrath snapped her fingers.
Two guards seized the minister and dragged him outside without a word.
His cry was lost in the corridor.
The king resumed, quieter:
- "If a crazy EDELSTADT control, it's me the madman. And I refuse this title. »»
He got up, each step of his crown resonating like a hammer blow on the slab.
His eyes landed on his generals:
- "Bring all the dukes. I want their men. I want their blades. I want their blood. »»
A lead silence. Then a herald repeated aloud:
- "All the dukes of the kingdom are summoned in royal order. »»
Maelrath added, in a more serious tone:
- "And call Venton Valemyr. Let him come with his troops. Let him come with his daughter if necessary. »»
An advisor, pale, hesitated:
- "But ... Sire, Veryon has been weakened since the death of Kael. His house is in mourning, his supporters divided… "
The king gave him a look that could have killed.
- "So he will have a chance to wash his shame. Or to die by trying. »»
Another advisor added, trembling:
- "Your Majesty, if you bring together all the dukes, it will be perceived as an open war ..."
Maelrath dismissed the remark with a gesture.
- "It is not an open war. It's a total war. »»
He approached the central stained glass, where a painted eye dominated the scene.
His voice was almost soft, but each word wore the bite of calculated madness:
- "The madman believes that he has my kingdom. But he ignores that he has just given me the opportunity I was waiting for: all the dukes, all the houses, all the heirs ... gathered in the same place. »»
He smiles.
A sharp smile like a blade.
- "If I have to crush Edelstadt to reduce it to dust, I will do it. But the madman will be the first to burn. »»
The evening wind snapped the black and gold banners from the Valemyr house.
In the large hall, Verya stood in front of the cards table, the fingers tense on the wood.
Royal messengers had just left, leaving behind the dry scent of sealed orders and the cold echo of their boots.
On the table, the king's seal still shone.
"All the dukes of the kingdom are summoned to the palace.
Bring your men.
Bring your strength. »»
VERYON read and rereading the words, as if repeating them could change their weight.
Elaira entered slowly.
She still had the features marked by her own research - street newspapers, show registers, testimonies purchased in secret.
Her obsession had become obvious, but she dared not admit it out loud.
- "Father ... the messengers left. What did they say? »»
VERYON did not answer right away.
He turned his eyes to her, heavy, tired.
- "They say that the king summons us. All. »»
- " For what ? »»
- "Because the madman dared to take the nobles hostage. Because Kael is no longer there to hold the line. Because… "
He stopped. His jaw contracts.
- "Because we are pawns. And Maelrath wants to move all her pawns on the chessboard. »»
Elaira bit her lip.
- "The madman ... again him. Wherever I am looking for, there is a trace. »»
VERYON frowned.
- "Are you investigating again?" »»
She looked away.
- "I spoke to fairgrounds. To former circus spectators. All describe a mask. A laugh that freezes blood. But there is something else ... "
VERYON sighed, already tired.
- "What then?" »»
- "Some say he knew our names. Not just ours, but our gestures, our habits ... as if ... as he had already lived among us. »»
The Duke fixed it for a long time.
Then he put a firm hand on his shoulder.
-"Listen to me well, Elaira. This madman is not ours. What he knows, he learned it from his spies. Nothing more. Do not try to find ghosts where there are only enemies. »»
A servant rushed.
- "Monsignor, men are already gathering in the courtyard. Should we prepare for war banners? »»
VERYON nodded.
- " Yes. We will walk. The king demands it. »»
Elaira cleared her fists.
- "What if the king sends us to the slaughterhouse? What if the madman was not only a threat, but ... a warning? »»
Veryon cut it in a hard voice:
- "Then we will die with honor. But never by doubting who we are. »»
He turned away, his cape dragging on the slabs.
Elaira remained frozen, eyes lost in the void.
In his mind, only one thought came back, obsessive:
The madman has tied a touched toy with an "A".
Why does this initial haunt me more than all the threats of the kingdom?
The Valemyr interior courtyard vibrated with a deaf tumult.
Selés horses, aligned weapons men, black banners and gold slamming in the dry wind of winter.
