❛WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MAKE THE TEN MOST POWERFUL GODS ALIVE PLAY A GAME OF MUSICAL CHAIRS WITH ONE SEAT?❜
They fight - to the death.
They fight over three crowns and a throne with steel spiked maces. They despair a little more everyday keeping thei...
"You killed your sister, didn't you, Tristan Valmont?" His face turned a deadly shade of pale white. That was all the answer I needed.
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[TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHARACTER SUFFERS FROM MILD ANXIETY AND TRAUMA. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!]
[NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS A FLASHBACK. ALSO, GOOD LUCK FINDING THE HARRY POTTER REFERENCE!]
[TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO, DURING THE TREMAYNE - VALMONT FIGHT OVER THE RIVER DERWENTWATER.]
HARTINGTON CASTLE, ALNWICK, STORMHOLT.
TRISTAN
IT PLAYED OVER AND OVER, again and again, the memories refused to stop - the sounds refused to stop, the screaming - oh lord, the screaming refused to stop.
Strike. Kill. Move.
Strike. Kill. Move.
Move, my head urged. The screaming didn't stop.
It played over and over, the screams etched into my mind, yet it was unwilling to let the images, the screams go. Simple actions - walking, moving - they hurt. Survival slipped across the cracks of my soul, draining away like sand in an hourglass.
Screaming.
Someone was screaming.
I wanted to stop. I wanted it to stop. Wanted to be out, away - the walls were getting closer, closer, stifling me, choking me, as if cold hands of iron intending to squeeze the life out of my body.
Stop, I tried to cry out. Stop, let me go.
I didn't want to be a part of this war my father had started. I couldn't - I couldn't stand the screaming, it raked down my nerves like grated metal, unable as I was to drop the blade from my hands and stop killing the men.
"Help!"
There it was. The screaming. Again.
All these men I had killed, all these lives I had taken, all their cries for mercy as they fell to my feet even as I buried my sword in their hearts.
All the oceans in Endollon would never clean that merciless blood off my hands.
