《Throne of Power: Ascendance》


 I. Crowned by war

    <strong style="font-weight: bold">Draven


    Draven looked up at the sky as his brother led them through the wide castle doors. He had gotten used to following his steps, being covered by his shadow, getting "Improvise" as the only answer when he asked for a plan.


    Draven could feel his desperation just by looking at his back, waiting for his next move. He set out on a mission that could get thousands killed but had to be done. Draven didn''t really know what the mission was, nor did he really pay attention when his brother tried to tell him.


    What Draven knew, though, was that it had something to do with magic. Magic that he shouldn''t mess with.


    He eyed the tail of his brother''s navy blue coat as it was being pulled by the wind and the blue, crystalized aura that followed him as he entered the Great Hall of the Queen''s castle. All Draven could do was watch as he gracefully marched inside, leaving him to inspect the men.


    The castle stood like a sleeping stone giant in front of him, with the royal gardens expanding around it like a forest of colours surrounding a mountain that reached for the sky. Underneath his feet, a short pavement made out of cobblestone was lining the way to the only exit out of this beautiful yet lonely garden. The gigantic gates of the Great Hall.


    Opposite of these gates, flowers emerged behind an enormous wall that lined the royal territory, and houses could be seen beyond that wall. Draven knew that beyond the wall was the market of Alexandria, with its shouting merchants and the children whoattempted to steal from them. All because he used to be one of those children.


    He could remember spending a few months of his childhood running down the main street with his sister, laughing and shouting while stealing apples from an old lady''s carriage.


    He could remember the wind rushing against his face and the taste of salt filling his mouth as they rushed down towards the docks. Docks which were filled with merchant ships from all over the continent, bringing with them exotic foods, silks, and beasts as well as men and slaves that were meant to serve the royals.


    He was so young and full of life back then. Old Draven would resent Young Draven if they ever met. He was everything he despised about his past and everything people had marked with him in the future.


    On this day, one of the most important days of the kingdom, the main street was almost empty and the harbour only seemed to host warships and galleys, filled with sailors that had been served with decades of war. Sailors that, if anything went wrong, he would have to fight against.


    He looked up at the castle, with its tall towers and shiny colourful windows, made from different types of coloured glass. They were blue and green and red and every other colour that could ever be made and took the shapes of Dragons, Kings, Queens and knights.


    On the castle, spiralled towers with ballistae on their tops were ready to defend their Queen from any threat that would dare approach her. If only they knew.


    His eyes shifted onto a huge, black heart was sitting over the biggest tower, marking this as the castle of a holy dynasty of a god. A god he didn''t believe in, yet a god that had proved his existence to him and his men time and time again, by joining their side in any battle that they had ever taken part in.


    Turning around, Draven threw a look at his men, giving them the orders his brother implied he wanted to be given, as they collectively nodded and smiled. They, like him, were eager not to miss Aesther''s attempt at a performance in front of the Queen before the inevitable fighting broke out. But only he could sense his desperation


    They were few, no more than twenty, and they were only here to guard his brother, even though he didn''t need protection. Men from the two neighbouring kingdoms, the Axemen clans and the Dwarven clans. And along with them was the girl. A single girl who never showed her face, or let them hear her voice. One who possessed the power of telepathy and invisibility.


    They knew her as Saint, but they knew nothing more than that. Every time Draven tried to look at her he saw a reflection of his own silver hair and deep brown eyes. He saw a reflection of his armour with the golden shoulder pads that were carved like wings of giant eagles and the sword behind his back strapped and ready to help him cut down everything in his path.


    Draven could have been one of the few people that had seen Saint''s true form. And he might have been the only person that had caressed her skin in the middle of the night as she lay beside him. The only person other than Lucian, the turn-cloak Priest.


    After all those years, he didn''t really remember her appearance, except for those deep red eyes that still haunted him at night, calling for him in his dreams.


    Draven turned around to see the outside of the castle one last time, before marching in and letting his men take the places of the guards inside like they were supposed to.


    The walls of the Great Hall were painted with shapes of men and beasts that he knew nothing about. What he did know something about was the all-seeing eye of the kingdom''s god being painted right above his brother, who stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes set on something he couldn''t quite see.


    The paintings depicted beasts of old like Dragons, Phoenixes and Thunderbirds, but they also featured a great variety of creatures that couldn''t have existed. One of those caught Draven''s attention more than the crowd of officers and diplomats that stood in front of him. It was a creature deep beneath the sea, with shiny grey scales and enormous teeth, that was trying to devour the moon.


    He felt as if he had heard thunder drumming in the distance, a shiver rushing right through his spine before he took a few steps forward.


    "Admiral," he said after he pushed as far as the crowd would let him and squeezed through a crowd of old officers and diplomats to get to his brother. "Admiral, the men are ready!"


    "Are you? Because I am afraid, little brother, that I am not ready. Not while Cresselya wants to put a dagger through your heart", Aesther replied, his voice almost a whisper, like the cold winds of winter. His eyes were focused on a girl, around his age, with long brown hair and a pretty nose as well as a pair of sweet brown eyes, the colour of melted chocolate.


    Her fruity lips seemed to have been redder than the ones of anyone else in the room, but this just tingled his curiosity, as he tried to understand her with his eyes. His eyes reached for her chest, as they had with any pretty woman he encountered, whore or not.


    But then, his focus shifted from the inside of the clothes to the clothes themselves, clothes too bright and royally to ignore.


    A beautiful white cloak covered the girl''s golden armour which had been integrated into a pure white dress. Her boots made of black leather and marked with two swords clashing on her ankle.


    In her hand, the girl had a shield with the sigil of the Darlean Empire, the Black Eagle with the gems around him. The Empire that had lost its namesake capital over a century ago to vandals of the North. Vandals like their ancestors.


    His brother''s green eyes were so focused on her that one would think he was lost in his own time and place while looking at her, but he knew very well that his brother was never lost like that, he was just merely admiring the wonders of nature, especially the female ones.


    Draven attempted to muster an answer to his brother''s question before the sound of trumpets echoed in the air and filled his surroundings. The trumpets were accompanied by a sudden clash of spears on the ground and many people bowing. His brother was not one of those people.


    Almost as a reaction to the clash, a fair lady started walking out of the royal gates, walking between two series of trumpeters and towards the altar in front of the two men. Her golden hair was flying gracefully behind her, as a filthy maiden carried the tail of her dress above the ground.


    The fair lady was the Queen, her shiny green eyes standing out above her pointy red nose. She looked tired and her cheeks were red as if she had recently drunk gallons of ale.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Onthe other hand, the maiden was looking at her feet. She wore a dress if you could call it that, which was a piece of breastplate with the flag of the kingdom, white with a golden crown in the middle, tied around her waist to hide her feet. She seemed embarrassed of what she was forced to do, as some of the generals pointed and laughed at her. How bad it must be for her to be a slave, Draven thought.


    She had her fiery, wild, ginger hair loose, falling on the piece of armour that Draven presumed covered her naked body. This was a curious thought that brought a smile to his lips. As he investigated her he threw a quick glance into her eyes. And he was captivated. He realised that her enormous grey eyes had sprinkles of blue around them, making them seem like gigantic clouds, almost completely covering the blue sky. After he stopped staring at her eyes, he noticed her lips had a small cut across the bottom, indicating the presence of torture, probably caused by none other than her master.


    He then promptly stopped thinking about the girl''s naked body and looked at his brother. He had felt Aesther''s fist tighten beside him, while he murmured something about justice and blood when he was finished with his mission. Draven knew very well not to talk to his brother at times like these. He knew to especially not provoke him when he was angered by the treatment of someone. Someone who looked like they were from the far North, just like them.


    On the altar, he could see a dragon that was carved and charmed on the pure white marble by the best masons of the kingdom. The dragon was constantly shifting his form and moving around, growling and roaring a soundless roar, as if he thought he was real. On the altar sat a purple pillow, with a sigil he couldn''t see from this angle, and a crown.


    A crown of black, gold and green, with red and yellow gemstones engraved in it, radiating magical power. Next to this magnificent piece of jewellery sat a silver goblet, filled with the ashes of the former King. One who had died in battle against the noble rebels just a few moons ago, with news of this death reaching the kingdom''s reach only a fortnight before this very day.


    The soon-to-be Queen reached the altar and smiled at the maiden, before turning to her military officers to greet them. But she didn''t, she cleared her throat and waited for the trumpets to stop blowing their song of pride and glory. But even when they stopped a loud whooshing noise echoed through the chamber, as an Angel flew down next to the Princess and eyed her up and down, without uttering a word.


    The Princess and the Angel stood alike, yet they looked different. For the Angel was dressed in armour made of silver steel and had her black cloak over her white wings spread behind her back, ready to blow the Princess off her own feet.


    But instead, she smiled as she looked at the Queen, a smile so beautiful, Draven thought he was falling in love with it. The Angel''s long white hair fell upon her armour as she gave a knightly bow in front of her Princess. Her bright silver eyes were pinned on the patterns on the marble floor and her iron fist was crashing against it.


    He had heard rumours about this Angel from his friend, Lucian. He said that she was one of the most manipulative ''Priests'' he had ever known, rising from an apprentice of a lesser Angel to the second Counsel of the Kingdom.


    As the Princess opened her mouth and tried to say something, a lonely, continuous chant fell upon her. Other Angels approached from the windows, dressed in white and gold, with their wings bestowing their grace upon the men that had fought through so much, yet still seemed worthless in front of the shadows of these graceful creatures. As the Angel stood high, she raised her sword in the air above the Queen and the chants grew louder as he finally understood that they were in a tongue Draven didn''t speak.


    His brother seemed to calculate their surroundings, as he looked at the Angels one by one, a force he warned Draven about. But he led the men here anyway, ready to show to them Royalists that nothing was over yet. He was going to show them that despite their recent advances against the Nobles, the People''s Rebellion had only just begun.


    Minutes passed as the Angels preached prayers to a god far away and Draven munched through his yawns. When the crown was placed on the Queen''s head, that''s when his brother actually did something.


    He gave a slight clap, something that seemed retarded for such a situation. "General, be ready to defend the Queen," he told him, as he slowly walked forth, through the last line of officers in front the open area before the Queen, who turned around and stood up, as the chants started to collapse under their own weight.


    Acting during ceremonies, without the permission of the Queen, was treason. Yet Aesther, rebellious as he was, was walking towards the Queen while clapping. Draven thought about all the possibilities of how the Queen would react but for a second, she didn''t seem to notice.


    She raised her hands in the air and opened her mouth to speak, ready to fill the hearts of her men with courage for the reign to come. Her nose seemed ever redder and, as near as she stood to Draven, she smelled of ale and wine. And there he was, expecting perfumes.


