“Today’s the day, huh…” Ashe murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she ran her fingers through the cascade of golden hair that fell past her shoulders. The morning light streamed through the narrow window of her room, catching the strands and turning them into threads of sunlight. She worked methodically, weaving her hair into two braids before twisting them into a knot at the nape of her neck. It was a practical style, one that would keep her hair out of her face during what was to come.
As she leaned closer to the mirror, her reflection stared back at her—a young woman with sharp features and eyes the color of twilight. But today, there was something different. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Ashe wasn’t one to smile often; life had taught her to wear a mask of stoicism. Yet, the weight of the day’s events had cracked that mask, letting a sliver of light through. Her violet eyes, usually so guarded, sparkled with an uncharacteristic brightness. It was a rare sight, one that only appeared when she was truly happy—or excited.
She sighed, a soft exhale that carried the weight of anticipation, and turned away from the mirror. Her armor waited for her, laid out neatly on the bed. The polished steel gleamed, each piece a testament to the battles she’d fought and the scars she’d earned. She dressed quickly, the familiar weight of the metal settling over her like a second skin. Finally, she reached for her glaive, the weapon’s long blade catching the light as she hefted it with practiced ease.
Ashe paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle. For a moment, she allowed herself to savor the feeling bubbling in her chest.
“A new King,” she said softly, the words carrying the weight of hope and the promise of change. And this time, her smile didn’t fade as she stepped out into the dawn.
Ashe hurried down the hallway, her boots clicking against the polished stone floor. The corridor was bathed in the soft glow of morning light filtering through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the walls. She was running late—again. The princess’s morning tea awaited, and Ashe was scheduled to be her bodyguard for the day. With the coronation looming, the palace was alive with a nervous energy, and Ashe couldn’t help but feel it too.
“Is that a *smile* I spy on you, Ashe?” came a voice, smooth and teasing, from behind one of the pillars. Ashe stopped mid-stride, her hand instinctively tightening on the shaft of her glaive. She turned her head, her violet eyes narrowing as she spotted the source of the voice. A young man stepped out from behind the pillar, his cocky grin as familiar as it was infuriating.
“That’s a rarity. Never thought I’d witness the day,” he said, his tone light and playful, as if they were sharing a private joke.
“Joseph…” Ashe said, exhaling sharply, though she couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“That’s *Prince*—or, I suppose, *King* to you now,” Joseph replied, striking an exaggerated pose. He spread his arms wide, tilting his head as if expecting applause. Ashe simply stared at him, her expression flat and unimpressed.
On the surface, Joseph was every bit the spoiled, carefree prince—charming, irreverent, and always ready with a quip. But Ashe knew better. She’d seen the man behind the mask. The one who snuck out of the palace in the dead of night to walk among the people, listening to their worries and sharing their burdens. The one who dreamed of a kingdom united, not by force, but by trust and understanding.
“You’re nervous, Joseph,” Ashe said, her sharp eyes catching the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Joseph’s pose faltered, and he ran a hand through his choppy red hair, the motion betraying his unease. “You noticed… Yeah, I’m nervous. From today, our dream moves a step closer to reality. Uniting the kingdoms… heh.” His laugh was shaky, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Ashe studied him for a moment, her gaze softening. “You’ll be fine,” she said, her voice firm. “You’ve got the heart for it. And if anyone tries to stop you, they’ll have to go through me.”
Joseph’s grin returned, this time more genuine. “Well, with you by my side, I suppose I can’t fail. Just try not to look *too* intimidating at the coronation, alright? I don’t want the other kingdoms thinking I’ve hired a one-woman army as my bodyguard.”
Ashe rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that crept back onto her face. “Come on, *Your Majesty*. Let’s not keep the princess waiting.”
Ashe and Joseph made their way to the courtyard, the sound of the princess’s voice reaching them long before they saw her. It was sharp, commanding, and carried the kind of authority that only someone born into privilege could wield without a second thought.
