No walls fortified the city, yet a legion of soldiers from every corner of the nation stood together, defending a dictator unworthy of their loyalty. Their unity disgusted me. They protected a kingdom steeped in corruption, a king who ruled with cruelty and deceit.
And yet, as I gazed at the city before me, I couldn’t deny its beauty. Countless buildings lined the streets, each distinct in their architecture, while the northern mountains loomed in the far distance, their snow-covered peaks creating a breathtaking backdrop. But I saw through the facade. This place, like its people, was rotten to the core, a shimmering illusion masking the ugliness beneath.
Snow blanketed the ground, thick and biting, numbing my legs with each step. The storm had arrived—not one of thunder or rain, but of relentless ice. Snowflakes fluttered gently from the sky, clinging to my hair, my skin, my clothes, refusing to let go. The cold wrapped itself around me like a second skin, but I barely noticed. My focus was fixed on what lay ahead.
I stepped out from the cover of the woods, the city's soldiers spotting me almost immediately. They shifted in their ranks, repositioning, raising their weapons in a futile attempt to prepare for what was to come. But their movements meant nothing. I felt unstoppable.
With a single motion, I lifted my hand, and without hesitation, fire roared to life. Flames engulfed the first wave of soldiers, swirling upward like an inferno, though far less chaotic. The fire moved with purpose, consuming them whole. The sound of crackling flames drowned out their agonized screams. For a moment, I watched, unblinking, as eleven bodies dropped to the snow with heavy, final thuds. The fire continued to smolder for a heartbeat longer, then vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the charred remains.
The remaining guards recoiled, terror in their eyes. They did not fight. They did not even raise their swords. They stepped back, as if the very act of breathing too close to me would bring their end.
I entered the city with a quick stride, passing through the outskirts where the poorest resided. The sights were all too familiar. Houses, old and dilapidated, barely standing after decades of neglect, leaned awkwardly against each other as if trying to hold themselves up. Market stalls now stood abandoned, their wooden structures rotting and sagging. Moss clung to every surface—walls, wells, and even the dirt paths that snaked through the district, now overtaken by weeds.
Silence. Not a soul in sight, but it didn’t take long for me to realize why. The ceremony. Everyone had flocked to witness the marriage, leaving this horrible part of the city briefly behind them.
As I pressed forward, a bridge loomed ahead, one that symbolically and literally bridged the gap between the poor and the middle class. It stretched across a frozen creek, its weathered planks dusted in a thick layer of powdery snow. I placed one heavy foot onto it, the snow crunching beneath my boot, and the wood groaned, creaking under my weight as I crossed.
Beyond the bridge lay the walls of the inner city. These walls marked the boundary between the commoners and the elite, protecting the lavish mansions of Chlodovech and the most powerful families in the nation. The Faust estate wasn’t far beyond those walls either, a place I had once known all too well.
It’d been a while since I saw this place, but as I moved through the city, memories began to resurface, and a mental map slowly pieced itself together in my mind. The winding streets, the landmarks—everything fell into place as if I had never left.
As I approached the inner walls, a sharp breath entered me. More soldiers stood guard here, stationed at the front gates, their eyes scanning the surroundings with boredom. From where I stood, I could hear the low murmur of a large gathering on the other side of the wall.
To the left, in the far distance, stood my past—another execution podium. This one was different, though. The area surrounding it was cordoned off, the ground beneath it scorched and blackened, some sections still smoldering faintly. I had done that. The remains of charred homes and ruined lives. It was hard to look at, yet impossible to ignore.
Shaking off the memory, I turned my attention back to the present. The guards ahead shifted uneasily, gripping their bastard swords and raising them in front of them. Their golden-bronze armor, so polished and regal, looked pitifully inadequate against what I was about to do. Without hesitation, I raised my hand. Fire ignited in an instant, consuming them where they stood. Their screams echoed briefly before fading into nothing, their lives reduced to ash in a matter of moments. They were nothing, and never would be anything.
The others, witnessing the carnage, backed away in fear, clearing the path for me to step through the open gateway. I moved forward without breaking stride, leaving the charred remains of the guards behind me.
The scene inside was different from the quiet of the outer districts. The gathering was enormous, not just hundreds but thousands of people packed together. They were regular civilians, many of them oblivious to my arrival, their focus entirely on the large, newly constructed stage at the front. Only a few at the back noticed the disturbance I caused at the gates.