    Before she could utter a single word of encouragement, a low whistling sound came from right in front of her, distracting her in a split second as his brother came forward, pulling with him a chilling wind, one that expelled the warmth of the summer in the air. Her warmth, her summer.


    His coat followed behind him and his pointy hat held hid his jet black hair under it, making it seem as if he was trying to hide something about himself, something that Draven couldn''t understand. Yet Aesther did it with such a collected grace that it still brought an uncomfortable smile to his face.


    His arms spread as he walked towards the Queen and the Angel, his fingers trailing the air, pointing to the ground. They were extended and parted, with lines of ice following their movements.


    "How dare say that Naem wills the death of your enemies?", a shadow ran across his face as he talked to the Angel. "How dare you say that he wills my death? When I have done no harm to his religion?"


    The Angel seemed confused, puzzled as if it was the first time she heard someone translate her preachings and use them against her. And maybe it was the first time, Draven couldn''t know.


    The Queen now seemed to be shivering, the chilly air around her being stronger than the warmth of her elegant dress. "Guards! Seize that man!" she said before collapsing to the ground, a blueish colour covering her lips. He knew that this was all his brother''s doing. The Ice, the collapsing and the tears that followed. But Aesther would deny enjoying it as much as Draven knew he did.


    The guards attempted to do as they were told, drawing their swords and preparing to only fight one man, even if he was as terrifying as Draven''s elder brother.


    The Angel extended her arm to give to the Queen, but a loud noise, one that he had heard throughout this military campaign and had marked his soul as the only known Rebel advantage against the Royals, broke in the air. It was a noise that shook the castle around them. It was a sound that let everything erupt into chaos and one which prompted the Angel to stop and pull her blade. It was the sound of a cannon.


    His men did so as well, preparing to blend in and cut down the generals who thought they were superior. The diplomat from Darlan pulled a small dagger out. She was trying to compensate for her lack of a weapon by pulling her shield in front of her face and rushing towards the Queen, ready to protect her with her life.


    The guards gathered their morale and attempted to cut Aesther down, but before they could even reach him, he punched in the direction of the ground, making pillars of stiff and steady ice encircle him, the Queen and the Diplomat. This circle of ice well stabbed a man through the stomach, easily cutting through his armour and making him throw his pike on the ground, as his screams began echoing in the cold chamber that had been a holy place just a moment ago. The man''s blood fell on the ground in the shape of red rivers upon a miniature frozen mountain.


    A second of these sounds shook the ground and the citadel as his brother pulled his makeshift weapon out. It was one he called a pistol and he was pointing it to the Angel with his finger on the trigger.


    He seemed to say something to the three women, but he was too far away to be heard. Instead, he focused on the generals, who had drawn their swords and prepared themselves to charge out and meet their enemy outside.


    That''s when his men did their job. Eighteen of them created a shield wall in front of the gate, keeping the generals where they were, to be dealt with by their leader, but he seemed to have other plans. Draven pulled his sword out and prepared for an engagement.


    Nobody was fighting, but everyone was holding their swords, pikes, shields and crossbows in the air, not sure what to do, even his own men remained idle, as they watched everything unfold so dramatically before their eyes.


    The first duel that broke out was between Saint and an angel, an angel with nothing but a harp as her weapon. Saint, through what seemed a reflection of himself casting a spell of Darkness magic, was soon nowhere to be found with only a dark cloud of purple mist filling the area where she had been a mere moment ago.


    Draven remained idle for another one of those moments, which was only a fraction of the time that he had spent thinking about what could have gone wrong and why the ship would have fired the cannons.


    But before he could really think about it, he raised his sword and charged at a Royalist. His blows were following each other in quick succession as he took the man by surprise, slaughtering him in front of his comrades and letting his blood fall onto his own silver hair as the heavy blade tore the black and gold armour of the general.


    The general himself couldn''t have been more than a young man, just like himself, but he had a lack of true fighting experience, as many nobles in that room did. The man had tried to resist, but Draven couldn''t be stopped by a combat rookie, even if he was a proclaimed general.


    After he finished with the boy a few of the officers surrounded him. Others tried to push through the shield wall, to break it as well as the morale of the men behind it.


    The guards that had once tried to attack Aesther were now onto Saint. But then, the maiden who had carried the Queen''s dress raised a crossbow and shot a guard in the neck.


    This gave one of the members of the crew, an Axeman whose name he had forgotten, a chance for a breakthrough, which he took.


    The Axeman rushed to him and cast a spell on 3 of the officers while screaming "NAESHA", which Draven guessed was the name of the spell. He had never bothered learning spell names but this one, he was going to remember. It consisted of a series of purple lights that trapped the three officers inside them, letting them die while clawing at their necks letting no air fill their lungs.


    Draven held his sword high and banded with his soldier to counter what seemed like a dozen generals. And he was quite sure that they could make it.


    "Ready?" asked the Axeman, his voice mocking him with every movement of his tongue as he grasped his mace tightly, his black hair falling over his eyes like a shadow.


    "Always!" Draven gave a slight grin and with a charge that seemed to be the focus of a tale, the two men rushed toward their enemies, their faces masked with bravery and their souls with bloodlust.


    At this moment, he remembered holding the very same sword, Darkstar, in his hand for the first time and trying to slice at his sister, only to be beaten by her. He was determined to not be beaten this time.


    In a flash of swords, axes, and bravery, this thought could have been his last one. The thought of his sister beating him in combat.

 II. When Diplomacy fails...

    Caroline


    Caroline stood in front of the mirror, eyeing her long, brown hair and her new armour. She picked her shield up and stomped her boot on the chest that held her clothes. Her hand gripped her double-edged sword''s golden hilt and pointed it at the ceiling while holding her chin high.


    The young princess had spent days riding to this kingdom, the Kingdom of Alexandria, just to spend even more days locked in a room with nothing to do until the Nobility of Alexandria elected a new leader. She could accept that as an excuse but there was a problem with it; as long as a Kingdom follows the practice of primogeniture, there is no need for elections. That''s one of the things she realised on the second day in her room.


    She also realised other things, things about her family and the male line''s weird practice of hiding their actual names only to be called "Wolfsbane", "Old Griffin" or some other dishonest name. They would always claim to use those because names have power but Caroline knew that nobody had power over her, not even her name.


    She sighed and remembered that when first came here she wanted to see the portraits of the former rulers of the Kingdom, inspect their army and learn their tactics, visit the Royal library and do things you wouldn''t imagine a lady to do. She wasn''t a lady, though. She was the Captain of the Red Pack in the Darlean Army


    But every time she tried to leave, someone always told her that she had to wait for the soon-to-be Queen to call her. And she did, but she only called her for the day of her coronation, which was starting on the morrow.


    In these long days she''d spent in her room, Caroline had been looking at her reflexion, counting the days until she could go back to her armies, back to her kingdom.


    She had been counting the gems on her shield, the Royal shield of Darlan, remembering the name of the king they represented. A King that stories would remember as Constaner Ogglett, the King of the Night, the Flame of the Dragon, the Tentacle of the Sky. All because he rode a female dragon.


    "Overall there are eight minerals, my sweet girl. One black, six yellow and one pearl", she remembered the Master of Scrolls saying, "Seven of those, the black and the six yellow ones, are on the top belt and one on the bottom."


    "On the top, the black one is higher than the others, representing the founder of your Kingdom, milady, Constaner the Great. The other six represent his reforms, those reforms that made the Empire great in the first place. They represent the enforced conscription in the army, the building of the Tower of Scrolls, the redistribution of land..." his eyes would shine as he talked. Such was his fascination with this ancient history.


    "And the Pearl. That pearl that represents the city of Darlan, the Pearl of the West. The biggest port of Cartago... but also its biggest ruin" he would say, his eyes losing their spark.


    She thought of her only visit to Darlan, the ruined city and how it had seemed so ancient. It looked as if it had been built a million years ago, with only a set of traitors sitting in its ancient keep. They would fish for knowledge in its libraries or jewels in the broken homes. They would fish for everything that was left after the Bannermen of the Axemen brought its high walls to the ground and killed all of the civilians.


    They killed the screaming babes and the nobles and the standing armies and brought half the city to the ground. Those were things Caroline admired them for as they did it without magic, without siege engines and without anything but their Old Gods in their hearts.


    But while she was sitting on the saddle of her horse, away from her escort and in front of the port that used to be filled with thousands of boats, her eyes flamed in anger and tears.


    She rode back to her party, ordering her men to dig a hole and put her old shield in it, making them swear that they would lead her armies to this very spot and reclaim her ancestral Empire.


    Time went by and her ideas of the world changed, but every year she would make her men repeat this oath. The oath to kill the people of the Axe that stood between them and her ruined treasure. The people that had now turned their backs to the kingdoms and openly showed supported the Rebellion laughing at the steady decline of the Darleans.


    Caroline was still looking at the ceiling when she realised someone was knocking on her door. She rested her sword on her bedside and quickly ran her fingers through her hair, in an attempt to brush them as she opened the door her shield still gripped by her hand.


    As she opened the door, a teenage girl with hair that was the colour of the morning sky and huge violet eyes wrapped her arms around her, her own white gown wrapping around her developing teenage body. "Carolineeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, if I knew you were here I would have visited you sooner!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, laughing as she held her close.


    "How are you, little one?" Caroline smiled and placed her lips against her sister''s hair, her shield still in her hand as she wrapped her arms around Diana.


    "I just got back from my studies with the Priest, we learned about ice magic today! Isn''t that amazing? Did you know that Ice can be used to wake the Dead? Or that any Ice Wizard is also a Water Wizard but that it doesn''t go the other way around? Or that there were Ice Wizards who could freeze time?" the girl asked another million questions, but Caroline simply cracked a smile.


    She had missed her little sister over the years but later that same night, she found herself resenting the youngling.


    Even though the Kingdom of Darlan banned magic from its lands, the royals always sent a Royal Child to study it in the Kingdom of Alexandria. This was a way to strengthen relationships between the Kingdoms.


    Caroline reflected that she could have been the one learning about ice magic on that day, but even the mention of the dresses she had to wear to meet the former King''s expectations of what a princess should be made her want to pierce a knife through her skull.


    She and her father could only agree on one thing. Caroline was a warrior as she had fought in the Civil War (a war that was still taking place in the political landscape of Darlan), even though she avoided killing a man herself. But the thirst was there.


    The two sisters sat down and talked for hours, except that it was Diana who did all the talking about her life and her friends and the evil Rebels that attacked the noble family of Alexandria. She talked about the evil peasants who dared raise their arms against the nobility and how they were led by someone who didn''t earn his title. That of the Last Darlean.


