The bells of Eldoria rang at noon.
Not in joy.
Not in victory.
They rang slow and heavy—each sound dragging sorrow through the streets. Black banners were raised upon the stone walls, and people stopped whatever they were doing. Everyone knew what those bells meant.
Another battle had been lost.
And many knights with it.
Elara heard the bells from the forest.
Her hands froze around the bowl she was holding. The herbs slipped, scattering across the wooden floor. Her heart began to pound violently, as if it already knew what her mind refused to accept.
"No," she whispered. "Please… no."
She ran.
The capital was crowded with grieving families. Mothers cried openly. Wives clutched letters pressed into their palms by silent soldiers. Names were being read aloud—each one slicing through the air like a blade.
Elara stood at the edge of the crowd, breath shallow.
One by one, the names fell.
She waited.
And waited.
Every second felt like a year.
Then the commander's voice cracked.
"Sir Alaric Vayne… missing in battle."
The world tilted.
Missing.
Not dead.
Not alive.
Just… gone.
Elara felt her knees weaken. She held onto a stone pillar to stay upright. Missing meant no body. No proof. No farewell.
Only endless hope mixed with endless fear.
Days passed in unbearable slowness.
Some families mourned properly. Graves were dug. Tears were shed. Life, cruelly, continued.
But Elara was trapped between worlds.
Every knock at her door made her heart leap. Every rider on the forest path stole her breath. At night, she dreamed of Alaric calling her name—his voice distant, fading.
She kept the last letter beneath her pillow.
"I won't believe it," she told the empty room. "Not until fate itself tells me."
Far from the capital, beneath a ruined watchtower, Sir Alaric Vayne lay in the dirt.
Barely alive.
His armor was shattered. His sword lay several feet away, broken in two. Blood soaked the ground beneath him as rain began to fall, cold and merciless.
Enemy soldiers surrounded him.
"You're the Silent Blade," one of them sneered. "Doesn't look so silent now."
Alaric tried to rise. His body refused.
He smiled faintly.
"I kept my promise," he whispered—to no one, and to someone far away.
The blade fell.
That night, Elara woke screaming.
Her chest burned as if her heart had been torn open. Tears streamed down her face before she even understood why.
Somewhere deep inside, something broke.
The bells had not lied.