“Dalian! How *daft* Can you be? I asked for strawberry *snacks*, not strawberries themselves! Fix it. Now!” The words rang out across the courtyard, scattering a flock of pigeons perched on the nearby fountain. Ashe winced, her hand instinctively rising to rub at her temples.
“I’m not looking forward to playing babysitter…” she muttered, her voice low and tinged with dread.
Joseph chuckled, his easy going demeanor unfazed by the outburst. “Don’t fret, Ashe. It’s only for the day. You just have to keep her under control until the coronation is over—oh, looks like she’s spotted us.”
Sure enough, the princess’s head snapped in their direction as they stepped into the courtyard. Serina stood with her hands on her hips, her curly crimson hair catching the sunlight like a crown of fire. Her eyes—narrowed and sharp—landed on Ashe first, then flicked to Joseph. She huffed, her lips curling into a pout as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“I don’t need a watchdog, Joseph,” Serina declared, her voice dripping with disdain. She turned her back to them, her nose in the air, as if the mere sight of Ashe was beneath her.
Ashe exchanged a glance with Joseph, her expression flat. “Charming as ever,” she said dryly.
Joseph, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Now, now, Serina. Ashe isn’t here to babysit you. She’s here to *protect* you. There’s a difference.”
“Protect me from what? Boredom?” Serina shot back, spinning around to face them. Her emerald-green eyes flashed with irritation, and for a moment, she looked every bit the spoiled princess Ashe had come to know. But there was something else there too—a flicker of something deeper, something restless.
Ashe sighed, her grip tightening on her glaive. “From yourself, mostly,” she muttered under her breath.
Joseph shot her a warning look, but it was too late. Serina’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, her chin jutting out defiantly. “What was that, *bodyguard*?”
Ashe met her gaze evenly, her expression unreadable. “Nothing, Your Highness.”
The air between them crackled with tension, and for a moment, it seemed like the princess might actually argue further. But then Joseph stepped in, his voice light and teasing. “Come on, Serina. Play nice. Today’s a big day for all of us. Let’s not start it with a fight, eh?”
Serina glared at him for a moment longer before huffing and turning away again. “Fine. But if she gets in my way, I’m holding *you* responsible.”
Joseph grinned, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Noted. Now, shall we get on with the day? The coronation waits for no one, not even a princess.” His tone was light, but as he spoke, his expression shifted, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something more solemn. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves. I have to go meet my fiancée… your future queen.”
Serina’s lips curled into a sneer, her voice dripping with venom. “Go to your *queen*, brother. I suppose I will simply wait until the coronation.” The bitterness in her words was unmistakable, and Ashe couldn’t blame her.
The arranged marriage had been orchestrated by King Eldivain and the Elder Minister in the final days of the king’s life, a desperate bid to secure an alliance with the Kingdom of Oswain. But when Princess Alian had first arrived in Himlasia, Ashe had felt an unease she couldn’t quite shake. The princess was… unsettling. Her beauty was otherworldly, her skin pale as freshly fallen snow, her hair a cascade of white that seemed to shimmer in the light. Her eyes, though—those glacial blue eyes—were the most unnerving of all. They were cold, empty, and utterly devoid of emotion. It was as if she were a statue brought to life, beautiful but lifeless.
Joseph sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his sister’s words. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then thought better of it. With a final nod to Ashe, he turned and strode out of the courtyard, his footsteps echoing against the stone.
Ashe watched him go, her gaze lingering on his retreating form. For all his bravado, Joseph carried the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, and it showed in the way his steps slowed, just for a moment, as he passed through the arched gateway. She wondered if he felt as uneasy about the marriage as she did—if he, too, had felt that chill when he first laid eyes on Princess Alian.
But there was no time to dwell on it. Ashe turned her attention back to Serina, who was now pacing the courtyard with restless energy. The princess’s crimson hair caught the sunlight, a fiery contrast to the cool stone around her. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her expression was stormy, as if she were daring the world to challenge her.
Ashe sighed inwardly. It was going to be a long day.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of complaints and muttered grievances from the princess. Ashe had long since learned to tune out Serina’s tirades, letting the words wash over her like background noise. But when the bells began to chime—deep, resonant tones that echoed through the castle’s inner keep—Ashe snapped to attention.