    Caroline felt like she was talking to someone brainwashed, someone who wasn''t from the fierce land of Darlan, that was known for respecting anyone who had the will to fight. She was talking to someone from the Kingdom of Alexandria, someone who believed that war was only noble if it was started by the nobles that believed in Naem, the All-seeing god.


    That made her sick, but Caroline didn''t utter a word, instead, she closed her mouth and waited for hours to pass until dawn when she had to be present for the new Queen''s crowning.


    By midnight, she had sent her sister off to her chamber and talked a maid into preparing her a last-minute bath by boiling the water in it. She entered the water slowly, wearing nothing but her necklace. One which shone through the water with its dim bronze light. By that point, she had sent all the maids away and waited for her skin to start feeling numb before she even thought of getting out of the now cold water.


    Without putting on any clothes, she laid on her bed and murmured the tune of her Kingdom''s hymn, ready to fight her way through waves of enemies to defend it. Why would her sister change so much in only two years? Caroline couldn''t understand.


    By sunrise of the next day she hadn''t slept, she had just cleaned the Royal shield and played with her necklace. She was smelling her clean hair in the process, coupling them around her lips, behind her ears or under her nose as she ran her fingers across the necklace.


    Until the sun rose she had murmured battle songs and continued her journal, which she was going to pass down to her firstborn child in Darlean tradition. She wrote about her dreams, the dreams she had since her 7th name day, the dreams she was ready to kill millions of people for.


    When she heard the first rooster calling the sun, she put on her dress and armour and raised a cloak over her head, to hide her face from the unworthy generals of the Kingdom that couldn''t even defeat a handful of farmers.


    She strapped her arm in the shield and took one last look in the mirror and thought about letting her sister turn her hair into a dark red, to give her a colour that nobody else in the world ever had or ever will have.


    She laughed at the thought and strapped a dagger in her belt, before opening the door of her room, ready to march out. In front of her, soldiers, maids, stewards and priests frantically ran up and down the hallways, preparing feasts and escorting the Officers and the other Diplomats to the main hall. Others carried trumpets and banners and prepared the long line that would greet the Queen inside the Great hall. It was a chaos she could watch for endless moons but she had been called to somewhere the day before.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    A servant came to her, offering directions, but she didn''t want to go to the Great hall. Instead, she headed down a long hall, passing the portraits of countless Kings, Queens and merchants, and up the stairs, to find a huge door at the end of them. A door engraved with runes. A door that was made of pure gold. A door that her men would die by thousands to obtain. Such was their lack of loyalty in the face of gold.


    Two guards stood in front of that door, wearing the red tunics and the helmets of their legion. They held their pikes in a crossed formation to guard their future Queen. She laughed heartlessly and then eyed them both. "Tell Titanya that the Darlean don''t like to wait too long", she hissed at them. One of them, the taller one, entered the room, before coming out mere seconds later. He whispered something to the other guard and let his pike sit in a position that allowed her to pass through. "Good boy!" she exclaimed, before laughing at him and entering the room, only to see the Princess looking out the window.


    Her golden hair was braided over her green dress and her shiny green eyes were fixed upon her gardens. Titanya was taller than you''d imagine her to be when you first hear about her. And prettier, oh, so much prettier than you''d imagine, Caroline envied her for that but she couldn''t help but smile when she saw her. "You know, I was never even born to be the Queen", she said, without ever taking her shiny green eyes off the garden.


    "Seems you were destined to be Queen, then", Caroline answered, smiling under the shadow of her Cloak. " Naem wills it".


    Titanya sighed and took a sip off what seemed to be a cup filled with wine from the East. "Naem wills it", she gave a bitter laugh. "Just as he willed the death of my father! In the hands of its own Counsel nonetheless..." and with that she dried the inside of the cup, gulping it down and letting no drop go to waste.


    Her cheeks were fired up and her eyes were sprayed with redness, Caroline could see that she hadn''t slept either. "At least your father died in battle and in the name of Naem, there is no greater honour than that. Now, it is our turn to fight his fight, we''ve to get you ready to be a Queen".


    Titanya smiled, but when Caroline tried to touch her she nudged her off. "You should be the one up there, always so calm, yet fierce at the same time. How do you do that?" she said with a sad smile crossing her face, with her sharp nose pointing down at it.


    And with that, she remembered the days she had spent here with her when they were children. She remembered playing the Knight to save the Princess of Alexandria and then get ''married'' to her. She also remembered a young son of a merchant tying their hands to an oak tree, as was the custom in marriages, before her lips touched the one''s of Titanya playfully, thinking they were kissing.


    "This is your kingdom, Titanya. Additionally, once you see your first battle you will follow my example, the fewer words the better", Caroline rushed her words out and prepared to take them back before the Queen gave her a drunken smile.


    "I will fight the Rebels myself! Lead my men to victory!" she pointed her fist in the air, laughing. To that, Caroline shivered, the screams of her men ringing in her ears. It was true that the Darleans respected war, but they didn''t like it, unlike most men thought. But most of all, the Darlean people didn''t like weak leaders and this Queen was just that.


    But instead of saying anything, she shook her head and grasped the knife on her belt, before looking down to the marble floor. Why did her father let this Kingdom survive? It was always caught in civil war, it didn''t have a big army, although it did have the most infamous cavalry in the world, and it didn''t have strong, albeit mad, Kings like himself, why would he leave it be?


    She''d have to go back and ask him to march inside it. Or she could start a war right here and now. She dropped the cloak from her brown hair and looked at the ceiling. "Is this your will?", she whispered, her voice slightly shaking with the fear of Naem.


    Titanya was now looking at her, her head tilted and her golden hair falling over her left shoulder. Caroline couldn''t make out her expression with her peripheral vision, but she knew she was confused. She could have killed her right there but then she remembered her vows to her. The vows she had made as her loyal knight when they were children.


    She let the dagger sit on her belt and smiled at the Queen. "You need to prepare, my lady. I shall observe you from the crowd" and with a bow, the young princess of Darlan, third daughter of the Royal couple, stopped herself from killing one of the noblest women in Cartago by stepping out of the room. Afterwards, she would grumble about failed Kingdoms under her breath, storming through the halls like a ghost that used to live in them. But now, she was pleased with her choice.


    Now, nobody was running through the halls, which gave her time to inspect the red carpet across the floor and the paintings of each individual ruler on the wall. She went forth, between the pillars that led to the garden and the wall where her room was at, before turning left and looking at the back door of the Great hall. She need not disturb the Trumpeteers by letting them cheer for her.


    Why would I want to kill her? she thought while scenarios ran through her head. She didn''t pay the portraits much attention, even though it was a thing she always wanted to do. Something she hadn''t done as a child. With these thoughts in mind, she pushed a small red door open and sighed, stepping in.


    After entering the room, she saw a crowd, a crowd of more than a hundred officers, dressed in golden and brown, admirals, dressed in blue, white and black and Diplomats, dressed in their Kingdom''s colours. She couldn''t see across the room, or even at the ceiling, because of the light that came out of the windows.


    She hissed a curse under her breath and made her way to the middle of the room, to the front row, pushing the people out of her way with her shield, just to find her way in front of an altar to Naem.


    She smiled when she noticed the Goblet with the ashes of the dead King and waited for the Queen to come and take her role. She felt two pairs of eyes stuck on her side, before raising her cloak over her face again.


    With her hand laying on her dagger and her mind punishing her for the decision she made in the Queen''s room, she now prepared for what she knew was coming.


    The two sets of eyes on her now shifted around the room and she got a chance to glance back at them. They were a white-haired boy who wore the gold uniform of the Generals and a, no more than half a dozen years older than the General, young man who wore the navy, white and black uniform of the Admirals. The latter also wore a black hat with a red feather on it and a belt of weapons that she had never seen before. The admiral''s eyes shone under the shadow of his hat, their mix of sea-green and icy-blue chilling her soul, making her want to punch him in the face.


    She shrugged her thoughts off and looked up front before the trumpets started chanting. They were hurting her ears, something she was used to feeling during battle.


    The Queen started marching in the room, letting her notice the throne behind the altar for the first time. Caroline inspected it thoroughly, looking at the various creatures on the throne. But she did not know what they were and simply got confused by them. She liked being confused, it meant that she had more to learn.


    The throne itself was majestic, too majestic. The back was shaped like a heart and it was made of gold, silver and platinum, with diamonds, emeralds and sapphires integrated within it. She found herself hating on the complexity of the design, but she would have to accept that this kingdom wasn''t her own. But most of all, she had to accept that she could change its patterns in the middle of the Queen''s coronation.


    Behind the Queen came a stewardess, dressed in clothes inappropriate for anyone, even a slave. With a rusty armour on the top and just a flag of the kingdom, with a red background and two stripes across it, one horizontal and one vertical, to cover her feet. Her red wavy hair was braided with mud and dirt as if she was on garden duty just a moment ago. She was holding the Queen''s dress high while her cheeks flared red through the mud and her large grey eyes pointed to the ground.


    She felt a strange chill around her as if winter suddenly arrived in the lonely port city of Alexandria. She looked behind her to investigate, but all she saw was nothing. Nothing but men laughing with roars as loud as boars.


    She looked in front of her again and saw the Angels dive from the sky, holding harps and other instruments while one wore heavy armour. This was the Council, she knew much about the Council. Or rather, enough to wholeheartedly hate them.


    In a mask of disgust and pain, she decided to shut off any thoughts about the Council and their ways, deciding to close her eyes and sleep through the ceremony.


    Hours seemed to pass until she first heard the Common tongue again after she had rowed through the endless Naemese prayers by thinking of a huge meal worth of her status that she hadn''t gotten in weeks.


    But the voice wasn''t the one she expected. It wasn''t the Queen, promising things that she couldn''t give to the people, it was a man, the same man who''s aura seemed to chill her soul to the bone and he didn''t sound that bad.


    For one, even though she couldn''t make much of his Northern accent, she realised he had knowledge of Naemese, an art that was exclusive to the Angels, because, by the tone of his voice, he seemed to be questioning what the prayers said.


    The armoured Angel called for the guards, something the drunken Queen couldn''t really do. The stewardess punched a guard in the face, taking his crossbow and shooting him in the throat. Chaos emerged everywhere, but she knew what she had to do. She ran past the man, raised her shield and pulled her dagger out, ready to protect the now somehow fallen Queen.


    The admiral was slowly walking towards the Queen, one of those new weapons pointed at the angel''s direction. "I am here-". The ground shook before he could finish the sentence and some metal object hit against some wall of the castle. The man punched towards the ground, spikes rising around them all.


    In a manner of seconds, his ice had killed a man and she watched him scream towards his death. The ice had pierced his armour and the insides of his body would soon be running out if the ice melted. Or rather, when the ice melted, Caroline thought.