I scanned the crowd as I pushed my way through, ignoring the jostling bodies. I had no interest in harming them. Not these people. The crowd was divided, the poor sectioned off from the elites by makeshift walls, an act of blatant segregation that made me shake my head in disgust. They were all here, waiting impatiently, their eyes locked on the raised platform.
The stage stood tall, perhaps seven or eight feet from the ground, guarded by another set of soldiers—different this time. These were dressed more elaborately, the elite, protecting the elite. The immediate area in front of the stage was reserved for the wealthy. My gaze fell on familiar faces in the front row. Gunnar, Avelina, and Aldric, all standing tall and composed. And then... there was Odessa.
Her head hung low, long black hair dangling. Bandages wrapped tightly around her body, her face marked by exhaustion and pain. The sight of her like that made my stomach churn.
I pulled up the hood of my jacket, obscuring my face. I needed to stay unnoticed, at least for now. My eyes then shifted to the man standing on the platform. He was tall but sloppily built, with a thick, stubby beard covering his chin. His attire was opulent—a purple velvet vest, intricately designed leather leggings, and thick protected boots. He wasn’t Chlodovech, but someone evidently important.
The stench hit me like a wall. The nauseating cacophony of odor, stale sweat, and the pungent tang of feces clung to the warm, stagnant air, completely at odds with the biting cold of winter settling over the city. It was suffocating, thick enough to taste, despite the snowflakes swirling gently overhead.
Squeezing through the crowd was a challenge in itself. People stood shoulder to shoulder, some packed so tightly that backs were pressed against stomachs, forming a near-impenetrable wall of flesh. Every shove and nudge I made was met with resistance, and I had to push harder, forcing my way through.
I finally made it to the front, where the makeshift barrier separated the classes. The crowd shifted here, more orderly, the rich standing a little straighter, their expressions more composed, though none of that masked the disdain they held for those on the other side. From this vantage point, I had a clearer view of the podium, its height casting long shadows over the gathering.
Just then, a sharp clash of a bell rang out. The sound cut through the air, and the effect was immediate. The crowd fell into utter silence. It wasn’t born of reverence—it was born of fear, terror swallowing the voices of thousands.
The man on the stage spoke loudlyy, his voice booming through the city streets, sharp and clear. "As proud citizens of this beautiful, grand nation, we all gather here today to witness an extraordinary moment. A single act that will change the course of history forever." His words dripped with false grandeur, meant to stir some sense of loyalty in the hearts of those who listened. "A bond that will forever improve this nation, and our new ally, Orerha. Heladon will finally rise to its great heights thanks to our fearless and brave leader, King Chlodovech II."
But the crowd remained dead silent, no applause or cheers for the man they secretly despised. Chlodovech climbed the stage with his usual self-importance, his head held high as though he were about to make history. The red and purple cloak he wore dragged behind him, and a golden crown—likely nothing more than an ornate fake—perched upon his head. He paused at the top of the stage, staring out into the crowd with his chest puffed out in mockery of leadership, taking his place on the left side of the podium.
"And we welcome, Princess Alba of Orerha in all her grace," the announcer said with a grand gesture to the right. A young woman stepped forward, her dress matching the gaudy red and purple theme, her hair woven into intricate braids, adorned with flowers. I could barely make out her features from where I stood, but her stature was petite, and her blonde hair glinted under the cold light of day.
As the bells rang out, the two tyrants stepped toward each other, their hands meeting in a rehearsed motion. The bells’ harmonious tones echoed across the square, further quieting the already hushed crowd. Standing just behind them, the announcer—a priest, I now realized—watched on with a smile, as though he were officiating a union blessed by the gods themselves.
"In the light of our mighty Llythyrra, in the absence of our disdainful Vollith," the priest intoned, voice heavy, "and for the hope of a forever happy life, Chlodovech and Alba are now joined together in marriage."
Our mighty Llythyrra? Who were they bullshitting? None of this was under any divine light—just the delusion of a nation led by false idols. The priest’s words, the pomp of the ceremony, the entire display was nothing more than a thin veil to hide the rot beneath. It was a spectacle of power, a farce meant to appease the masses, to make them believe in something that didn’t exist.
The crowd stirred, some with a smattering of cheers, though most remained stiff, their expressions frozen. Chlodovech and Alba shared a kiss—short, awkward, lacking any real emotion—before turning back to face the crowd. Only half of the people clapped, yet as no one spoke, the crowd cheered harder to appease him.