“It’s time,” she said, rising to her feet. “Let’s go, Princess.”
Serina looked up from her teacup, her expression a mix of surprise and indignation. “W-what? But I haven’t finished my tea!”
“The coronation won’t wait for your tea,” Ashe replied, her tone firm but not unkind. With a dramatic sigh, Serina set her cup down and stood, smoothing out the folds of her dress before falling into step beside Ashe.
The castle was a hive of activity, servants and guards darting to and fro like ants in a disturbed nest. The air was thick with nervous energy, a palpable tension that even Ashe, normally unflappable, couldn’t ignore. It clung to her like a second skin, making her hyper-aware of every sound, every movement. The clatter of boots on stone, the rustle of fine fabrics, the murmured prayers of those hoping for a smooth transition of power—it all blended into a symphony of anticipation.
As they turned a corner, the pair was met by a pair of towering red-stained wooden doors, their surfaces polished to a mirror-like sheen. Ashe stopped abruptly, her gaze fixed on the doors as if they were a gateway to something far greater—or far more dangerous. Serina, distracted by a passing servant, walked straight into her.
“Hey! Why did you stop?” the princess demanded, rubbing her nose with a scowl.
“Sorry, Princess,” Ashe said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just… gathering myself. Let’s go.”
The two guards flanking the doors, resplendent in their golden armor, stepped forward and pulled the doors open with a low creak. The sound seemed to reverberate through the hall, silencing the murmurs of the crowd within. Ashe took a deep breath, steadying herself, and stepped inside, Serina trailing behind her.
The inner keep was a cavernous space, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with banners and tapestries that told the history of the kingdom. The room was packed with nobles and citizens alike, their faces a mix of excitement, anxiety, and curiosity. The air was thick with the scent of perfumes and the faint tang of sweat, and the low hum of whispered conversations filled the space like the buzz of a beehive.
Ashe’s eyes were drawn to the front of the room, where the throne sat atop a dais of gleaming marble. It was a simple yet imposing seat, its back carved with the sigil of the kingdom—a soaring phoenix wreathed in flames. But it wasn’t the throne that held her attention. It was the figure standing beside it, cloaked in white, her presence as chilling as a winter’s breeze. Princess Alian.
Ashe forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the task at hand. She and Serina began to make their way through the crowd, the sea of bodies parting slightly as they passed. Eyes turned toward them, some curious, others calculating, and Ashe could feel the weight of their gazes like a physical pressure.
Finally, they reached their spot at the base of the marble steps leading up to the throne. Ashe stood tall, her glaive resting at her side, while Serina fidgeted beside her, her earlier bravado replaced by a nervous energy.
The bells chimed again, their deep, resonant tones reverberating through the keep like the heartbeat of the kingdom itself. The crowd fell silent, every eye turning toward the front of the room as a figure stepped forward. He was an older man, his bald head gleaming under the light of the chandeliers, his full beard a cascade of silver. His robes, woven from shimmering silk the color of moonlight, caught every gleam of light, casting him in an almost ethereal glow. He ascended the dais with deliberate steps, his presence commanding the room as he turned to face the assembled crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice deep and sonorous, carrying the weight of tradition and authority. “Today, Himlasia enters a new era. King Eldivain has departed from this world—long may he rest in the heavens. And so, we must crown a new king. *Your* king.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, as if daring anyone to look away. “Himlasia has always held courage and bravery above all else. These are the qualities our new king must embody, for he will lead us into an era of light and righteousness.”
The Elder Minister’s voice rose, filling the chamber with a power that seemed to vibrate in the very stones of the keep. “As the Elder Minister, I hold no greater honor than crowning Prince Joseph as king!”
The bells chimed once more, their tones so deep and resonant that the room seemed to shiver in response. All eyes turned to the great doors at the back of the chamber as they creaked open, revealing the figure of Joseph. He stood tall, his head held high, clad in gleaming armor that caught the light like a beacon. An ornamental sword hung at his waist, its hilt encrusted with jewels, and a long crimson cape billowed behind him as he stepped forward.