    As the man approached closer, he mumbled something about a ship and a Crest- or was it Cresselya?- she didn''t know. He flung his right wrist and a knife-blade emerged from his blue coat, and flew into his hand, ready to cut her down. She could hear Diana calling for her and men getting slaughtered, but she couldn''t see anything, the ice was just too high.


    The Queen squinted her eyes to look at the man, but he was too well hidden by his shadow, with only his eyes and his smile showing behind it. "And to think I only came here to congratulate you and give your throne a light kick", he said and with that he flung his wrist forward, his blade thrusting through the air, followed by a chain that allowed him to control it.


    Caroline jumped in front of the Queen, her shield blocking a hit that could be fatal. The dagger went through the shield, allowing the man to pull the chain and her with him.


    With overwhelming force and probably the help of magic, the man pulled her body to him. Then, when she thought she could stab him with her dagger, he started slamming the shield against her face repeatably.


    She tried to stop him, but instead, she felt her nose and her mouth bleeding, her muscles powerless against him, unmovable. As if the man controlled the blood inside her veins, making her stand still.


    With one last hit following all the others, her body found its way to the ground, her vision slowly darkening and the cold marble floor rubbing against her face, letting the blood create a pool around her face, one that she hoped to drown in. And the reason was simple, she had been beaten.

 III. Menace To The North(east)

    Titanya


    The steel sound of the boots echoed in the long hallway. The portraits on the wall kept staring at her as she marched down the hallway which led to the Advisory. The place where all of her counsellors discussed matters of state too complicated for her own ears. The light of the sun rose between the pillars on her left, hitting her eyes as she walked. But Queen Titanya of House Sacrabus marched on.


    Two guards stood in front of a wooden door, the heart of her kingdom, and she couldn''t do anything but hate them for letting everything go so wrong during her Coronation. In the distance, the voices of her advisors were still ringing, reaching her by bouncing off the white walls. She knew they were mocking her. They were mocking her for all the things happened.


    Her memories of the events, as poor as they were, made her feel ashamed. Their pieces were still flying around her mind, unsure of where they fit.


    As her boot tapped the white marble once more, she heard the guards whisper amongst themselves. They were telling stories of how she fainted during her Coronation, making her memories hit her like a tower falling on a horse.


    She remembered the Wolf of Darlan, Caroline, falling down on the ground, with her shield pounding against the floor. She remembered the eyes of the Northerner, shining in the colour of ice under the shadow of his pointy hat. She remembered the fear in her soul when he used magic against her soldiers.


    He was the only lowborn wizard she had ever seen and the idea of more people discovering abilities like that scared her. She remembered her Queensguard swarming the room, forcing the Northerner''s men into a more defensive position. She remembered Angels dying everywhere, only her friend, Elyanna, managing to keep living. She didn''t know how the rest of the Angels fell, but she knew they did.


    She remembered a hand taking the Cup that held her father''s ashes away from the altar. She remembered the hand throwing the ashes on the ground, a shade of purple smoke rising where they touched the ground, releasing a bitter smell of death. She remembered the ground shaking and cannonballs flying through the windows. War had reached her home... and she was powerless against it.


    The doors of the chamber were pushed open in front of her. All of the voices she heard while she had been marching down the hall, into this room, were cut by her entrance in it. She threw her eyes around, trying to find the light of the sun, but the only light she found was one of a few aromatic candles, smelling like the well-dressed whores of Alexandria. The sudden change made her eyes sting as if they were being burned.


    Her counsellors were all sitting around a wooden table, filled with foods and wine. Those petty men dared eat and drink during the most important meeting they had ever attended, just the thought of that made her former rage grow even further. Her blue eyes shining like the night in the candlelight, staring down at her Counsel.


    She saw her Marshall, her Constable and the Master of Horse sitting on the right wing of the table. Their fingers were covered in grease and oil that ran down from the chickens and their beards covered with spilt wine from the shock of her entrance. Only the Spymistress stood out, her hand over a candle, ready to grip the flame.


    On the left wing of the table sat her Doorward, her Treasurer, the Justiciar, the Almoner and the Falconer, who were all buried in their respective scrolls. She knew that they were trying to make sense out of all their collected information and report it to her, or at least trying to look as if they were.


    At the very end of the table, sat her father''s Hand, Lord Alcheor Albsburg of High Hall, distinguishable by his red whiskers and the green hue of his eyes that glittered in the dim light of the room. He was a fat man, with his fingers being thicker than the hilt of her father''s sword. His head was shaved clean, letting only the whiskers connect under his chin. His ears were filled with tufts of red and yellow hair, dirty from the wax inside them.


    This old, fat man was her greatest advisor, making most decisions for her father and now for her as she slept, ate and enjoyed the showers of the Summer. Shame ran through her like a jolt at the thought.


    He was known as a warlord, second only to his brother, without ever entering the field of battle himself. Without ever raising a sword to protect his honour. He and her father were fostered in the same Castle so he was her father''s only "brother", which made him the most plausible Advisor.


    She noticed three of her council members were missing from the table. This brought a thought to her: How many more counsellors might just not be here? Counsellors I have never met and counsellors I will never meet after the fiasco that was my coronation...


    But she knew the Legends surrounding some of the men present. Men who now looked like they were just old and incompetent if nothing else.


    She knew the stories of her Constable, Archgeneral Zyon Lothbraeck leading her father''s armies in the battles of the Woodstring and High Hall, personally killing the Usurper of the Alexandrian throne in the latter. She knew the stories of her Treasurer, Lord Boar Alchaer who seemed to be able to find Gold on trees. And most of all, she knew the stories of her uncle and Falconer, Lord Faemon Sacrabus capturing a giant within his traps, now too old to even move his own legs.


    She couldn''t spot the Captain of her Queensguard, or her sister, Harrietta the Mistress of Magic, in fact, she hadn''t seen them at all in the three days that had passed since the incident at the Coronation.


    "My lords," her voice was stiff and heavy as if she had drunk her father''s ashes, for she hadn''t used it in the past few days. Days which she had spent trying to find excuses to not attend her meetings with the peasantry. "it may be arrogant of me to ask, but I would like to know the situation in which my kingdom is right now", her tone was the one of pure anger, filled with sarcasm and hatred.


    Those charlatans before her had brought her siblings to their deaths, that much she knew. She wasn''t going to let them do the same to her. She was captivated by anger, her mind''s eye only thinking about the various ways she could order them executed, yet, through executing them or even taking their positions away they would try to depose her with someone who wouldn''t. Just as they did with her father.


    Her head felt like a cauldron of thoughts and anger as if it had been swollen a thousand times its size. As if it was filled with her own blood and anger and then, before these thoughts had even been processed, her head shrunk again to its normal size, leaving her with drums in her ears and a cup of wine in her hand.


    Lord Boar cleared his throat, before his childish voice rang in her ears, making her think that it didn''t fit his wide shoulders and tall stance, "M''lady, it seems that some of your Vassals have stopped paying us taxes, yet, with the gold we seized from the Alchaeran Treasury our finances are doing better than they have been in the last century. This could allow us to pay back our loans to the bank of High Hall and be free of the burden that weighs us along with the rest of the Kingdoms", his face was long, like that of a horse and his crooked teeth seemed as though they would be blown off by talking.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Like most people in her Kingdom, his hair could''ve once been the colour of the morning sun in the Summer. His eyes still had the beautiful colour of the bright blue sky, filled with soft white and grey clouds. The man wasn''t older than fifty, yet he looked older than the most as if he were closer to ninety. He always looked so exhausted by the time he had spent in this counsel, so exhausted, in fact, that she thought of letting him go back to his home. But then she remembered.


    She remembered that he was referring to a situation that had developed during the Alchaeran Revolt. It had been an attempt of some far relatives of her, men of House Alchaer, used their coinage to buy over Houses to revolt against her father. It had been his house. He wasn''t to be trusted.


    These wars had been complicated, she usually mixed up the names of Acheor Albsburg and many men of House Alchaer, but all she really had to know, is that her father had accumulated much wealth for her before her advisors ended the war to honour his death. "Well, instead, we could force our vassals to give us the taxes they owe us or find someone who will", she told him, "Lord Lothbraeck, how many troops are ready to march?"


    But instead of him speaking it was the Spymistress'' voice that filled the room. "Your Grace, my spies inform me that the Rebels prevent the Northeastern Houses from sending envoys and armies. If there is any need for bloodshed, these Houses, which include House Kilwin and House Thover will back us with everything they have to beat back the menace that is this Rebellion" her voice filled the room with darkness, even if her words were filled with light. They made her heart feel heavy in her chest and she didn''t know why.


    The woman was dressed in her red silks, with her golden rings on her fingers and the silver mask over her face, expanding outward in the shapes of the legs of a squid. Two eyes of violet shone underneath that mask, almost hidden by her black hair. The woman''s brown skin didn''t match her eyes, nor did her silks match the weather. But the Queen said nothing, she never understood foreigners anyway.


    "Menace?" roared Lord Faemon, his brown eyes glittering under his thick white eyebrows, "My Beauties could take their armies down on their own. But of course, they aren''t as incompetent as our good Archgeneral" he said, his deep hard voice mocking the other man. This man had seen winters come and go while he was out in the woods, training his beasts for war, and this made him the most trustworthy of her advisors. But her uncle was old. Too old and wild, having spent his life with animals and monsters.


    And his beasts were never used either. Due to this, their Lord seemed to be was growing tired of the endless mind games of this council. Titanya looked him up and down, thinking how much he looked like a sorcerer rather than her Royal uncle who had refused to take the throne, even if he was older than her father.


    A golden chain linked a brown cloak on his back and another was hanging around his neck with a closed eye carved upon it. It was fashioned in the shape of a tiny animal, something that looked much like a gryphon or a hound. But she couldn''t see what it was. The only thing he could see was its crimson light in the darkness that surrounded it.


    Unlike most of his family members, he had soft brown eyes that seemed tired. Having the face of a man who spent endless hours crying. Crying for his family. Crying for his people. Crying for the end of all wars. But for all his crying, he was a Firestarter.


    Due to his words, all of the other Lords and Ladies started throwing insults at each other. Insults which were hidden behind sweet words of irony. Insults blessed by all of their Gods above. Insults blessed by Naem, Sarakh and the Night''s Wolf. Insults on the name of the Kingdom of Alexandria. Her Kingdom.


    The Queen cleared her throat and cupped her hands under her belt, her eyes swaying from one Lord to another. "My lords!" she said to them, her voice thundering and echoing through the room.


    But they... they didn''t listen and they certainly didn''t stop. They seemed to think she was weak and powerless. And at this moment, the Queen thought the exact same thing.


