Talia was near enough the creek, and she was already moving. Like lightning, she snatched Renna from the man's arms as the girl slipped sideways off the saddle, cushioning the fall as best she could.
"Take her!" I shouted.
Talia didn't argue. She pulled Renna with her and ran. Renna sobbed, clutching at Talia.
The rider fallen from horse, staggered upright with fury burning in his eyes. He looked up, wiping mud from his face, and maybe muttering a curse under his breath at this unbelievable defeat. Then he turned and locked his eyes onto me. Bathed in moonlight and mud, he fixed his gaze on me, his presence radiating a lethal intent.
My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, all I could hear was the pound of my heart and the distant echo of hooves. The guards were too far. Talia was gone. Renna was safe for now. But I became his new target.
And he was coming for me. Slow at first his steps uneven, boots squelching in the muck but full of purpose. Like a hound that had picked up a scent.
Running toward the ruins now would be disastrous; it would expose the others' hiding place.
Deciding to stay, panic seized me. I snatched a sword from the ground, utterly unsure where it had come from or how to wield it.
At least, that's what I thought. But just like that my grip shifted without thinking and my stance adjusted on its own. My feet found the earth like they'd done it a thousand times before. The fear was still there clawing at my ribs but beneath it, something steadier bloomed.
Muscle memory, it clicked to me. Not mine, but Elinessa's. This body… it remembered.
Elinessa had been a princess, yes. But, she's also a trained swordswoman quiet, refined, deadly when needed.
Oh. Oh!!!, I might be able to handle this. It's only a single person. This discovery filled me with hope.
I raised the blade, shoulders squaring as the man charged toward me, mud-slicked and furious.
"Come on, then," I whispered. "Just a few more minutes—"
He also raised his blade—
"ELINESSA!!"
In a moment, something flashed in front of me. A blur of blue and black collided with him from the side.
Callisto.
My brother, Crown Prince Callisto arrived like a blade drawn by fate in his stalion.
Drenched in ceremonial blues, now soaked in ash, sweat, and someone else's blood, his expression was unreadable but his movements spoke loud enough.
"Hide, NOW" he ordered coldly and maybe in rage, not sparing me a glance as he raised his sword again.
A strike like lightning measured, final, without remorse. In a blur of silver and crimson, he cut through the chaos like it was mere rehearsal.
I ran then, stumbling until I found a safe distance, and hid behind a broken trunk. From there, I watched.
The remaining attackers fell one by one with barely time to scream.
"Push forward! Leave none standing!" his voice thundered.
Few tried to flee bolting down the creek slope in desperation. Another, still dazed from falling, was wrenched off his horse and bound by the guards. The rest lay motionless, dead. Bringing a full stop in the middle of chaos. The air fell silent.
And me?
I stood in the middle of it all.
Heaving, shaking. Gripping a sword I didn't remember lifting.
My braid had unraveled, golden strands hanging wild around my face, sticking to my cheeks with sweat and streaks of blood.
The gown I'd once loved, a soft lilac silk stitched just for this occasion was torn here and there, fabric split at my shoulder, now clinging damp and filthy to my skin. Dust streaked my arms. Blood dotted my skin. My knees throbbed from where I'd fallen, were scraped open.
And my cheek stung — warm and wet.
I touched it.
My fingers came away red.
***
Meanwhile the scene shifted once more to the royal study, bathed in its familiar golden light coming through warm lanterns, yet somehow, the warmth was gone. What once felt comforting was now drenched in an atmosphere of silence just like after a scream.
zzzz—kkzt—zzzzzzKKRK—
zzzz—kkzt—zzzzzzKKRK—
The screen shimmered with static, and the world quivered like a thread stretched too tight.
The King and Queen who only hours ago had been in their elegant calm, speaking gently of their daughter of youth, were now frozen, unnaturally still, like statues draped in velvet. Their eyes, once warm with thought and memory, had gone glassy, reflecting the golden lantern light without recognition. Their lips, caught mid-curve of conversation, now looked painted on and false, as if someone had taken their breath and sealed it away in a locked chest. They seemed as marionettes left dangling without strings.
Then it had happened so suddenly and they moved as if they'd been like this all along, not frozen in eerie stillness just moments ago. Slowly, subtly, the change in tone unfolded like something unseen had slipped into their minds and whispered a different truth.
The Queen's smile faded with the quiet certainty of someone who suddenly remembered something terrible. Her hand trembled where it rested on her other arm. The King's eyes, once tired but kind, now burned with a grim clarity, as though some veil had been torn away, revealing a reality he could no longer ignore. Without a word, he rose abruptly from his desk, his movement sharp and purposeful, as if driven by a decision already made.
"It's him," he muttered, his voice hollow, barely more than a breath.
"The cursed one… the emperor from the center of the continent, the one said to have set his eyes on every kingdom within his reach."
He didn't need to say the name. They both already knew it, as if something new had been coded into their minds, lying dormant until now, suddenly booting to life with terrifying clarity.
"Drayce Vortalis."
The Queen flinched at the name which felt like ash on her tongue.
The King began to pace to and fro in the chamber, his hands trembling slightly from the weight of memory twisting itself into something darker. He spoke not so much to her as to the echo of truths long buried and now clawing their way to the surface. The memory was rewriting itself in their minds. He stopped mid-step, his eyes clouded with dread.
"They say his sword can cut through the wind itself. That his armies are not made of men, but devils clad in flesh itself. That he rides into battle without hesitation, without fear, without mercy."
The Queen sat down in a nearby chair slowly, her silken gown whispering against the floor. "Then he is no man. He is nightmare given form."
The king stopped at the far window, looking out. Beyond the hills, the moon hung too still. And he continued to speak with grim and low,
"And it began when he was just fifteen," he said, in a voice edged with dread.
Her eyes widened. "S-so young…"
"Fifteen and already drenched in blood. His kingdom then barely more than a backwater province, was weak and unnoticed. But he didn't build it with gold or trade or diplomacy. No. He carved it into an empire with blade and fire."
He turned slightly, his jaw now clenched with the weight of an uncertain future,
"They say he murdered his own uncle, then king. He cut out his heart while it was still beating. Crowned himself king before the blood dried. From that day on, war was the only language he spoke. Terror, the only currency he dealt in."
The Queen shook her head slowly, "And his uncle's people? Did they not rise against him?"
"They did," the King answered grimly. "But he drowned them all. Fields were red for miles and the river choked with the fallen. Their defiance was silenced in a single night."
He clenched his jaw, dropping his voice lower than usual, almost bitter with awe. "No one had courage to stand against him after that bloodbath."
He paused, his eyes were now fixed on something far beyond the chamber walls.
"They say he doesn't fear death, my queen..... nor hell, not even the end of the world. To some, he is the end. Ruin given human form. A shadow born in fire. Lucifer's first-born, they whisper. He has no heart. He cannot be reasoned with. And wherever his eyes fall—"
He turned back to her, his voice cracking like dry wood.
"—he burns it to the ground."
The King's voice dropped, almost like a whisper.
"My queen… I need to believe there's someone out there."
He paused, as if saying it aloud gave the thought weight.
"Someone who can stop him."
His gaze met hers raw, desperate.
"Yes. Someone who can make that monster bow his head."
And in the space between his words, the static returned. Soft at first, then layered, rising steadily, mechanical and harsh.
zzzzKKT—kkkrrrk—
A fractured voice crackled through the invisible threads of reality.
"I like this one."
Not a voice, exactly. More like a whisper wearing a grin. A glitch in the air. As if something, someone was watching. And rewriting the story to suit its own whims.