The crowd stared in awe, their murmurs of excitement and admiration rippling through the room like a wave. Ashe, standing at the base of the dais, glanced sideways at Serina. The princess rolled her eyes, her expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant pride.
Joseph walked with measured steps, his gaze fixed on the throne ahead. When he reached the front of the chamber, he knelt on one knee, his head bowed in a gesture of humility and respect.
The Elder Minister’s voice boomed once more. “Prince Joseph of House Ullmark, do you swear to uphold the values of Himlasia?”
“I do,” Joseph replied, his voice steady and clear.
“And do you swear to pass those values on to the people of Himlasia, to rule fairly and without corruption?”
“I swear it.”
“And finally…” The Elder Minister paused, his voice dropping slightly, as if to emphasize the gravity of the moment. “Do you swear to put your body, your mind, and your soul to the task of caring for Himlasia’s land and people?”
Joseph’s voice rang out, unwavering. “I swear it.”
The Elder Minister nodded, a solemn smile touching his lips. A servant stepped forward, bearing a golden crown on a crimson pillow. The crown gleamed, its intricate design catching the light as the Elder Minister lifted it high for all to see.
“Prince Joseph,” he declared, his voice echoing through the chamber, “I proclaim you King of Himlasia—the Phoenix Reborn!”
With that, he placed the crown upon Joseph’s head. The room seemed to hold its breath as Joseph rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and regal. He turned toward the throne, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he approached. As he passed Ashe, their eyes met briefly. She gave him a small, encouraging nod, her expression one of quiet pride.
Joseph took his seat on the throne, the weight of the crown and the kingdom settling upon his shoulders. For a long moment, the room was utterly silent, the air thick with anticipation. Then, from the back of the chamber, a noble’s voice rang out, breaking the stillness.
“Long live King Joseph!”
The cry was taken up by others, spreading through the room like wildfire until the chamber echoed with the voices of the people. “Long live King Joseph! Long live the Phoenix Reborn!”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Ashe stood tall amidst the cheers, her glaive at her side, her heart swelling with a mix of hope and determination. The new era had begun.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of noise and motion. Joseph paraded through the city, his crimson cape billowing behind him as he greeted his new subjects with a warmth that seemed to put even the most skeptical at ease. Ashe, meanwhile, kept a watchful eye on Serina. The princess, ever the troublemaker, had attempted to slip into the crowd twice—both times Ashe had caught her, much to Serina’s visible annoyance.
“You’re no fun,” the princess had muttered after the second attempt, crossing her arms and glaring at Ashe as if it were her fault.
“Fun isn’t part of the job description,” Ashe had replied dryly, though she couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips.
After the parade, the keep hosted a grand feast. The great hall was alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, steaming pies, and towers of pastries, but Ashe found herself unable to eat much. A restless anxiety had settled in her stomach, twisting her insides and stealing her appetite. She picked at her food, her gaze drifting to Joseph at the head table. He looked every bit the king, his crown gleaming under the chandeliers, but Ashe couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off.
Night fell, and after escorting Serina to her chambers—amidst more complaints and eye-rolls—Ashe found herself wandering the halls of the keep. The castle was quieter now, the echoes of the day’s festivities fading into the stillness of the night. She walked slowly, her boots barely making a sound on the polished stone floors. The upper hallway was lined with tall, decoratively paned windows, and Ashe paused to gaze out at the moon and stars. The sky was clear, the celestial bodies casting a soft, silvery light over the kingdom below.
“Lost in thought, Miss Ashe?”
The voice, old and crackled, came from behind her. Ashe turned to see Dalian, the elderly servant who had borne the brunt of Serina’s earlier wrath. His back was hunched, and he leaned heavily on a cane, but his eyes were sharp and knowing.
“Dalian,” Ashe said, offering him a small smile. “Yes, I have quite a bit on my mind.”
The old man shuffled closer, his cane tapping softly against the floor. “Aye, I can see that. You’ve got the look of someone carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.”