    "My Lords," chanted Titanya once more. Her patience was running thin, her blood boiling in her veins as she spoke, they were making their only ruler feel weak. She had to take action, she had to show them her strength. She had to surprise them. "How many soldiers can you provide me with within the next month?" she said, as loudly as she could without shouting.


    Suddenly, all eyes turned to her. A hard silence fell upon the Chamber, captivating. It took a while before anyone said anything and it was her Hand, Lord Alcheor, "My lady, we can provide you with 30.000 war veterans from the war we just ended and 10.000 fresh recruits within the next month, including those provided by our vassals, enough to overpower our enemies", his voice was trembling, cracking... weak. This was a clear sign of his lies trying to overcome her.


    She wasn''t going to tolerate such lies!


    "Make them 30.000 and one veterans, my good Lord, you shall be riding on the first line with your Queen!" she announced, a sadistic smile lining her lips. She finally had him but she knew it wasn''t going to last long.


    "But, my lady, you never had any military experience, why would you not let me lead your troops instead?" he tried, his voice now filled with fear and despair. His eyelashes started batting the flowing sweat away from his eyes. His skin seemed to turn pale and his eyes lost their life. She loved seeing this, as much as she loved a good tournament.


    "A whole month is more than most people get to learn how to handle a sword before their first battle", said the Queen, before looking at her Marshall. "Ser Zaque, I suppose you will be the one training us?" she said, eyeing her Marshall carefully.


    He was a huge man, with a black beard that covered half his face and raced down his muscular body. He couldn''t be older than her father, a mere 18 name days older than her, but he seemed as if he could crush him in two if he ever wanted to. But her father had something that this brute of a man didn''t. He had magic.


    She looked over the table, at the end of the chamber, where the sigil of her House stood, unbroken. It was a golden Falcon, with its wings spread left and right. It was flying over a burning field, with ashes where the fire had started.


    Those ashes simply marked two lines, one horizontal and one vertical, signifying the immortality of her house. She hated this sigil. It was perfect for her ancestors but not her. No, she was New Blood.


    When all of her ancestors of the Old Ways died, she was going to change it into something more unique. She was surely looking forward to that day.


    She eyed her advisors. Now, none of them dare speak, not her Hand, not her Archgeneral and certainly not the scorpion that was her Spymistress. They had underestimated her, started fighting in front of her, ignoring her questions. This would happen no more. Or so she hoped.


    Finally, her Marshall found his rusty voice again, letting it cut through her like a sharpened knife as it echoed in her ears. "Of course, m''lady, yer command is me duty", he said, before standing up, coming closer and giving her a large bow.


    His accent was that of a Northerner, thick and fast, with vowels being pulled here and there, stretched to match the zaniness of the words being spoken. It was lighter than the Northman''s accent but still hard to understand. Maybe this was a valid reason to rid of him. Maybe not. She would have to wait and see.


    Up close, she could see the parts of his bare skull in his thick black hair. She could see the scars across his face and hands. She could see the thick armour that was covering all of his body and the beard that was divided into three large braids, touching the floor as he bowed.


    "Rise, my good Ser, for you are my master from this day forward. You are dismissed, for now, we shall see each other in three moments. My hopes are that you shall have something prepared", she chanted, watching him slowly rise and give her a small grin, letting her see a few missing teeth across his large face. His eyes glittered in a hue of blue, ice filling them as he raised his hand, maybe to place his hand on her shoulder, before putting it back down.


    "Oh, I will m''lady, don''t ye worry", he chanted, before rushing out of the room. His black furry cape rushing behind him. The cape that was the weirdest thing about the man. Even in the middle of Summer, when the sun could burn your skin off entirely, the man wore his cape, without a single drop of sweat falling from his chin.


    She eyed the rest of her advisors and listened to them for next couple of hours, learning about her Kingdom''s situation. They had 8 million Golden Darls in the Royal Treasury, which would be enough to get the Kingdom through twenty years of famine. Her horses had grown, her vassals were loyal and her laws were being followed. Everything else, except for the Rebellion seemed to go well, which made her mind start racing.


    If everything went so well, why did they fight her in the first place? Why did the Rebels stand up and fight the first Queen of Alexandria and her father?

 IV. A Ship With Weapons

    Draven


    Draven was rushing down the road while bells rang behind in the distance. The smell of gunpowder spread through the streets like a cloud of black mist. The screaming of babies and the shouting of the guards behind them echoed through the air.


    His band of warriors had by now reduced to a size of 15, or rather 14, as an arrow pierced a man''s neck. His brother was excluded from this number, for he had fallen behind, looking for something he didn''t know where to find.


    Guards, Knights and Military officers were approaching them from both sides of the Great Road, but also from the alleys that connected it with the entire city and the port.


    Downhill, he could see the crew of her brother''s ship, now under the command of his sister, Cresselya, fighting against the Guards and Soldiers that tried to board it. This made him wonder why they used their cannonballs in the first place. But before he could dwell in his thoughts, he had to survive.


    Unlike most ships in Cartago, the Golden Terror was one of the few that had embarked on the far land of Asakawa. A land upon which the blacksmiths made firearms instead of swords and the ships wore cannons instead of ballistae. And it also had the privilege that its captain knew a good smith, whom he had brought along with him, to create cannons for all of the Rebellions ships, few as they were.


    Down the Road, three guards in red armour and two knights with their House''s sigil carved on their plate armour ran towards them, eager to meet them and battle. As they ran, Draven''s eyes fell upon the sigil and its meaning. It was a silver anvil on a cloud of darkness. And something told him that he had seen this before.


    Draven threw an eye upon his men, their round shields and swords, axes and morning stars in hand, before getting the utmost marvellous idea of the day.


    "SHIELD WALL... CHARGE" he shouted and his men came closer together, banding their big round shields into one giant wall. For a moment, some stopped running and attempted to make an actual shield wall, but then they realised what he meant. They charged down the road, to give the Queensmen a good bash on the head.


    And that they did. From up close, he could see the steel chainmail under the red cloth with the royal black crown sewn on it. He could feel their helplessness and fear as they kept going forward. Draven knew that they were thinking about the countless punishments the Queen could put them through if they didn''t cut them down. Or, at least, if they didn''t die while trying.


    10 meters. He could now see the desperation in their eyes. He could look into their near future, one that both groups understood. A future that was covered in blood. Draven felt the impact burn through his right arm, on which he carried his sword.


    He didn''t know how it happened and had no time to think.


    He awarded his enemy with a yelp of pain and pierced one of the knights between two of the plates of his armour. This was enough to allow his sword to cut the right side of his neck, before kicking him away. His men did the same and, soon enough, all 5 men who stood against them lay dead on the ground. Their pursuers were now closer, too close for comfort.


    He and his band of loyal warriors broke into another run, to avoid the fate that had consumed so many on this day.


    They ran in front of the Black Naese, a temple dedicated to the worship of the New God, Naem. If Draven had the time, he could''ve stared at it for hours. The temple was enormous, with its black towers reaching up for the clouds.


    There were five such towers, four on the edges, taller than any other tower he had seen, with statues of Angels on top, pointing to the sky.


    The middle of the temple was circular, with a spherical top made of gold. A black statue of the Eye of Naem, with its giant black eyelashes and the heart gem in the middle, towered over this top. This was representing the two main aspects of the god, the Sight and the Love,  attributes that all of his followers lacked. But even more fascinating was the fact that in legend, this eye was the entrance to the Kingdom of Heaven.


    He had never cared about this God, Naem, but the more he looked at the temple the more intrigued he was by it. He had been running beside it for a plentiful of time now and it still kept going on and on, as if it had no end. It was made of something that looked similar to marble, with golden stripes engraved to it, creating patterns of runes and pictures of the various prophets of Naem with their wings on their backs, books in their hands or three swords above their heads.


    The Gates reached higher than the tallest house in the city. They were thought to have been built by giants who came from the Kingdom of the Sky. Yet, no such kingdom ever existed and as always, the smallfolk was wrong to assume it did. To reach the gates, any man, woman or child had to climb a few hundred stairs and then take off their shirts, in order to be allowed passage.


    Draven thought of all the people coming to this temple every day, just to be fooled by some Angels, whom smallfolk thought were immortal. His heart was beating like a drum of war, slowly and loudly. So focused he was on his hate that he realised he had been lost in his thoughts for a while and had passed the temple without even paying a look at the final tower.


    He was running faster now, making his way over the bridge that separated the main town and the port. The bridge was lined with pigeons and crows and other birds he couldn''t recognise, who all flew away in his presence. He could still feel the pain burning through his arm as he ran, forcing him to drop his sword behind him. And he didn''t have the resolve to go back and pick it from the ground.


    In the distance, he could see the bay, now red with blood and filled with corpses,  wooden planks and crates. He could wee ballistae and swords shining in the water, waiting to be collected and sold by scavengers. More importantly, Draven could now see the ongoing battle on the ship more clearly.


    Crimson sails moved along the wind, ropes spasmed here and there and two anchors kept it in place. He was facing its aft and right wing, watching the three rows of cannons peering through square holes engraved in the golden hue of the ship.


    It had been made specifically to be identical to the Red Stallion, the very first ship with cannons, which had been the flagship of the former Alexandrian King. His brother had spent an entire fortune to buy that ship. Until now, it had never failed him. Nor did it seem like it would anytime soon.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Aesther had destroyed the king''s flagship in battle and drowned all the survivors of the fight in their own blood before assuming their roles, one of the few things the Rebels could do very well. Well enough to not be spotted by their enemy until the last moment, at least.


    He saw his sister kicking a man into the water and onto a wooden plank. He could see her black cape flowing in the air behind her, its ends ripped and cut. He saw her grab another man with her ironclad hand and pierce her sword into his right eye while smiling at his screams. He could see her white hair as he ran towards her. They were caught by the wind, shaking and flying under a black hood.


    The girl kicked the man off her blade and then swung her right hand onto another. She drove the Dark Steel claws along his face, letting his blood paint the outside of her  Dragon-inspired armour.


    He was a mere hundred metres away from the fighting, with the guards of the castle on his heels, their feet stomping on the stone floor. Guards of the city were forming up around the ship, trying to board it. Knights and Lordlings were being slaughtered for trying to enter and his brother was still nowhere to be found.


    He and his men didn''t have much of a choice. They had to flank the guards and hope they weren''t flanked themselves. He looked around for Saint, thinking to her if she had any magic left. Nowhere to be found.


    As he ran, his right arm still pained him from the previous impact. His wrist and forearm were repeatedly sending a warm shriek through his bones, telling him to stop.


    Draven needed to think on his feet while sighing at how much easier this would have been if he had magic. "CHARGE!" he said, for the last time, pulling his shield in front of his face and hoping for the best. A hundred metre charge down a hill should do the trick he needed.


