Rya was taken aback for a moment. She hadn't expected the woman who had saved her life to bring up the subject so suddenly, without any warning or gentle lead-in. The morning breeze still brushed their faces, cool and fresh, but the question hung heavy between them.
"I'm also rather curious about you living alone out here," Rya admitted, turning the conversation slightly to give herself time to gather her scattered thoughts.
"But I suppose I should tell you my story first," she continued, steadying her voice. "It really isn't that complicated now that I think about it."
"How so?" Aeloria asked, shifting on the bench to give the girl her full, undivided attention.
"My name is Rya," she began, staring out at the endless trees rather than meeting Aeloria's gaze. "Daughter of Queen Nyxelene and the princess of Runevale—at least I was, until my mother decided to kill me."
The words left her mouth like they were ordinary, everyday facts, not the kind of confession that could shatter lives.
"What? You're the princess?" Aeloria asked, genuine shock breaking through her usual calm.
"The princess?" Rya repeated, turning to face her now. "You know about me?"
"Well, something like that," Aeloria said quickly, adjusting her position on the bench again. "But please don't mind me. Continue."
"There's not much more to say," Rya went on. "My mother wanted me dead, but I managed to escape with the help of a friend and ended up lost in the forest."
Aeloria stared at her for a long moment, processing the weight of what she had just heard.
"I don't know if you fully understand what you're saying," she said at last, "but it's Nyxelene we're talking about. If she truly wanted you dead, you most certainly would be. In any case, I knew you were noble from the start—the way you carry yourself, the quality of your speech—but I never imagined you were the princess herself. Nyxelene being your mother explains your ethereal beauty. But what did you do to make Nyxelene that angry, enough to want to kill her own daughter?"
"I don't know," Rya answered honestly, shoulders lifting in a small, helpless shrug. "She said she was about to do something important, and that I would be in the way. So I should leave the kingdom quietly… or she would kill me. I never had any real attachment to life in the palace anyway—the kind of life I was forced to live there. But my idiot friend just had to put his own life on the line to save mine. That made it impossible for me to give up my life. If I died after he risked everything, his efforts would be in vain. So I fought with everything I had."
Aeloria listened without interrupting, her expression softening just a fraction.
"I can't say I fully understand," she said quietly, "but it sounds like you had a very good friend. What is his name?"
Rya's face lit up for the first time that morning—real warmth breaking through the exhaustion.
"His name is Michael. They say he's the strongest in Runevale, second only to my mother since Orin the Tyrant retired from the front lines and became the Left Wing Watcher. My mother has two watchers who protect her: Left Wing Watcher Orin and Right Wing Watcher Michael. He could be the strongest warrior in the kingdom for all I care, but to me he's just an idiot obsessed with bugs and toads."
Aeloria smiled at the sudden brightness in Rya's voice, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of him.
"Sounds like he has an unusual habit," she said. "I've heard of the multi-talented genius of Runevale who was rumoured to have surpassed the commander in his prime, but I never thought he would be your friend."
Memories of Orin dragging her across the training ground surfaced unbidden—Aeloria smiled faintly and looked up at the sky, lost for a moment in the past.
"The commander?" Rya said, catching the familiarity in her tone. "You say it like you know him personally. And the way you mention my mother's name so casually… tell me, who are you really?"
Aeloria's gaze drifted upward to the starless morning sky, the breeze tugging gently at loose strands of her hair.
"I was born and raised in Runevale," she began, her voice almost distant. Rya leaned forward slightly, surprised, questions already forming, but she held them back and listened.
"I served in the army and climbed the ranks fast. I was a monster—literally. In one of our skirmishes with another kingdom, I came across two beasts: one in red and one in black. I almost died that day."
Rya listened intently, though she couldn't fully grasp everything Aeloria was saying.
At that time, Aeloria had used the cursed tongue to command three ferocious thunderstrikes which only did damage to her and her surroundings, leaving the intended target almost naked. She had focused on only the man in black because she knew she couldn't take them both down at the same time. But her efforts were meaningless.
"She's dead, you say."
The man in black tossed the motionless cannibal away like a broken sword.