Ashe sighed, turning back to the window. “It’s just… a lot has changed today. Joseph’s king now. Himlasia’s entering a new era. And I can’t shake the feeling that…” She trailed off, unsure how to put her unease into words.
Dalian nodded, as if he understood perfectly. “Change is never easy, lass. Especially when it comes to the fate of a kingdom. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many years, it’s that the best we can do is trust in those we believe in. And from what I’ve seen, you believe in that boy—er, King Joseph—quite a bit.”
Ashe smiled faintly, her gaze still fixed on the moon. “I do. But that doesn’t make the weight any lighter.”
Dalian chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. But you’re stronger than you think, Miss Ashe. Strong enough to carry it, and then some.”
For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, the moonlight streaming through the windows and casting long shadows across the hallway. Then Dalian tapped his cane against the floor again. “Well, I’d best be off. These old bones don’t move as fast as they used to, and the night’s not getting any younger.”
Ashe turned to him, her smile warmer now. “Thank you, Dalian. For the talk.”
The old man waved a hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it, lass. Just remember—you’re not alone in this. None of us are.”
With that, Dalian shuffled away, his cane tapping a steady rhythm as he disappeared down the hall. Ashe watched him go, her thoughts still swirling but her heart a little lighter. She turned back to the window, her gaze lingering on the moonlit landscape, and took a deep breath. The night was calm, the kingdom quiet under the watchful eye of the moon. But then she noticed something odd.
On one of the walls at the edge of the keep, a small light flickered erratically, like a dying flame. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but Ashe’s sharp eyes caught it immediately.
“That’s odd…” she muttered, her stomach twisting into knots. Her instincts screamed at her to move, and without hesitation, she turned and began walking briskly toward the king’s chambers. Her glaive felt heavier in her hand, as if it, too, sensed the unease in the air.
She had only made it three corners when two men dressed in Himlasian palace armor stepped into the hallway, blocking her path. Their faces were shadowed, but Ashe could see the glint of their swords at their sides.
“Can I help you two?” Ashe asked, her voice calm but edged with steel. Her grip tightened on the shaft of her glaive, her body tensing as she assessed the situation.
“Miss Ashe…” one of the men began, his voice quivering ever so slightly. “We were just doing the rounds…”
“Really?” Ashe’s eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing. “What’s your name?”
Before the man could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed behind her. Ashe glanced over her shoulder to see two more men approaching, their weapons drawn. They moved with purpose, cutting off her retreat and surrounding her in the narrow hallway.
The first man—Raul, as he’d called himself—smirked, though his hands trembled slightly as he drew his sword. “Raul, but you won’t have the chance to remember it…”
Ashe’s expression hardened, her violet eyes flashing with a dangerous light. She shifted her stance, her glaive held at the ready. “Raul… tell me what’s going on, and I’ll let you live.”
The men exchanged glances but remained silent, their weapons gleaming in the dim light of the hallway. They inched closer, their movements cautious but deliberate. Ashe’s mind raced, calculating the angles, the distance, the odds. Four against one. Not ideal, but not impossible.
Then, without warning, one of the men behind her lunged forward, his sword slashing through the air. Ashe reacted instantly, spinning on her heel and bringing her glaive up in a fluid motion. The blade of her weapon met his with a sharp clang, the force of the impact reverberating through her arms.
Ashe batted the man’s sword aside with a sharp twist of her glaive, the force of the parry sending him stumbling back. But she had no time to press the advantage—the three other men were already charging, their weapons raised and eyes wild with determination.
She dropped into a crouch, her movements fluid and precise, and swung her glaive in a wide, deadly crescent. The blade whistled through the air, forcing two of the men to leap back in alarm. The third wasn’t so lucky. The edge of her glaive caught him across the legs, slicing through armor and flesh alike. He crumpled to the floor with a scream, his sword clattering from his grasp.
Ashe didn’t give the others time to regroup. She surged forward, her glaive a blur of motion as she brought it down in a devastating arc. One of the men raised his sword to block, but the sheer weight of her strike drove him to his knees. His arms trembled under the force, and Ashe didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close, her free hand snapping forward in a brutal punch that connected with his face. The impact sent him sprawling, his sword slipping from his grasp.