    His men were tired, though, as well as himself. He didn''t know if they could pull off another charge without someone just falling on their knees, letting the blood drop from their mouth along with the exotic foods they ate on the ship all the days it took them to reach the city. He could feel the sweat all over him, soaking his armour and his clothes underneath. The air was getting stronger now. The light of the sun wasn''t enough to warm him as the gusts of air swirled under his armour and chilled his bones, making him feel like an old man laying on his bed, ready to name it his deathbed.


    Yet, Draven knew that he had to push the men to their limits. They were supposed to be the best of the best, warriors of the Tribes of Axe. They were supposed to make it to the other side alive. And yet, so many had died up until this point.


    He didn''t remember what this bay was really called, but it was a beautifully haunting sight, with all the sailors drowning, their armour carrying them down to the seafloor. But the blood was surely the true attraction. He could see it even more clearly now, the whole area around the Terror was the colour of the sky between night and day, turning darker with each corpse that lost its way into the abyss that was the water.


    300 metres away from the enemy, they were moving fast, ready to drive them off their ship and board it themselves. Ready to help his sister with the defence until their brother arrived with what he wanted.


    But what did he want? He heard the warcries of his men, but he kept his mouth closed, concealing the urge to shout the name of his home, the Golden Terror, into the guard''s faces, even if it would scare them.


    That was the question that was running through his mind when his group of Rebels crashed against the mass of guards, slowly pushing them into the sea. The guards were standing very close to each other on the platform next to the Terror. This meant that a light push could throw the people up front, the ones who didn''t notice him, into the sea, letting them drown in their heavy armour, trying to swim upwards. That is if they knew how to swim.


    Draven was pushing at his shield, while avoiding the slashes of steel swords, trying to cut a piece of him and bathe in his blood. One of the guards made a push, to that, Draven smiled. He swiftly strode to the left, making him fall on his face before his men closed the gap and let him take care of him. Swift as an arrow, he kicked the man on the back of the head, hearing the cracking of his bones while he did so. And all the man did was fall to the ground


    He didn''t deserve to die, none of the men here did, but he had to, in order for Draven to survive. He could hear the screams of the men falling and the guards now a mere 100 metres away, but he couldn''t help but linger for a few seconds. He could see himself in that guard, trying to protect something he knew was lost. Draven felt the same way. He never cared about the Rebellion, mainly because he didn''t understand its ways, but he still wanted to help his home reach its destination.


    The guards were now only 70 metres away, his men shouting his name, while he lingered. Then, he snapped. He turned around, quickly took his shield in hand and, as his men let him pass, pushed the line forward with all of his force. This time, it went better for him. They started falling off the dock like flies, unable to push back. The fighting on the ship seemed to have stopped, as his sister and thirty of her men stepped out of the ship and pushed the remnants of the guards into the sea.


    Draven realised that they were helping them, when he bumped into her, feeling the dark steel burning against his skin. He looked into her bright eyes, which were the colour of clouds in the summer sky and then ran his own down her long white hair, which chose to form waves every now and then, and her black armour, which always felt smooth, yet at the same time, could cut him just by touching its sharp edges. Edges which sat upon each other, representing the scales of a Dragon, or any reptile for that matter.


    She glanced behind his back, saying no word. He looked around, at the soldiers of the Kingdom, now lined up behind a man on a black stallion. He was tall, with a war hammer strapped on his back and a shield in his hand, depicting a knight stabbing a dragon with a spear in front of a field of blood.


    The Knight wore a shiny silver armour and a helmet with the shape of a spider''s legs in front of the area of his mouth.


    He looked at his sister and for a moment, she did nothing other than part her lips to bring the cold air inside her lungs. For a few moments, she stared at him, before throwing a quick glance at her ironclad glove.


    "I see you have come to my rescue, only for me to save your soul from destruction", she said, before looking at her men. "BACK ON BOARD!", her eyes flared with anger as she yelled, making all of her brother''s men run back to the ship. "We are leaving".


    "We can''t leave, Cresselya!" Draven answered as he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him. "Aesther is still out there..." He could barely even speak, due to being overwhelmed by all the running, but he had to defend his brother. His breath was heavy and his chest ached, but he needed Cresselya to listen. "If we leave him now, he will either be captured or killed, let''s go back with our full force and save him. And Saint!"


    "Aesther is strong enough to take care of himself. As for Saint, I could care less if she ended in the bottom of the ocean. Now listen to me. We have to leave now before any Wizards arrive and sink our only way out of this port into the Scarlett Bay. Come on, hurry!" she commanded, as she freed her arm from his grasp.


    Draven turned around and dropped his shield onto the ground. He reached for his dagger and almost fell to the ground before taking a deep breath as the knight rode towards him. He could now see his red eyes shining under his helmet and his scars running over his mouth.


    He could feel the Lord''s aura marching with him and reaching into his insides. This warrior was the very thing Cresselya was so afraid of. He was the wizard that would bring the Terror to the ground.


    He looked at the sigil that rested on the man''s shield and smiled, before closing his eyes. He took another deep breath and raised the dagger to the hight of his eyes, smiling at the possibility of dying soon enough.


    And then, all masks came off.

 V. Trust You Sisters

    Cresselya


    Sweat ran down her face, filling her eyes and making them sting like saltwater. Her boots splashed inside the mud as she ran and ran through the endless forest that surrounded the city of Sanc Tuary. She could see nothing but the shadows of trees and the giants casting them. She couldn''t stop, she couldn''t hide and worst of all, she couldn''t stop crying. She knew she wasn''t crying because of pain and that she was crying because of what she saw.


    Along with the splashing of her boots the young lady could hear the screams of a woman. Screams of pain. Screams of suffering as her flesh was melting off her body. Screams of fear, not for her, but her children and all the people she loved. Screams of resistance, resistance to the strength of the King and to the flame in the eyes of her executioner. Cresselya couldn''t see that, but she knew. The seven-year-old lady Pourrait-Marteau knew everything she needed to know.


    She could feel her elder brother''s tight grip on her wrist, pulling her through the bushes and the shadows. His eyes were now scars of the endless torment that had filled the past few moments, scars she knew would never go away. Scars of endless the pain. Scars of the suffering. Scars that reflected her own pain.


    Her younger brother was back with the screams crying in his father''s arms. He was but a year older than her, yet her father had decided that it would be the right thing for him to watch. Since he was their mother''s favourite.


    But Aesther wouldn''t do that. Aesther didn''t seem willing to sit with their father and cry. No, he seemed prepared to flip the world over just because of the leatherbound journal that was in his left hand. It was a slim brown thing, in which their mother wrote her thoughts every single day. Aesther seemed to be hoping for an answer. One he wasn''t going to get.


    She couldn''t see his face very well, for her watery eyes didn''t allow it. But she could see his sparkling eyes. And she would never forget them.


    Eyes blue or green, depending on the shadows on his face. Eyes that never shone until that moment, until the moment when he felt truly lost. The more she looked at him, the colder she felt the air around her to be. The number her senses became. The more she felt like her brother would never love her again.


    Why would they do this? Why would they burn her mother? The girl couldn''t understand. All she could understand was the whispers of the approaching Winter. And all she would remember was the banner of the man who executed her mother. The Spider eating a king in front of a dark shade of blue.


    The air bruised her again and again, colder and colder until her world had turned to ice. Ice that froze her heart. Ice that seemed to make time stop. Ice that froze her tears as they fell down her face. Ice that would never leave her.


    It took her a few minutes to realise that she was on the ship, with her "bed" rocking left and right in the wind. The snores of shield maidens filled the entirety of the cabin as they slept on in the icy wind. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the snoring, instead of that dream.


    Ever since the Rebels had occupied the city of Darlan she had dreamt the same dream, over and over. She dreamt of the ice and the darkness. The fire and the screams. The cold and the woods. And it all ended with a pair of blue eyes.


    She dreamt of the day the screams of her mother filled the shadowy woods. A mother that had nurtured her and helped her through every second of the life she could remember. A mother who had fought for the future of this world. A mother who had been betrayed by a father she resented.


    Cresselya searched for beams of light in the cold room, but all she could see was the endless darkness of the night. She searched for a familiar smell, or a familiar hand to touch her, but all she could find was the warmth of the Dark steel around her scarred hand.


    Years after the day she had gotten these scars, years after she had put her hand in the fire, she could still feel them, limiting her movements. After that day, her brother had bought her the new glove, as a gift that represented her favourite mythical beast, the Gryphon. She loved him for that. But he was wrong about it being a Gryphon''s claw.


    She smiled at the thought of her brother and how stupid he was before he learned how to read. He couldn''t even realise that the glove was the claws of a Dragon. One claw that she then built an entire dragon-styled armour out of.


    She stood up and put on the rest of her armour, trying to think about the endless ocean around her and not that dream of hers. She levitated a hand over her head to check in any of her hair were flying, before running her fingers through them to straighten them down. She would never dream that dream again, she promised herself, but that was nothing but an enormous lie. She knew that very well.


    The armour felt as light as any that she had ever worn and as hard as any other armour made of Dark Steel. But that wasn''t the reason why Dark Steel was so popular and expensive. No, Dark Steel had the ability to eject warmth off of it slowly. So slowly, in fact, that legend said it couldn''t be worn for a century after it was made. Cresselya gave a slight grin at the thought of the first person who had tried to master Dark Steel immediately. In her head, he was so burned that he wouldn''t ever go near an anvil again. <u>But that was all in her head</u>.


    She tied the chain of her cloak to its pin, the pin that was there to hold it in place, and sighed at the thought she had mere seconds ago. Her feelings shifted from euphoria to misery once more and a voice inside her told her she was a monster. Maybe the man died, she thought, why would I laugh at a man who''s dying?


    With that thought in her mind, Cresselya walked up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. The stars filled her surroundings and she could see them all clearly. On a good day, she would try to pronounce their names under her breath. But this wasn''t a good day. This was the day her brother entered the castle of the Queen as an enemy. An enemy who was disguised as a friend.


    But when was he her friend, said the voice in her head.


    "Get out of my head, Saint!" she growled, turning around to spot the girl, but all she could see was her best friend, the Night Guard. Maurice the Night Guard was a fat man, around his 75th year of life. Her brother would make her call him ''Uncle Maurice'' and each time she would, he would sit next to her and tell her stories of.


    He would sit her down next to him and tell her about legends of Old. He would tell her about Dragons and Wyverns and Gryphons. He would tell her of Dead Men walking the Earth, ice and fire running from their mouths. He would tell her of gigantic masses of land and moss and stone in the shapes of sharks, flying through the air and spitting the first waters over the world, before crashing into the earth to create the first mountains.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    And she would listen. She would listen while inspecting the features of his face. She would look at that fat red nose, the long white beard and its tufts of black and brown covered in grease. She would look at his fat fingers, which usually grasped a cup of wine or the lamp he held right now in front of her. And then he would try and scare her! Blowing the light off and growling in her face. And she would scream and laugh and smile.