The departure to Edelstadt looked like a funeral procession more than a glory step.
VERYON, a chest to the chest, observed his men with the cold eye of a strategist.
His hand firmly held the royal parchment.
By his side, Elaira was moving in silence, the coat raised, his eyes more lively than ever.
- "We will have two days of rides," said Veryon, going up on his destorier.
-"And there?" Asked Elaira.
-"There, we will obey. The king summons, we answer. »»
He turned to her, severe:
- "You come to learn, not to question. Keep your doubts for you. »»
Elaira nodded, but her thoughts were bubbling.
The convoy advanced slowly on the cobbled roads, escorted by Hallebardiers.
The stripped trees did like funeral columns on both sides.
At nightfall, they installed a camp.
Elaira, sitting near the fire, pretended to write in a notebook.
But his ears remained tense towards the discussions of the soldiers.
- "Do you think it's true, that he took nobles hostage? »»
- "I say that crazy is not alone. No one survives so many without complicity massacres. »»
- "I heard that he laughed while killing ... that he presented himself almost as an actor. »»
Each word reinforced Elaira's obsession.
She saw this puppet engraved with an "A".
Always this initial, always this mystery.
Two days later, the palace bells resonated when the Valemyr house crossed the doors of the capital.
The white and golden walls sparkled under the cold sun, but the atmosphere remained heavy.
In the big courtyard, other dukes had already arrived.
Banners of wolf, crow, deer, all gathered as in a war theater.
VERYON descended from horse, and his step slammed on the slabs.
He looked up towards the high facade of the palace.
-"We entered the lion's mouth," he whispered.
Elaira followed her father, but her eyes rummaged everywhere: the corridors, the guards, the servants.
With each masked face, every laughing laughter in a nearby alley, his heart jumped.
She hoped, without saying it, to recover the madman.
But discomfort gnawed at her.
Why did she feel that this man concerned her more than she wanted to admit it?
Why did his intuitions whispered to him that his roots were intertwined with his?
In the dukes room, their names were announced:
- "The Valemyr, Duc Veryon and Dame Elaira house. »»
The heads turned.
King Maelrath awaited them, seated on his throne, silhouette frozen in the shadow of the stained glass.
Elaira lowered her head as a sign of respect, but her eyes remained open, discreet, already looking for the corners.
One goal: to find a trace of the madman.
And maybe ... A truth that no one had ever wanted to tell him.
The large doors of the palace slammed like a death knell.
King Maelrath advanced on his Throne of Onyx, draped with a scarlet coat steed with gems.
Around him, the stained glass windows threw a raw light, cutting his hard lines into almost inhuman angles.
A herald proclama:
- "May the Dukes of the Empire listen!" His Majesty summons to judge and break the threat of the madman! »»
The room is filled with a thick whisper.
The eyes met, suspicious, some frightened.
All knew: the shadow of a single man was enough to shake up the foundations of the Empire.
Maelrath raised a glued hand.
Silence fell.
-"Nobles of Edelstadt, remember: we are not only a kingdom, but a crown that keeps the storm in respect. However, a clown - a mask of blood - believes that we can challenge our laws. »»
His voice rose, clear, inflexible.
- "He defiled our temples. He humiliated our priests. He took our families hostage. It's more than a crime, it's heresy. So we will not oppose him a man ... but the will of an empire. »»
A breath of approval crossed the room.
But some Dukes, including Veryon, remained of marble.
Maelrath beckon.
A fighter opened behind him.
A man entered.
Polished dark armor like a mirror, steel reflections, sword in the scabbard.
His step was heavy, methodical, almost too calm for a warrior.
His helm revealed a severe jaw face, marked with ancient scars.
But that was not what struck Elaira.
It was his left hand.
A black, black ring set with a red stone, tried on his finger.
She vibrated in light, as if she had a memory that she alone could understand.
VERYON folded his eyes.
Elaira, she frowned, without knowing why this ring froze her heart.
Maelrath declared:
- "Here is the throne champion. Whoever leads the madness of the madman. »»
A shiver traveled the benches.
Some murmur his name.