He was wide open. Ashe’s glaive flashed, the blade slicing across his torso with a sickening crunch. The man fell, his body nearly cleaved in two, and Ashe didn’t spare him a second glance.
Two left.
They came at her together, their movements synchronized but clumsy with fear. Ashe’s eyes narrowed, her body coiling like a spring. As they closed in, she crouched low and then leapt, her powerful legs propelling her over their heads. She landed lightly behind them, her glaive already in motion.
The men didn’t even have time to turn.
Her blade swept through the air in a single, clean arc, and two heads tumbled to the floor. Their bodies stood for a moment, frozen in place, before collapsing in a heap.
The hallway fell silent, the only sound the ragged rhythm of Ashe’s breathing. She stood amidst the carnage, her glaive dripping with blood, her violet eyes sharp and unyielding. The fight had lasted mere seconds, but the hallway was now a scene of devastation.
Ashe didn’t linger. She stepped over the bodies, her mind already racing ahead. Whoever had sent these men wasn’t done yet. And if they were bold enough to strike within the keep itself, then Joseph—no, the *king*—was in danger.
She broke into a run, her glaive held at the ready, her heart pounding not with fear, but with a fierce, unrelenting determination.
Ashe sprinted through the corridors, her boots pounding against the stone floor. The signs of struggle were everywhere—overturned furniture, shattered vases, and bodies lying motionless in pools of blood. The air was thick with the metallic tang of iron, and the silence of the keep was deafening. Her heart raced, not from exertion, but from the gnawing dread clawing at her chest.
She reached the door to the king’s chambers and froze. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of dim light spilling into the hallway. Ashe didn’t hesitate. She kicked the door open, her glaive raised and ready, but what she saw inside made her blood run cold.
The room was a scene of macabre stillness. The large canopy bed, once a symbol of regal comfort, now looked like a stage for a nightmare. King Joseph lay motionless on the sheets, his eyes open but devoid of life, staring blankly at the ceiling. Straddling him was Princess Alian, her pale, almost translucent skin streaked with blood. Her white hair, usually pristine, was matted and dirty, clinging to her face and shoulders. She was naked, her form both ethereal and horrifying, and in her hand, she clutched a stiletto dagger, its blade glistening crimson.
As Alian turned to face Ashe, her glacial blue eyes flashed with an evil glint, a twisted smile spreading across her lips. The sight sent a shiver down Ashe’s spine, her grip tightening on her glaive as she took a step forward.
“What have you done…” Ashe whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of horror and rage.
The princess smiled, her expression serene, as if she hadn’t just committed an unspeakable act. She tilted her head, her voice soft and almost melodic.
“We just finished sealing our marriage, Miss Guardian,” Alian said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “And now… I am queen.”
Ashe’s mind reeled, her stomach churning with a mixture of grief and fury. Joseph—her friend, her king—was gone. The man who had dreamed of uniting the kingdoms, who had carried the hopes of so many, now lay lifeless, betrayed by the very alliance meant to secure his reign.
Alian rose from the bed, her movements graceful and unhurried, as if she were merely stepping away from a casual conversation rather than a scene of murder. She held the stiletto loosely in one hand, the bloodied blade catching the dim light of the room.
“You…” Ashe’s voice was low, trembling with barely contained rage. “You’ll pay for this.”
Alian’s smile widened, her icy eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, Miss Guardian,” she said, her voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. “You have no idea what’s coming.”
Ashe’s grip on her glaive tightened, her knuckles white. She took a step forward, her every instinct screaming at her to strike, to avenge Joseph, to end this nightmare. But Alian didn’t flinch. She simply stood there, her expression calm, almost amused, as if she were daring Ashe to make the first move.
Ashe took a step forward, her glaive raised, her eyes locked on Alian. But before she could act, something shadowy and indistinct materialized in front of her. She barely had time to register its presence before a heavy, unseen force struck her in the gut, lifting her off her feet and hurling her backward. She slammed into a pillar with a sickening crunch, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Pain flared through her body as she crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.