    "Why are you shouting, girl?" he said, his heavy voice filling the night. In his left hand, he had that candle of his which shone through the night. In the right hand, he held her sword, close to her face, as was customary.


    Cresselya didn''t answer. Instead, she looked around and sighed. "Did my brother sleep tonight?" she asked, her voice faint in her throat.


    "No, girl, your brother hasn''t slept since we sailed to this mission." he sighed before lowering his sword. "Or did you mean Draven? I am sure you didn''t. You know as well as I do that the boy has been sleeping endlessly since we left Darlan".


    That was true. Draven hadn''t moved from his bed in three whole days. But Cresselya didn''t care about him, not after he had sided with their father. And especially not after he and Lucian had killed her prisoners. Actually, that was a lie. Cresselya hated him wholeheartedly. Almost as much as she hated Saint. She shook those thoughts off her head and looked at her friend. "I suppose Aesther is in his Cabin?" she asked, softly.


    "Yes, girl." He stopped and looked around, making sure nobody was there, before continuing. "He is with our good Lord and godsent messenger, Lucian, if I remember correctly..." he said mockingly.


    "Thanks, Uncle!" she smiled at him, before turning around and heading towards the cabin under the starlight. She couldn''t see her way or the barrels and the cannons around her. She couldn''t see the red sails or the colour of the flag. But she knew where they were.


    She had to talk to Aesther. She had to make him see. Make him understand what haunted her at night. He was the only brother that she trusted. And he was being corrupted.


    Why would her brother choose to be with Lucian and not somebody able? Why would he be such an idiot as to trust a Fallen Angel? Why would he trust a former priest who had turned to bloodlust?


    She could feel the sails overhead and the watchers all around her. She could feel their eyes set towards the vastness of the ocean. And most of all, she knew that they were ready to blow any ship at the bottom of the ocean.


    She felt Maurice''s eyes on her as she walked, pushing the cabin''s door open in front of her. She felt her wild pupils shrinking to nothing in her wild grey eyes as the light of candles hit her.


    Two figures. were standing over the table she had helped Aesther build. A table that was carved in the shape of Carthago, with mountains, forests and rivers running through it. As she marched in she threw an angry glare at Lucian and held the door open for him to leave.


    The Angel had turned to her eyeing her up and down, his pitiful black wings shadowing his facial features. But she didn''t care about him. She hated him as much as she hated every single new friend of Aesther''s, every single person that had pulled him away from her advice and into this suicide of a mission.


    "Get out!" she told Lucian, still angry because of Saint, whom she knew was using Lucian for her pleasures and all she could do was take her anger on him. She let out a small smirk after her yells, her eyes still focused on the figure of her brother.


    He wasn''t a man that legends would speak of. And he certainly didn''t look like the fair heroes of the past, with their smooth, scarless skin and chivalrous ways. His hair was as black as night and his eyes as blue as ice. He had the stature of a general and the temper of a wolf in a sea of sheep.


    He had a scar running over his right eye, rushing down his cheek and reaching his jaw before taking a sharp turn and running across his neck in the area under his ear. A series of matching scars over and under his lips, indications of the tortures he had gone through in the past.


    Aesther pulled Lucian by the arm and whispered something about Draven in his ear. Lucian walked past her, his long and greasy black hair following him as he slipped through the door and closed it behind her. He said nothing to her, none of his stupid comments and none of his stupid remarks. He just left. And Cresselya was grateful.


    Aesther''s eyes settled on her after Lucian closed the door. They crept into her soul, pulling out her primitive instincts and making her want to run. But she held her ground, clearing her throat before looking down at the table. Under his gaze, she became very aware of the liquid drool on her chin, wiping it off before finally raising her voice again.


    "We''ve been on the Terror for three days, Aesther..." she paused before looking up at him "Three days that you''ve ignored me. Did you know that I am dreaming of Mother screaming while the two of us are running away? Did you know that I am dreaming of times when you trusted me? Why don''t you trust me Aesther? Ever since Draven returned from our father''s lair you have been pushing me away." She was frustrated, more than she thought she was. "He doesn''t understand our ways, Aesther. Therefore he will betray us".


    Yet, her tone was calm and focused. That was a skill  Aesther had taught her before he sent her off to look for allies.


    "You are dreaming of Mother?" he asked, before shaking this thought out of his head. "Listen, Cress. I understand why you may not like what Draven has become. But his counsel is valuable. As is that of Lucian and Saint. They all have insights on different aspects of the war while you only have my training-".


    "Is this not enough for you? Unlike Draven, I have spent my entire life building this revolution with you. I have almost died for it a million times. Yet I wasn''t allowed to attend the Council meetings for a year. Aboard my own ship, no less." Cresselya''s blood was now boiling in her veins.


    "Cress, there is nothing I can do for you in our current situation. We are going to speak of this again after I return from Alexandria", he commanded before sliding a miniature ship through the painted sea and close to the coast.


    Cresselya looked away once more, her eyes now stinging with tears of anger. "After our mission is over, you''ll either need to take me back to your court or find a new Captain for the Terror", she said before opening the door and marching outside.


    She spent the following hours on the Eagle''s Nest, looking out until they reached the city of Alexandria. When they did went down to shout her orders and prepared the ship''s defences. She then watched the crystal waters and her sweaty crewmates bounce around as she moved her eyes to the city. The city with its tall towers, white houses and gigantic Temples.


    She sighed and remembered days long gone, as she clutched her fist around her sword. She remembered running down the main Road and into the port with Draven while Aesther was coming into port with gifts from faraway lands.


    She remembered how much she had loved looking into the crates he had brought, seeing toys and swords and armours and jewels, all stolen from Royal ships. Why would her brother set her aside again after all those years? Why now that she was actually useful? She tightened her grip on the sword and then looked at the mission party. All the people she hated were there. All three of them were standing around her brother, while she looked at him from afar.


    Draven was oblivious as ever, his smirk showing through his ''disguise''. Saint, from her perspective, looked like her, dressed in the exact same clothes and armed with the exact same weapons. And then Lucian smiled under the shadow of his black wings. Or were they white?


    She felt Maurice and the blacksmith, Katamira of Asakawa, looking at them behind her. "I''d kick his face into the open sea if he wasn''t your brother", said the foreigner, her thick, choppy accent shining through.


    "You can kick him into the open sea right now for all I care!" she said with her face forming into a grin. "Make sure his armour is heavy enough, though. I want him to drown before he drifts into another long sleep of his".


    Katamira laughed, or snorted, for all she cared, but Cresselya didn''t bother looking at her. She knew the raven-haired girl was more than willing to do it, even though she took it as a joke. "Back to your stations, you two, we have to be ready for an attack...!" she commanded while getting herself to the stirring wheel.


    But still, what seemed like an eternity later, they weren''t ready for an attack. Because it came from the inside.

 VI. Cost of a Fight

    Caroline


    The sharp rocks at the bottom of the cliff were the first step to her death, the crash breaking her arm to smithereens, deeming her unable to fight against the strength of the current. The roar of the sea surrounded her as she yelped in pain, trying to reach the surface to breathe and scream. That was when the arrow came, piercing her broken shoulder as if it were a knife cutting a piece of paper. Her lungs were running out of air, and her heart out of willpower.


    And then, there was this instinct. The instinct not to breathe underwater. An instinct so strong that it overcame the agony of running out of air. It was no instinct that, no matter the pain and the struggle of reaching the surface, forced her to try again, one last time. But her body crumbled under its own weight, her throat and lungs burning as she blew the last whispers of air out, now waiting to die.


    Still, no matter how desperate Caroline was, she wasn''t planning to inhale until she was on the verge of losing consciousness. A nightmare which was going to become reality mere heartbeats later. Yet her mind told her to hold her breath, ready to die. And her body told her that she was dying and that she had to take a deep breath.


    She could see the light sparkling on the water and her blood twirling inside it, escaping her in small lines of red and fading into the night. She could feel the rocks below her piercing her back. She could taste the salt of the open ocean, the sweet kiss of the reality of her dire situation. Who knew that this was going to be the last thing she saw... the last thing she felt... the very last thing before...


    That was when the only thing more unpleasant than running out of air took place, with her senses still barely awake, ready to feel the crucifying pain of inhaling water with the first involuntary breath. This was how the drowning began, but not how it ended. She was afraid now, screaming in pain in the middle of the sea. She didn''t want to die, but the screams only made her die faster and more painfully, aiding the water in the attempt to take her life. But that still wasn''t the end.


    A spasmodic breath dragged water into her mouth and windpipe, water flooded her lungs and ended any chance of air reaching her insides, even if she managed to reach the surface. Her heart was pounding harder now, trying to get any air it could find to the rest of her body. Her organs burned as the invisible poison reached every single one of them through her blood.


    The pressure was pushing her from all sides, making her feel like she was being trapped in a world she couldn''t move, breathe or escape. A world in which pain was the only state of being, and being was just another way to die. The edges of reason were blurring in this strange universe and fear was clawing deep inside her stomach, tears mixing with the water around her. The tide had taken over her... she was at its mercy


    Here, half-conscious and approaching her death, in no position to fight her way back up to the surface, she could just witness herself dying in the middle of the cold night. And how the very process of drowning made it harder and harder not to drown, much like how crossing her and trying to fight back against her would have resulted in your wounds being deeper and deeper, but not lethal enough to release you from the pain. But that was when she was still alive.


    Darkness was taking over her, as she gave up any and all fight, giving her body to the Gods of the Sea, who were punishing her for not being a true Darlean. Punishing her with more and more pain, which outweighed her dying senses. As her panic faded into numbness, slowly decreased, echoing around her like an anvil echoing on metal. One... last... ti-


    The only feeling worse than drowning was the feeling of that same pain after she gasped for air in her room, her body failing her almost immediately afterwards, before she let it fall against the wooden structure of the bed, listening to her bones crack.


    Her breath was heavy. Her chest pounded in pain. The room around her was filled with blinding light and warmth but even so, on the inside, she only wished that her nightmare came true. That was when the bells started ringing in the distance.


    They echoed inside her room, and they echoed inside her head, making the pain shoot down to her entire body. She put her hand over her eyes to be able to look around, looking for the window that was the cause of her most recent distress. She attempted to stand up, only for her muscles to give up on her, letting her fall to the ground. "How long have I been sleeping", she attempted, before realising that her voice was lost. She attempted to push herself up, but to no avail, as if her muscles were unable to so much as flinch, with the ones that did feeling like repeated stabs of agony.