Chlodovech’s voice droned on, but I barely registered his words. Something to my right caught my attention. A figure perched atop a rooftop, steathily hiding. My eyes narrowed as I made out the details—armor similar to that of the Sovurn, a bow drawn tight, and an arrow aimed directly at the king.
It was a woman, her short black hair framing a face as pale as snow. She was poised, focused, and ready. She pulled the string back slowly. Time seemed to stretch as I watched, heart pounding. Then, she released. The arrow flew through the air, whizzing like a bee.
But instead of hitting its mark, the world seemed to ripple around the king, an invisible barrier deflecting the shot. The arrow hit nothing, as if it had struck a wall of air, and the ripple spread out like a stone dropped in a pond. What the fuck?
Chlodovech immediately stopped speaking, his self-assured expression twisting into panic. The soldiers on stage rushed to him and the princess, ushering them away with frantic movements. The crowd stirred, gasps rippling through the air, but no one moved. They were frozen, caught between fear and confusion, unsure whether to flee or stay.
More arrows flew from other rooftops, the twang of bowstrings defeaning. I glanced around—this wasn’t a single assassination attempt. It was coordinated. But every arrow, no matter how precise, hit that same invisible barrier. Every shot was useless.
What’s protecting him? My eyes scanned the stage, looking for the source of the shield. And then I saw him—Vondor, standing in the front. The fucking sorcerer, hands subtly raised, eyes locked on Chlodovech with concentration. It was him, using his magic to protect the king.
The crowd was finally moving, dispersing in panic as the reality of the failed assassination sank in. I pushed forward, determined to reach Vondor and stop him from shielding that coward Chlodovech. Every step brought me closer, my heart pounding, but hands kept pulling at me—people scrambling to get away, dragging me back.
But I pressed on, weaving through the chaos. My gaze locked on Vondor. I wasn’t going to let him protect that tyrant any longer. Just a few more feet—
“Alaric!” A voice called out, sharp and familiar, but I didn’t stop. Not until a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me out of my tunnel vision. I whirled around, ready to push them away, until I saw the face. Dunstan.
“You goddamn weasel, look,” he hissed, gripping me tightly. For a moment, confusion clouded my mind, but Dunstan wasn’t here to fight. His eyes darted toward Vondor. “Don’t do it. You’ll only give yourself away.”
I stared at him, almost angrily. “You... you left us,” I stammered, my words coming out as more of an accusation than I intended.
Dunstan sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Now’s not the time,” he said, his voice low. “I can get you to Odessa.”
Could he really? Could I trust him after everything?
I hesitated, but there was no time for doubt. “Fine,” I muttered, realizing the Faust's had already fled.
Without wasting a moment, we moved swiftly to the right, blending into the flow of the retreating crowd. Dunstan led the way, guiding us quickly. I followed, my mind spinning. We were heading in the opposite direction of the Faust estate, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. I didn’t know where he was taking me, but this was Dunstan—someone I had once called a friend.
Minutes passed as we slipped away from the crowd, ducking into a narrow alley between two buildings. The muffled sounds of panic faded as we twisted around the corner, the noise replaced by the hollow echo of our footsteps.
“They’ll have fled to their cellar,” Dunstan said sharply, his voice breaking through the distant commotion.
I nodded, realizing he was right. The Faust family had a hidden cellar, a safe room they used in times of danger. If Odessa was still with them, that’s where they’d be.
We ran faster, the familiar cobblestone streets giving way to gravel beneath our feet as we neared the outskirts of the estate’s protective walls. My heart pounded, as the cellar doors finally came into view in the distance—heavy, reinforced, and slightly ajar.
“There,” Dunstan barked, pointing at the cellar doors. We skidded to a stop, only to find the entrance already locked from the inside. Bastards.
“Dammit,” he cursed, frustration bleeding through his words. “I’m sorry, man—I tried…”
It didn’t matter. Raising a hand, I motioned for him to stop. With a flick of my wrist, flames burst from my palm, engulfing the cellar door. The wood splintered and shattered within seconds, pieces flying in all directions as the doors collapsed inward.
Dunstan took a step back, his eyes wide in shock. “What the hell—Alaric, how did you…?” His voice trailed off, a hint of fear creeping in.
I glanced at him; my expression unreadable. “What I’ve been given,” I said simply, then descended the stone steps into the cellar without another word. The stairs weren’t long, and the room below was small, but functional. Stone walls and ceilings framed the space, with lanterns flickering above. There were beds, storage crates, and a cluttered desk pushed against one wall.
