The stench of blood choked the wind.
I stood in the heart of the chaos, flames coiling around my hands like serpents, the dying screams of my men echoing through the shattered remains of the outer wall. The sky above was thick with smoke and fire. Runes carved in the air pulsed with blinding light as magic collided with steel.
A beast made of bone and shadow lunged through the smoke, I turned stabbing his sword into the beast and unleashed a wave of arcane flame. The creature screamed as its body crumbled into ash, its charred pieces scattering on through the wind.
Around me, sigils flickered through the air, drawn by mages on both sides. Spears of lightning cracked across the field. Columns of ice shattered bodies in sprays of blood. The ground trembled beneath the weight of summoned golems and siege spells.
But I wasn't thinking about the battle anymore.
I was thinking about the sound.
That sound.
A low, bone deep boom, like the heart of the world being split open.
It had come from inside the city.
From the castle.
From the throne room.
My blood ran cold.
I turned just in time to see black smoke curling above the keep, snaking upward like a demon rising from the pit.
"No."
I didn't wait.
"Auren!" one of my generals called, reaching for my cloak. "You can't!"
But I was already gone.
I sprinted through the ruined gates, past wounded men and burning corpses. My cloak caught fire. I tore it off mid stride never slowing. My boots pounded across blood soaked stone as I leapt over rubble, dodging falling beams, runes still glowing along my forearms like tattoos made of fire.
I ran faster than any man should've been able to run. Faster than fear. Faster than grief.
Please be alive. Please, gods
The castle's inner corridor was a furnace. Flames licked the tapestries. The sigils protecting the high doors were cracked, sputtering with unstable magic. One great oak door hung sideways on twisted hinges, the other shattered across the floor like bones.
I entered.
And fell to my knees.
The throne room was a grave.
My wife, Ellen lay in the middle of the room, her skin scorched, dress still burning in quiet embers. Her arm was curled toward something, someone beside her.
My daughter Lira.
My little girl.
Eight years old.
Her silken white dress was blackened and torn. Her body was curled protectively, her eyes still open, neck snapped back lips parted like she had been screaming when the fire took her. Her tiny hand was stretched toward the floor.
And beside it
A small wooden horse. Singed, but whole.
Her favorite toy.
My sword clattered to the stone, my scream tore free, no words, no magic, just pain, raw and endless.
A voice echoed from the room like poison "Nice of you to finally join us,"
I looked up, Lucien Varric king of duskmere
He was already sitting atop the throne, my throne draped like a vulture on a carcass. One leg slung over the armrest, his black plate armor glowing faint red at the edges. His gloved fingers toyed with the flame drenched hilt of his sword, but his face wore only amusement.
As if this wasn't murder. As if this was art.
"She cried for you," Lucien said, casually. "Right up until her lungs filled with fire."
My hands trembled. The flames around me sputtered and died. My soul felt like it was being torn from his chest.
"You…"
Lucien stood.
Not quickly. Not dramatically.
He rose like he had all the time in the world.
Then he stepped down from the throne.
And as he walked, his armored heel came down directly on the wooden horse.
Crunch.
I flinched. Like a bone snapped in my chest.
He didn't stop.
"You were always a romantic, Auren. A good king. A kind one. But kindness is a flaw, not a virtue."
He unsheathed his blade.
It lit itself on fire, the fire crawled across the steel like it was alive.
I forced myself to my feet and drew my blade with a shaky hand. my breath was ragged, and rage threatened to burn what little magic I had left.
"You'll pay for this."
Lucien only smiled.
"You're still clinging to mercy," he said. "Even now. Still hoping this ends with justice. But this world isn't ruled by justice. It's ruled by fire and blood."
I roared and lunged, channeling raw magic into my strike. The runes on my arms flared, bright as the sun my blade wreathed in blazing light
But he was faster.
One movement. One strike.
His flaming sword carved through my ribs, twisting up through my chest with brutal precision.
I gasped, eyes wide, vision shattering like glass.
I crumpled to the floor.
Blood spilled fast, pooling beneath me.
My hand reached out dragging, clawing toward the broken toy, the scorched hands of my daughter. my wife's ring.
They were all so close. Inches away.
The king stood over me. Calm. Casual.
"Any last words, king?"
I coughed blood, my lips trembling.
"I will find you," I rasped, "even if I have to be born in ash… crawl through hell…"
I reached out one last time.
"I'll remember. I'll find you. And I'll burn you."
Lucien raised the sword again.
"How romantic."
And then the blade fell.