Others were silent, as if it were useless to remember: the armor spoke for him.
Elaira dared to look at it longer.
A detail disturbed it: the man, in the middle of the assembly, fixed neither the king nor the dukes.
He fixed ... an invisible point, somewhere beyond the stained glass.
A look that already seemed to turn to the shade.
As if he knew exactly where was the enemy he was to face.
Elaira felt vertigo.
She did not yet understand why ... But this scene woke up something too old to be ignored.
Maelrath resumed, relentless:
- "Each house will have to raise its troops. The priests will open up the upper time chests. And no one will rest before this mask is reduced to dust. »»
VERYON replied with its customary coldness:
- "Then we will walk, majesty. But know: a madman does not track like a wolf. It feeds on our own fears. »»
A slight smile passed over Maelrath's lips.
- "Let him feed, therefore. I will give him a banquet. »»
In the shadow of the pillars, Elaira closed her eyes for a moment.
A name was burning his lips.
Not that of his king, not that of his father.
That of the man she was looking for without daring to admit.
The madman.
The meeting room had emptied.
The nobles still whispered in the corridors, Elaira had moved away with her father, and the man in armor had not left Ashen from the gaze before disappearing behind the golden doors.
Ashen came out slowly, her hands trembling.
He advanced alone, to a side corridor of the palace, narrow, desert, forgotten.
A lantern oscillated, projecting a dirty shadow against the wall.
And there, at the bottom of the passage, a mirror.
Ancient. Two meters high.
The setting was chipped, plagued by dust.
Ashen stopped.
He set his reflection.
His drawn features, his eyes surrounded, his mask hanging on the belt.
-"Who are you?" He whispered.
A nervous laugh escaped him.
He leaned, put his forehead against the glass.
And suddenly, tears came.
He was crying to suffocate it.
Then, in the second that followed, he laughed.
- "I ... I don't understand anymore! Am I alive? Dead ? Is it all ... "
He clenched his fists.
- "This is only a dream?! »»
He cigned the dish of the dish with his hand.
His reflection vibrated, twisted like a flame.
- "Always this same cycle," said a voice behind him.
Ashen turned upside down.
The indicator was there.
Dressed in her black coat, the hood lowered, her dull eyes reflecting the glow of the lantern.
- "You ..." blew Ashen.
He wiped his tears with a sleeve, then laughs at a broken laugh.
-"Tell me, am I crazy?!" Is that my real name? The madman?! »»
The light approached, slowly.
He put a light hand on Ashen's shoulder.
- "You're not crazy, Ashen. You are lucid. Too lucid. The whole world sleeps ... But you see its cracks. You see his lies. »»
Ashen began to cry, his trembling voice.
- "So why do I ... why do I feel so empty?!" Why do I laugh when I should scream?! Why am I screaming when I just want to be silent? »»
The light smiles slowly.
- "Because you are broken. And the shatters… become the strongest. »»
Ashen took a step, holding his head.
His laughter and tears were embarrassed, spasms shook him.
- "I don't want to see anymore ... I don't want to suffer anymore ..."
- "Then look away," replied the seer calmly. "But don't forget: they took you what you loved. They trampled on it. And they ... they continue to live. »»
Ashen lifted his head, his red eyes.
- " Them… "
- "Yes," whispered the seer, leaning near his ear. "King Maelrath. The high-priest. The nobles. Your own family who rejected you. All accomplices. »»
Ashen suddenly laughs, a laugh that sounded like a scoring knife.
- "So I will break them ... I will break their bones, their palaces, their lies ..."
The light went back, satisfied.
- " So. You start to understand. This world does not need a Savior. He needs ... an executioner. »»
Ashen returned to the mirror.
His reflection laughed.
Her eyes were swollen with tears, but her lips smiled like a grotesque mask.
He put his two hands against the glass.
- "Yes ... I will be their executioner. Even if I have to consume myself in my own madness ... "
A crack resonated.
The mirror split, a clear line crossing his reflective face.
Ashen burst out laughing.
Then he whispered:
- "So ... that the play begins. »»
And the scene ended in oppressive silence.