But only one person was there—Gunnar. His back was pressed against the stone wall, eyes wide in fear at the noise. When he saw me, though, his expression twisted into a snarl.
“Come crawling back, have you?” he growled, his voice dripping with disdain.
I took a step forward, my voice low and dangerous. “Where’s Odessa?”
Gunnar laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Pathetic. Still looking after her, huh? Like a dog chasing after its master.” Gunnar tilted his head as I stepped closer, the arrogance still clinging to his voice. "How dare—" His words were cut short as my fist collided with his jaw, sending him crashing back into the stone wall with a sickening thud.
"FUCK—you—you bastard..." He winced, struggling to catch his breath, eyes filling with fear as he looked up at me. "You..."
Without hesitation, I grabbed him by the neck and pinned him against the wall, tightening my grip. His hands clawed at mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Alaric, what the hell?” Dunstan appeared in the corner of my vision, voice urgent, but I paid him no mind. My focus was strictly on Gunnar.
“Tell me,” I demanded simply, and watched his eyes widen as he struggled to speak, lifting him higher with newfound strength until he dangled helplessly in my grasp. When he remained silent, I pressed my palm closer to his throat, and a surge of heat began to burn into his flesh.
"Ah—ah...in...in..." He choked, his voice cracking under the pressure. I released him, and he collapsed to the floor, coughing violently.
"Chlodovech's palace... you... she... her, Aldric, and Avelina are inside," he gasped between breaths. "Chlodovech knew you were coming. Wanted to lure you in.”
I tilted my head at Gunnar, disgusted even. "You’re a spoiled fucking child." With one last look, I turned my back on him and exited the cellar, the chill of the outside air biting into my skin as I stepped back into the cold. Dunstan followed closely behind, his footsteps quick and hurried.
The fire had become too easy. Too comforting. In those moments, when the flames danced at my fingertips, I could feel the line between justice and vengeance blur. The power was intoxicating. I didn’t want to stop. Maybe I couldn’t.
“What was that, Alaric?” Dunstan's voice was sharp as he grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.
I swatted his hand away without a second thought. "Don’t touch me like that."
Dunstan’s face tightened with frustration. “You’re not the same person anymore. What the hell happened in there?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I muttered, stepping further into the snow, yet something cracked in my voice.
“You think you can just push everyone away, huh?” Dunstan pressed, refusing to drop it. “That power... that wasn’t you. What have you gotten yourself into?”
I took a breath, willing myself not to lash out. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
"Then help me fucking understand," Dunstan demanded, stepping in front of me to block my path. His eyes were wide.
"I—I can’t," I stuttered, the words catching in my throat as I tried to push past him.
"Why not?" he shot back.
I let out a laugh, though it carried no humor, more like a release of frustration, the sound swallowed by the cold wind. My eyes drifted to Chlodovech’s monstrous mansion in the distance, a hulking, needlessly massive structure compared to even the finest homes of the wealthy. Snow clung to its rooftops like an artist had delicately brushed it on, too serene for what lurked inside. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, blocking out the noise.
“Alaric—are you even listening to me?” Dunstan’s voice rang out, filled with frustration. But it faded, along with everything around me, as my eyes opened to find myself standing at the base of the palace's cold, rough stone stairs.
I had teleported instantly—it was a need, an instinct to escape the conversation. Dunstan... he wasn’t worth the breath anymore. He was the one who abandoned us, and now he had the audacity to question me? Screw him.
I stared up at the palace's massive doors, their intricate designs etched into the heavy wood, now barely visible beneath the layer of freshly fallen snow. The absence of soldiers unnerved me. This wasn’t like Chlodovech—he was always surrounded by his lapdogs, always hiding behind someone or something.
Each step up the snow-covered stairs felt like it could be my last. The ground beneath me was slick, treacherous, and my thoughts danced between the task ahead and the possibility of falling. The image of tumbling back down the stairs, cracking my skull open against the cobblestone below, played in my mind. But it didn’t scare me.
As I reached the top, the palace loomed before me like a frozen giant, its stone walls cold and unfeeling. My heart pounded, loud and erratic. There was no turning back. I hovered at the threshold, breathless, knowing that once I crossed it, everything would change.
This was it.
One last deep breath. One final pause.
Then I pushed the doors open.
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