The chamber pressed in around him, hot with fire, heavy with breath.
His soldiers waited for his command, blades already stained, their eyes sharp with expectation.
The girl's voice still clung to the air like a blade at his throat.
'Monster… butcher… you'll choke on the blood you spill.'
Caelen's hand clenched tighter on his sword hilt.
He tried to shake the vision away, but it came back sharper, brighter, as if her words had peeled back a veil.
Flashes: a battlefield drowning in black smoke.
His own face reflected in the sheen of a broken blade, older, wearier, twisted by regret.
He saw towers falling, not just of House Ardyn, but of entire cities.
The sky split open with light, and something vast, something beyond men and empires, swallowed the world in ruin.
And at the heart of it—his own voice. Cold. Commanding. The same voice that had just ordered the death of children.
"No one lives. Leave nothing."
The echo thundered in his head until bile rose in his throat.
"General?" The lieutenant's voice was harder now, tinged with unease. "They're waiting."
He blinked, dragged back into the chamber.
Soldiers stood over the cowering children.
The attendants clutched them tighter, bracing for the blade.
The girl's glare burned hotter, defiance daring him to try.
Something inside him snapped.
"Stand down," Caelen ordered.
The soldiers froze.
"…Sir?"
"I said stand down." His tone cracked like a whip. "Anyone who disobeys me loses his head."
They obeyed instinctively—because no man alive disobeyed Caelen Veynar.
But confusion flickered across their faces, mutters spreading like sparks.
The lieutenant frowned. "General… your order was—"
"My order is now different." Caelen's voice cut through him, cold enough to silence the objection.
His gray eyes flicked back to the girl, to the hatred she wore like armor.
It clawed at him, but beneath it he saw something else too: a spark of fire unbroken by fear.
Without letting himself think, he crossed the chamber.
The attendants recoiled, shielding the children.
The girl spat at his boots.
"Kill me then," she hissed, though her shoulders trembled. "Do it, butcher. Add me to your count."
He stopped before her. His soldiers watched in baffled silence.
Slowly, Caelen sheathed his sword. The sound rang loud in the room, more shocking than if he had drawn it.
"…No." His voice was low, almost unreadable. "Not this time...Not again"
The girl blinked.
Her fury faltered, confusion flickering across her tear-streaked face.
Caelen bent, his gauntleted hand gripping her wrist. She tried to pull away, but his strength was iron.
He hauled her to her feet.
"To me," he said to the rest of the children. "We're leaving."
"Leaving?" The lieutenant's face paled. "General, what are you—?"
Caelen's gaze turned on him, hard enough to freeze the words in his throat. "You heard me."
The soldiers shifted uneasily, uncertain, but none dared challenge him directly.
Still, he could read their eyes—confusion, suspicion, fear.
The Empire demanded obedience, and he had always given it.
Until now.
Caelen tugged the girl toward the doorway.
She stumbled after him, teeth clenched, loathing radiating off her like heat.
Her voice was raw when she spoke.
"You think saving me erases what you've done? We will never forgive you."
The words struck harder than steel.
Caelen's jaw tightened.
"…I don't ask for forgiveness," he said. "Only silence."
And with that, General Caelen Veynar—the Empire's Butcher, the terror of a dozen campaigns—walked out of the chamber, not as a conqueror but as a possible fugitive.
Behind him, the whispers began.
*****
The corridors burned with torchlight and confusion.
Caelen strode forward, dragging the girl by the wrist, his soldiers trailing uncertainly behind.
The children followed in a frightened knot, stumbling to keep pace.
Their small voices echoed, sharp as glass in the stone halls.
It wasn't until they reached the great courtyard that the first arrow sang through the air.
Thunk.
The shaft buried itself in the stone beside Caelen's head.
"Traitor!" a soldier's voice roared from the battlements.
The gates were immediately sealed, iron teeth clamping shut.
Dozens of armed men flooded in from both sides, surrounding the courtyard.
Their captain—his own lieutenant—stood at their head, sword drawn, face carved in disbelief and fury.
"General Veynar," the man barked. "By the authority of the Empire, I relieve you of command. Lay down your arms."
The children whimpered, clinging tighter to one another.
Caelen planted himself in front of them, cloak snapping in the wind.
His voice rang like steel.
"You dare raise arms against me?"
The lieutenant's jaw clenched. "You've betrayed the Emperor. I'll see you in chains before dawn."
The soldiers surged.
Caelen moved like a storm.
Steel clashed, bodies reeled.
He cut through them with the precision of a master, striking to disarm, to break, but not to kill.
Blades rang against his gauntlets, his shoulders, sparks flying in the night.
His soldiers were good, but he was better—he was their general.
Every swing reminded them why he had earned his name.
But numbers told their own tale.
Another arrow hissed from the wall—this one buried itself deep in his side.
The impact staggered him, fire ripping through his ribs.
Blood blossomed beneath his armor.
He fought through them, vision swimming, teeth clenched against the pain.
He could not hold much longer.
He quickly accessed his situation and came to a final decision.
He couldn't save them all.
The girl was still at his side, fury in her eyes even through the fear.
He grabbed her arm, shoving her toward the stables.
"Run."
"I won't—"
"Run!"
She stumbled, but he pulled her with him, battering his way through the last line of men.
He snatched the reins of a warhorse, vaulted into the saddle with a grimace of agony, then hauled the girl up in front of him.
The other children cried out, reaching for him, for her. Their voices tore at his chest worse than the arrow.
"No! Elder sister! Don't leave us!"
His heart wrenched.
He wanted to turn back, to carve a path and take them all, but the gates were locked, the courtyard swarming with blades.
His vision blurred.
If he stayed, they would all die—including her.
"Hold on," he growled to the girl, spurring the horse forward.
The steed screamed, hooves striking sparks on stone.
Caelen drove it straight at the gates.
At the last second, the beast leapt, clearing the half-shut bars, landing with a shudder that rattled Caelen's bones.
Behind them, the courtyard roared with shouts, steel, and the cries of children being dragged away.
The girl twisted in his grip, voice ragged with hatred.
"Let me go. You left them to die."
Caelen's breath came ragged, blood soaking through his armor. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, though the words drove deep as any blade.
"…I had no choice."
She stared up at him, eyes burning like coals.
"There's always a choice," she whispered.
The night swallowed them, horse and riders vanishing into the dark—one man bleeding, one girl cursing him, and the weight of a dozen voices left behind to haunt his soul.