“Ugh… what was—” she stammered, her vision swimming as she struggled to push herself up. But then she saw Alian step into the hallway, her glacial eyes flashing with an unnatural light.
The air around them seemed to shift, growing heavier, colder. Ashe’s breath caught in her throat as the bodies scattered across the hallway began to stir. Wounds knitted themselves together, broken limbs straightened, and lifeless eyes flickered open, glowing faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light.
“How is that possible…” Ashe whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of creaking bones and rustling armor. She watched in horror as the last of the bodies rose, their movements jerky and unnatural, like puppets pulled by invisible strings.
Twelve figures now stood in the hallway, their faces blank, their eyes fixed on Alian. They bowed deeply, their voices echoing in unison.
“Queen Alian, how may we be of service to you?” one of the men asked, his tone hollow and devoid of emotion.
Alian smiled, her expression serene, as if she were merely giving orders at a court gathering rather than commanding the undead. “Well, it seems we have some intruders,” she said, her voice silky smooth. She pointed a slender finger at Ashe, who was still struggling to her feet. “That warrior charged into my chambers and killed the king. She also has an accomplice—a young red-haired girl by the name of Serina. I want them both dead.”
The guards—some clad in Himlasian armor, others in the colors of Oswain—turned as one, their movements unnervingly synchronized. Swords hissed as they were drawn, the sound sending a chill down Ashe’s spine.
“By the Queen’s orders, you shall perish, intruder!” one of the men shouted. He was Himlasian, his face familiar, though Ashe couldn’t place him in the haze of her pain and confusion.
“Wait,” Ashe said, her voice strained but firm. She clutched her glaive tightly, her knuckles white. “I’m not an intruder. It’s me, Ashe. Don’t you recognize me?”
The man’s expression didn’t change. His eyes, once full of life and recognition, were now empty, soulless. “I recognize no person by that name,” he said coldly. “Now surrender and die.”
Ashe’s heart pounded, her mind racing. She had no time to argue, no time to process the horror unfolding before her. Then, from somewhere above, a scream pierced the air—high-pitched and filled with terror.
“Princess Serina!” Ashe shouted, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. She didn’t hesitate. Ignoring the pain in her body, she turned and burst down the hallway, her glaive held tightly in her hands.
“After her!” came the shouts from behind, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing as the undead guards gave chase.
Ashe ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her mind focused on one thing: saving Serina. The keep was a maze of corridors and staircases, but Ashe knew it like the back of her hand. She dodged overturned furniture and shattered debris, her heart pounding in her chest.
Ashe rushed up a flight of stairs, her glaive gripped tightly in her hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The sound of clashing steel and desperate cries guided her forward. She rounded the corner and saw the backs of three guards, their weapons raised as they pinned Serina and an older man against the wall. The princess’s face was pale, her eyes wide with terror, while the man—Dalian—stood protectively in front of her, his cane discarded and a sword trembling in his hands.
The three assailants lunged, and Ashe screamed, her voice raw with desperation as she surged forward. But before she could reach them, a sword flashed in the dim light. One of the attackers crumpled to the ground, his weapon slipping from his grasp.
“Princess… stay behind me,” Dalian said, his voice strained but steady. The old man’s hands gripped the sword tightly, his knuckles white, his eyes burning with a determination that belied his age. His chest heaved with labored breaths, but he stood firm, a shield between Serina and the danger.
The remaining two enemies hesitated for only a moment before striking again. But Ashe was there now, her glaive a blur of motion as she cut them down in one swift, merciless arc. Blood sprayed across the walls and floor, droplets splattering Dalian and Serina. The bodies fell, their weapons clattering against the stone.
“Dalian… Princess,” Ashe said, her voice trembling with relief as she approached the pair. She glanced at Serina, who stood frozen, her eyes wide and unseeing, her hands clutching the hem of her dress. The shell-shocked look on the princess’s face sent a pang through Ashe’s heart. This was no place for a girl so young, no matter how sharp her tongue or how fiery her spirit.