    The second attempt was more successful, but nonetheless, a failure filled with a spark of pain through her entire upper body, forcing her to try again and again. She looked around the room, only to see her armour sitting on its stand, her sword next to it and her shield broken in half underneath.


    "No", she whispered, pulling herself towards the shield. "This can''t be happening", she cried, now fighting through the pain, pushing herself up and balancing herself by placing her hand on the bed.


    She limbed towards the broken shield, the last relic of her family that wasn''t in the hands of her father and brother, the only relic she got to hold herself. And she managed to get it broken in a fight against. In a fight that was worse than drowning. In a fight where she had no way to defend herself.


    He had used her own body against herself, she realised as she picked up the two pieces of the shield and held them against her chest, letting the tears make their way down her face and onto the wooden floor. She was a bigger failure than she thought she was. Who knew how many of her men she had gotten killed due to her incompetence...


    She gave a light scream and blindly threw one piece of the shield to her left. Which was enough to prompt her Red Guards to rush into the room, just as she fell on the ground, her sobs only covered by the coldness of the repeating bell, echoing like the hammer of a blacksmith hit an anvil over the city.


    The moment when she realised that her men were in the room, she held back the tears, only to give an involuntary whimper instead, before looking at them directly. They were talking to her, trying to tell her something, but she wasn''t listening she just wanted one of them to stab her through the heart to end the shame that she brought to her people.


    But still, none of the guards even dared come close to her, pick her up or otherwise, as they feared that they would lose their lives in the process. "How many?" she asked them, her voice weak yet as stable as the highest buildings of the Empire.


    "What do you mean, Captain?", asked one of the two men. She didn''t care who it was, though, and her eyes were too blurry for her to look at him even if she did. Blurry from the tears and the blinding light that still dominated the room around her.


    "How many are dead?" she whispered, unable to keep the stability that her voice had during the first question.


    "Captain, I-I cannot understand", said the Guard to her, his voice trembling and showing the sheer amount of fear that her mere presence put in him.


    "HOW MANY ARE DEAD, YOU STUPID COWARD?" she yelled at the top of her lungs, causing another wave of pain to jolt through her broken body, making her feel as if she was drowning again. Her body folded like a piece of paper due to the pain and she clawed her neck for air, before falling to the ground. Shouting had been a bad idea.


    The guards came dropped their weapons and shouted at her, but she wasn''t listening, she couldn''t listen. They picked her up and placed her upon her bed as a young woman with auburn hair rushed into the room, pushing the guards out of the way. Caroline''s blurred vision couldn''t make out who it was, but she felt the girl''s hand placed on her chest as she coughed her soul out.


    And then, the pain in her lungs was gone. Not all pain, mind you, just the pain that came from breathing. Slowly, her coughing stopped, the water in her eyes was cried away and she could hear the young lady chant some spell on her to calm her down. Or rather...


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    At the order of the young witch, the guards picked her up and placed her on her feet as her stomach contracted so violently that she had no time to realise what was happening. Chunks of food covered in the creamy chyme from her stomach were propelled into the air and splattered the wooden floor and wall of her room. She heaved again and once more the floor was sprayed. Now she could not move forward without stepping on her own puke and she was feeling weak.


    She sank to her knees against the strength of the two guards that held her up and retched until only clear liquid was coming up. Her throat felt sore from the acid that was layering it and her mouth tasted of vomit. Slaves flooded the room to help clean the mess, one bringing her water and forcing her to drink, again at the order of the witch, as the stomach-acid stench of vomit filled her nostrils.


    That helped ease the pain even more, but now she was covered in vomit, with one of the guards having to leave the room to vomit as well. She felt even more useless now, but she still hadn''t gotten an answer to her question. It was time to ask one last time.


    "How many of my men have died?", her voice was weak and her eyes pointed to the floor, looking at the pools of vomit that she had created. She was scared of the answer, scared of the repercussions, but mostly, she was scared of having to vomit again so publicly.


    "Thirty-six died, more than sixty are currently in the dungeon awaiting their execution at the hand-", tried her soldier, before she gave into her thoughts. She had let thirty-six to die and many more to soon be executed.


    "At the hand of the Rebellion", she finished out loud. She was now determined to strike back at them quickly, without any help from her father, and burn their bases to the ground once she found them. They had humiliated her.


    "No, actually," said a soft female voice behind her. "At the hands of my ''uncle'', if you want to call him that, the Queen''s, my sister''s, Hand. They are facing the consequences of ''assisting the Rebellion'', as my dear uncle likes to say. That''s because they didn''t kill the Rebels or die trying, I suppose, but I don''t know for sure. My sister doesn''t know, nor should she, I am afraid, else she will try to have her entire council executed for High Treason. But that would be the end of her rule and also that of both our lives", she now recognised her voice from her childhood.


    This was Harrieta, the Misstress of Magic and the Queen''s elder sister, the most well-known wizard in the royal families, mostly for her ''beautifully adult'', as her men liked to say, body and cold, dominating personality. On any other moment, she would have to hug her and recall their past adventures in Alexandria, when Caroline still lived here, waiting for the moment to become a witch herself.


    This was the only witch Caroline respected because she was the only witch that used her magic to fight for something, instead of burying herself in her books for an eternity, achieving nothing in the process. But she couldn''t respect her now when she allowed such things to happen to men and to her kingdom''s allies.


    "You are telling me that you are punishing the men of your allies for something your own men are guilty of?" she spat these words sharply at her, before failing to stand up and falling on her own vomit. "Who allowed you to do such a thing? When my father hears about this..."


    "I am afraid, dear Caroline, that it was your father who gave my uncle the authority to do as he pleases with your men, as well as yourself. If it hadn''t been for me you would currently have been awaiting your execution as well, even if you are the High Diplomat of Darlan, a tittle that, as I understand, seems to have absolutely no value... or am I wrong?", she could feel Harrieta''s cold smile piercing her back, but before Caroline could threaten to kill her, she continued.


    "I never understood why you haven''t killed your father yet, he seems to send you to your death more often than most fathers do. Nonetheless, let''s get you cleaned up and talk about helping your men without getting us both killed". Caroline wanted Harrieta to let her alone to cry away her sorrows, but what Harrieta did was order some of the palace''s maids and slaves to make her a bath and clean her up. After that, Harietta told her what happened while she was asleep, hoping to fill the gaps before someone overheard them.


    "I was on the Southern frontier, in a lightning campaign against the Rebellion''s forces there, as well as their allies near Chalcedon when the messenger who meant to summon me to attend the coronation finally arrived. But I couldn''t come back, because Kalchidon had been taken by the enemy on that very day, stealing our supplies in the region and recruiting the population of the city. They somehow managed to go through the old system of aqueducts in the walls and imprison the garrison inside. I couldn''t just allow this to happen, so I took charge of the siege for the three following days." she paused and sighed, trying to control her emotions.


    "But I didn''t have the supplies to follow up with this siege, not in the middle of the Winter. And the Rebellion''s forces outside the city, few as they were, had cut my supply lines nonetheless, using swift cavalry manoeuvres to destroy the convoys that brought me food and ammunition. Then, the next summon came, when I decided that I will march my army back north to Gordium to resupply and come back to the city on horseback with a select 500 riders". She continued and gave a faint smile. "Turns out I was too late for the feasts and the celebration".


    Caroline sat up in her tub and looked straight into her bright green eyes. "Is this a joke to you?" she said, wishing that she had killed Titanya that day, just to have an excuse to make Harrieta bleed right now. Anger boiled inside her, hatred. But not one that was directed at anybody else but herself. She was the one who had caused this to go from a celebration to a bloodfest. It was her incompetence. Only hers.


    She wasn''t about to answer that question so easily. "As I said, I was too late. My sister was unconscious, much like you were, and my cohort came into a city filled with rubble, wails and public executions all 10 major squares simultaneously. I could see the bay, still filled with hundreds of bodies and at least 10 ships that were bombarded, from what I assume is magic, to the bottom of the said bay. The city was in disarray and the council had seized immediate control." She stood up, making Caroline realise that she was taller than her, with her green dress and her tiara making her seem even taller. She had skin white as a cloud and a long chin, on which red and black tattoos ran, forming patterns of runes that unsettled Caroline. But still, even so, she was hauntingly beautiful, a calm before the storm that was her personality.


    "I stormed into the meeting, asking for an explanation, only to be told that the rebels had attacked and their affiliates were being executed for treason against their crown. I asked for a number and I was told that there were 50.000 people that were scheduled to be executed, along with all of the guards from the ceremony since none of them could be trusted. They were attempting to kill one every twenty people that lived in the city." she went silent once more, her eyes turning into a shade of brown as she recalled something she didn''t voice.


    "Then, I asked to speak to the Titanya, they told me the Queen was gravely wounded and not to be disturbed. I laughed at them and realised what they had done before going out of this room and riding through the city to stop all executions on my own, making my cohort seize control over the execution platforms and telling the guards to report that all executions proceeded as planned. But of course, I can''t be sure that nothing slipped through the cracks. I have been releasing the executed into the woods but that will feed the ranks of the Rebellion in the process. But your men... your men aren''t quite as safe as you''d imagine since there is no reason to execute them publicly and some have just been used to feed the Royal Beasts."


    Caroline gave a blank stare to the distance and suddenly realised how cold her water was before closing her eyes. She could have gotten her men out of the city, but now, now she had no men to get out of the city. "So, how long have I been asleep?"


    "Twenty-five days. And you have also been summoned to Anatolia by your brother since twenty of those, a brother who demands that you bring him the Shield of Darlan for him to gift to the Tribes of the East. I tried to have my men repair it, but to no avail, the wood is too old to be put back together. I would suggest running off to Ashikaga with your remaining men and never coming back again, Caroline. Your father wants you dead, your brother soon will too and there is no glory to be found here for you. You are a brilliant commander but there is no future for our kind in Carthago." Harrieta told her, before placing her hand on Caroline''s shoulder, feeling her with a strange warmth that she hadn''t felt ever since she was a still a young aspiring commander.


    "That is not the Darlean wa-", she began, her voice trembling. But then she had to stop and look at the broken shield. The Darlean inside her had drowned over the course of a single day. Tortured and beaten, with the pain still inside her, she was no longer Caroline, the Daughter of Darlan. She was Caroline, its failure.


    "Neither is dying. And death comes for us all, so it is time for the Darlean ways to change. Now rest. I will be back in a few hours... and I will smuggle you out of Carthago because nobody is safe on this continent anymore".


    Caroline couldn''t argue with her anymore, her voice was too soothing to argue with. She just wanted to sleep as she heard it. And as such, she slowly did.


    But this time, she was determined to not ever wake up again.