Aeloria's body flew through the air, limbs limp, and landed with a sickening crack on her already broken neck. She lay in the ruined ground in a bizarre, crumpled position, blood pooling beneath her head, eyes staring blankly at the ravaged sky.
The man in black walked calmly to Blank and spoke.
"That was a little fun. Too bad we couldn't decide who the winner was. Neither of us made a sound."
He continued forward without waiting for a reply, heading straight down the road toward Jorm, where Commander Orin was stationed.
Blank fell in step beside him, silent as always.
…
"Commander, look."
One of the scouts pointed toward the horizon. A large group of riders—close to four hundred—were galloping toward them, raising a thick cloud of dust that caught the afternoon light like a banner of bad news.
Ramius had been right. Namesh had attacked Jorm exactly as predicted, and the battle had ended in Runevale's decisive favor. Casualties low, enemy routed. So who were these new soldiers riding hard from the direction of the Lonorith river?
"They bear Runevale's crest, Commander," a captain reported, shielding his eyes against the sun. "I believe they are the Head Captain's party."
'Why would she ride here? Orin thought, his brow furrowing deep enough to cast shadows. I don't recall this being part of the plan. And there are far too many for it to be a simple reinforcements request.'
Soon the riders thundered into camp, their horses lathered and blowing hard from the desperate pace. The lead captain dismounted in a rush, dropped to one knee before Orin, and bowed low.
"My name is Midgar, one of the captains assigned to the Head Captain's party. Please, Commander—the Head Captain requires immediate reinforcement."
Orin's blood turned cold. "What are you talking about? Why are you the one reporting instead of Yoru?"
The captain's face was pale, his eyes haunted by what he had seen. He began to explain everything that had happened—the two strangers appearing from nowhere, Yoru's severed head...
Orin didn't wait for him to finish.
He swung into the saddle, his face carved from stone, and bellowed an order that shook the entire troop.
"All soldiers—head back to the kingdom at once!"
The commander charging ahead alone was completely out of character, but Orin didn't care. He spurred his horse into a gallop and tore towards the river, his cloak snapping behind him like a war banner, dust exploding beneath iron-shod hooves.
He rode like a man possessed, the wind tearing at his face, every heartbeat pounding Aeloria's name.
After riding hard for what felt like hours, he crested a low hill and spotted them.
Two figures walking calmly down the opposite slope, as though they owned the world.
One in red. The other dressed like a mad man, almost naked.
Orin reined in hard, dismounted in a single fluid motion, and strode forward, his twin daggers already gleaming in his fists.
"What did you do to Aeloria?" he asked, his voice colder than winter breeze. "Think carefully before you answer, because you won't get a second chance."
The man in black tilted his head, amused.
"It's your turn to play, Blank."
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Blank replied, stepping aside with a faint bow. "I don't quite like games."
"Your loss, then," the man in black said to his companion. He turned fully to face Orin, his hands still clasped behind his back.
"By Aeloria, do you mean the cannibal? If yes, then it saddens me to say that she died. It was—"
The sentence never finished.
Orin's daggers moved in twin silver blurs, faster than the human eye could track, arcing from both sides in perfect unison to decapitate the speaker in one crossed strike.
But the man in black was no human. His hand was still clasped and his expression unconcerned. But Orin was also more of a beast than a man.
The clash would be rumored in tarvens for a long time to come.
…
Meanwhile, in a room of an unknown location, far from blood and battle and the smell of scorched earth, Aeloria opened her eyes slowly.
Pain throbbed everywhere, dull and distant, wrapped tightly in layers of herb-soaked cloth that covered her bare body from collarbone to ankles. The sharp, familiar scent of healing poultices filled her nose—bitter, green, alive.
She turned her head with effort and saw a man sitting beside the low bed, back to her, grinding herbs in a stone mortar with slow, rhythmic motions.
The pestle scraped softly against stone.
Aeloria tried to speak, but only a rasp escaped her throat.
The man paused.
Without turning, he said in a quiet, steady voice, "You're awake. Good. Don't move yet. Your neck was broken in three places. It's a miracle you're still alive."