Dalian, still clutching the sword, sagged slightly, his breathing shallow and uneven. Ashe’s eyes darted to his abdomen, where his clothing was stained dark with blood. Her relief turned to dread.
“Ashe…” Dalian’s voice was weak, but his gaze was steady. “What of the king?”
Ashe hesitated, her throat tightening. She opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat. How could she tell them? How could she say that Joseph—their king, their friend—was gone? That the woman who had sworn to stand by his side had betrayed him in the most horrific way imaginable?
Before she could speak, the sound of footsteps echoed from the staircase below, heavy and relentless. Ashe’s grip on her glaive tightened, her body tensing as she turned to face the new threat.
“We don’t have time,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “We need to move. Now.”
Dalian nodded, though the motion seemed to cost him dearly. He winced, his free hand pressing against his wound. “Go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take the princess. I’ll… hold them off.”
Ashe’s eyes widened. “Dalian, no—”
“Don’t argue with me, lass,” he interrupted, his voice firm despite its weakness. “She’s the future of this kingdom. Protect her.”
Ashe’s jaw tightened, her heart torn between duty and the desire to save them both. But there was no time. The footsteps were growing louder, the shadows on the staircase shifting as figures began to emerge.
With a final, pained look at Dalian, Ashe turned to Serina. “Princess, we need to go. Now.”
Serina didn’t respond, her gaze still distant, her body trembling. Ashe hesitated for only a moment before scooping the girl into her arms, ignoring her protests.
“Dalian…” Ashe said, her voice breaking.
The old man smiled faintly, his grip tightening on the sword. “Go, lass. And don’t look back.”
Ashe turned and ran, Serina in her arms, the sound of steel meeting steel echoing behind her. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.
The keep had two secret pathways leading out to the forests beyond the city—a last resort for escape, known only to a select few. Ashe thanked the gods that she had memorized their locations years ago. She rushed forward, her boots pounding against the stone floor of the dark, narrow corridor. The air was damp and cold, the walls slick with moisture, and the only light came from the faint glow of the moon filtering through cracks in the ceiling.
Serina clung to Ashe’s armor, her frail hands gripping the cold metal as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. The princess was deathly silent, her face buried against Ashe’s shoulder, her body trembling with shock. Ashe could feel the girl’s rapid heartbeat, a fragile rhythm that mirrored her own.
For thirty minutes, Ashe ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her muscles burning with exertion. The corridor seemed endless, a labyrinth of shadows and silence, but Ashe pressed on, driven by sheer will and the weight of the girl in her arms. She couldn’t afford to stop. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.
Finally, the corridor opened up, and Ashe burst into the cool, open air of the forest. The sudden change was jarring—the oppressive darkness of the keep gave way to the soft, silver light of the moon filtering through the trees. The air was fresh, filled with the scent of pine and earth, and the sounds of the night—crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze—felt almost surreal after the chaos they had left behind.
Ashe slowed to a stop, her chest heaving as she set Serina down gently. The princess stumbled slightly, her legs unsteady, but she remained silent, her wide eyes staring into the darkness of the forest. Ashe knelt in front of her, her hands resting on the girl’s shoulders.
“Princess,” Ashe said softly, her voice trembling with exhaustion and emotion. “Were outside the city.”
Serina didn’t respond. Her gaze was distant, her face pale and drawn. Ashe’s heart ached at the sight. This was a girl who had always been so full of fire and defiance, now reduced to a shell of herself.
“Serina,” Ashe tried again, her voice firmer this time. “I need you to stay with me. We’re not out of danger yet. Do you understand?”
The princess blinked, her eyes slowly focusing on Ashe’s face. She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough.
Ashe exhaled, relief flooding through her. She stood, her body protesting every movement, and took Serina’s hand. “We need to keep moving. We’ll find shelter, and then… then we’ll figure out what to do next.”
The forest stretched out before them, vast and unknowable, but Ashe didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, pulling Serina gently behind her, and disappeared into the shadows of the trees.