Each year the Kingdom of Khearia throws a festival in remembrance of one of their most beloved kings who had tragically perished along with his wife and second son. His first son, Prince Fabian, was the only one to survive. Witnesses claimed his cro...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The disorganisation amplified in the palace. The corridors were generously sized but the confinement rendered any basic manoeuvres useless. The Ankaid army was better prepared in that regard; they'd trained for this scenario before. Waves of fresh Drykas soldiers— conscripted civilians who had fallen behind in their march and had only just caught up— were enough to keep the pressure. And, because Fabian had spread his soldiers thinly around the country's borders, things were seeming to proceed quickly.
ㅤJames couldn't help but wonder what Fabian thought he'd achieve by dissenting the Senate.
ㅤJames had followed them through the palace but, at some point, something began to feel horrifically wrong. He kept scrutinising his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, but he couldn't put his finger on what bad omen had warned him, and he'd proceeded until it became impossible to ignore.
ㅤHe hadn't seen Alex for a long time— nor Thomas, for that matter.
ㅤSomething was wrong.
ㅤJames searched for them and eventually found himself standing in a dark cavernous place, shouts of men perverting as they echoed back and forth, wobbling. No longer human, it sounded animalistic. Despite his blindness, those creatures began to threaten in the corner of his vision. James was frozen. His heart was pounding.
ㅤHe didn't feel quite like himself.
ㅤSomething attacked him, a knife flashing white like teeth as it swiped in front of his face. He scrambled with the black and confusing amalgam of limbs, defeating it without grace or ease, his chest heaving and stuttering.
ㅤHe wasn't scared of death— so what was it making him like this? What was he fearing? His mind raced and swirled nauseously, unable to pinpoint a coherent justification.
ㅤIt was too dark and he couldn't see. Maybe that was what was confusing him.
ㅤAnother shriek. In his panicked state, James retreated to a torchère and pushed it over, the flames catching and dragging along a thick curtain, the blaze chasing away the shadows as it lit up, providing light.
ㅤIn the middle of a high-ceilinged hall, a large staircase displayed Drykas soldiers as they went up and down. The very few Ankaid men that were present had been suppressed already. Hearing cries for help, James turned down the nearest corridor, chasing the sound. The screams were female.
ㅤMaidservants were begging for their lives, knees dirtied with blood where they knelt. The whole floor was pooled wet and dark, dead bodies in damaged lumps, shoved to either side by annoyed feet. The metallic stench bittered by smoke roasting like meat as the fire spread behind his back, eating corpses.
ㅤOne of the maids threw herself in front, demanding the others run. A sickening thud as a Drykas soldier smashed his sword down like a hammer, lacerating her front, her eyes widened with shock. Her scream sounded so familiar. It was like when the maids had helped him escape as a child. One had sacrificed herself.
