''He doesn't die alone. I know that because I have killed him seven times already,''
His voice held fulfilment as he spoke, a tone that relishes memories.
''And each time, he comes right back into my territory, bringing more people to their death.''
Princess Lyra's breathing was heard miles in the forest. She tottered to her feet, crying helplessly and turning to run away from the horror, she desperately began hoping it was a dream.
She could hear his maniacal laughter echoing behind her; she shielded herself behind a tree, grabbing tight on the royal lace around her neck. Her breath was ragged. She waited, too anxious to move or run further.
Soon, the defeating energy was gone in a blink. She breathed out and reminded her legs to move. She took a step, hesitating immediately. Somehow, it didn't feel right to leave. As much as she wants to run into her mother's arms, knowing the circumstances of the heir, will greatly benefit her stay in her new aboard, especially if he turns out to survive the hit by luck.
As she emerged from the darkness, Princess Lyra found herself standing at the edge of a clearing, surrounded by towering trees that seemed to stretch up to the sky like skeletal fingers.
The moon cast eerie shadows on the forest floor, making it seem as though the trees themselves were moving, twisting, and writhing in agony. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves; the only sound was the distant hooting of an owl, its mournful cry echoing through the forest like a lament for the dead.
In the center of the clearing was the pit, a gaping hole in the earth that seemed to yawn open like a mouth, revealing a dark and foreboding feeling within."
A strange light glowed from within in a reddish color. She held her gown, not giving it a second thought before she crawled into it.
Grabbing onto roots, she inches down slowly. Just about four feet down, the vines snapped, and she took an abrupt fall.
''Urgh! Ouch!''
She whined silently, coughing and wheezing from the dust the gown's landing produced. There it was, the burnt stench of bodies, now stronger. They had been dried out, with no atom of blood left to tell the story of their abrupt slaughter.
She stood up, wincing as pain throbbed from her fall, her breath shallow and uneven. The cold moonlight spilled through the trees, casting eerie shadows that danced like ghosts around her. Her blue eyes locked onto him—kneeling among the lifeless forms, an unsettling calm etched across his face.
The prince. Her betrothed.
A deep chill crawled up her spine, a silent scream trapped in her chest, as the weight of dread pressed down: this was no ordinary fear, but the paralyzing horror of realizing she was utterly alone in a nightmare come to life.
His eye glows in otherworldly energy, his taunting gaze up to the dark sky, his eye blood red, his robe less body an incarnation of strange markings. She shivered, cowering back to the edge of the pit; the moon crept away, creasing its light like a job not requested anymore.
She couldn't move closer. She dared not. Instead, she stays in the dark, daring not to drift off to sleep.
...
Her lazy lashes softly parted to meet the morning light, with a pair of green eyes peeping down at her. It seemed like exhaustion won, and she fell asleep. She pulls them back together and opens again. He was sitting, staring innocently and confusedly at her. His leg folded, and his upper body was bare.
She sprang up and sauntered back, hitting the edge of the hole.
''Prince Kaelin!'' Her accent gave off, quite differently, as calm and concealed as a snow among thousands.
''What happened?'' He muttered, turning around to gaze at the burnt flesh.
She gazed at him and couldn't help the uneasiness.
His skin was smooth, so smooth, she wondered if the markings she saw were mere illusions, and his eye, his eyes were less unsettling.
He turns his gaze back to her, silently demanding answers on why they were ten feet beneath.
Instead of explaining that a strange sorcerer, blast him and the Royal guards with a high-level spell, frying them out, but somehow, he turned out to survive, her brain instead reminded her of the tenebrous customs and etiquette she had been taught over the past eleven years of her living.
She stood up and clapped her feet together, palm on chest, and head bowed.
''Greeting, my lord.''
He squinted his brow, his lip pouted, and he raised his hand to scratch his hair.
''Princess Lyra.''
''It's I, my lord, Princess Lyra Redblade of ELDRIDA.'' She raises her face a little. ''Are you alright?''
''Kaelin is alright.'' He sat up saying.
She furrowed her brow, not quite getting the mode of his reply.
''Raise your head.'' He muttered, his eye fixed above. She raised her head, same time his gaze wavered to her.
''How did Kaelin get in here?''
''You.....you're, you're Prince Kaelin, right?'' She stuttered, taking a step closer to him.
''Right.'' He nodded
''Is everyone here like this?'' She thought
He began pacing around the edges, hoping to get an easy way out of the hole. Her attention lingered on him for a while before she spoke.
''He might come back to kill you if he finds out that you survived.''
Her words brought an abrupt stop to Prince Kaelin's bare feet, a sudden intrusion of shiver racing down his spine. He turns around and walks to her.
''Who..... Who are you talking about?''
''The sorcerer.''
He took a weak step back.
''A sorcerer? Kaelin had never seen one before.''
That got her brow squinting.
''He said he had killed you seven times already, she stepped closer to him.
''Well, that's just absurd!'' He exclaimed. ''Kaelin had never gone close to death. He has been locked underground in the palace, all his life.''
''And Prince Kaelin is you.'' She confirmed yet again.
Prince Kaelin's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity as he ignored Lyra's warnings, his gaze fixed on the dark pit. He began to circle it, his movements eerily deliberate. Lyra's voice trembled as she tried to reason with him, but he just shrugged, his silence more unnerving than any response.
Being taught to always listen to him, she kept shut and just watched.
Without warning, he grasped a twisted root and started to climb out, his movements jerky and unnatural. Lyra's breath caught as he reached the edge, but a sickening crack echoed through the air as the branch snapped, sending him plummeting back into the depths. The sound of his body hitting the ground made Lyra's blood run cold.
"Prince Kaelin, are you alright?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
At first, there was only silence. Then, slowly, Kaelin's head turned, his eyes locking onto Lyra with a chilling stare. She took a step closer, her foot scraping against the dry earth, and that's when she saw it - the blood. It gushed from his neck like a dark fountain, pumping out his life force with every beat of his heart.
Lyra's scream was frozen in her throat as Kaelin's hand rose, his fingers closing around the hilt of the dagger that had pierced his neck. His eyes never left hers, filled with a mixture of shock, pain, and something else... something that made Lyra's skin crawl. Delight.
As the blood continued to flow, Lyra's mind reeled in horror, her thoughts racing with a single, terrifying question: what would happen when the blood stopped?
TBC....