"What in the world is going on?" I screamed, my voice breaking.
Irene and Enoch lay motionless, drenched in their own blood. My mind rejected the scene before me. This had to be a nightmare. It had to be.
I had only stepped outside for half an hour. And now... this?
A sharp, suffocating panic coiled around my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The walls were streaked with blood, the furniture overturned and shattered. The air reeked of iron and death.
Then my gaze landed on something—a helmet lying beside Irene's still form. My fingers trembled as I reached for it. The emblem was unmistakable. A knight of Runevale.
Runevale. My mother.
This wasn't just a random attack. They had come for me. And because of that, Irene and Enoch were dead.
A hollow numbness settled inside me. Would they still be alive if I had never come here? If I had left sooner, would they have been spared? My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't move.
I dropped to my knees, reaching out with trembling hands, but what could I do? No amount of tears would bring them back. No amount of regret would change the past.
I wanted to stay. To bury them. To at least give them the dignity they deserved.
But I couldn't.
If the knights returned and found me here, their sacrifice would mean nothing.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back the tears. There was no choice. I had to run.
I pushed myself up, my legs barely holding me. Then, without looking back, I bolted out of the house, the cold air biting at my skin.
I had to survive.
The forest was a blur of darkness and tangled roots beneath my feet. Low branches whipped at my arms as I ran, lungs burning, heart pounding. I didn't know where I was going—only that I couldn't stop.
They wouldn't stop until I was dead.
Irene's voice echoed in my mind: Head northeast. There, you'll find a kingdom named Persia. Not even your mother's soldiers can enter another kingdom without a formal notice.
So I ran in that direction, clinging to the only hope I had. But who was I kidding? Persia was a three-day journey. I couldn't keep running for three days straight even if I tried.
At this rate, they would catch me.
Pain shot through my legs, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. Still, I forced myself forward, pushing through the burning ache. I couldn't stop. Not yet. Not until I was safe.
And then—I saw him. The man I will not soon forget.
PRESENT TIME
"I've finally found you, Majesty," a soldier sneered, pointing his sword at me.
My breath hitched. Their uniforms were unmistakable—soldiers from Runevale.
They had been tracking me all along.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "My mother really does want me dead, doesn't she?"
All of a sudden, Lord Draven's soldiers reached for their weapons, moving with practiced precision. In perfect formation, they took position to his right, their gazes locked on the approaching enemy.
"This is the camp of Persia. State your name and your business," Starlion stepped forward, his voice ringing with authority.
From the opposing side, hushed voices murmured among the Runevale soldiers.
"These Persian bastards are a bunch of psychopaths," one muttered under his breath. "They slaughtered all these people and then built their camp right on top of the corpses—like it was nothing."
"Nothing good will come from dealing with them," another soldier replied grimly. "Let's just get this over with."
A figure stepped forward from their ranks. With a measured movement, he removed his helmet, revealing golden blonde hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. The sides of his head were shaved just enough to add an edge to his striking appearance. His crystal-blue eyes gleamed under the dimming sky, sharp and assessing.
"My name is Javier," he announced. "Leader of the execution squad from Runevale."
Lord Draven, who had been standing back, watching as Starlion handled the situation, suddenly took a step forward. Could it be that, the mention of Runevale caught his attention. His movements were slow, deliberate, commanding.
His gaze settled on Javier, sharp as a blade.
"Cut to the chase," Lord Draven said, his voice devoid of amusement. "What does Nyxelene want?"
Javier met his stare without hesitation. He knew all too well who he was. He had heard enough stories about him to recognise him immediately. The King of Persia, Lucius B. Draven. The only King that fights on the frontlines. "We're here for the girl. Just hand her over, and we'll be on our way."
Ignoring Lord Draven, I took a few steps forward.
I knew Javier all too well. His father had once been the greatest warrior in all of Runevale, a man unmatched in battle, feared and respected alike. Javier had inherited his father's skills, but unlike the old man—who had been forced into retirement after losing his right arm—Javier had only grown more ruthless. He had taken his father's place as the leader of the execution squad, a position that made him one of the deadliest men in Runevale while his father became a high ranking official. His father stayed away from the battle but would give Javier points on leadership and battle every now and then. I didn't know all the details, but one thing was clear: His father was very close to my mother.
He was also the same age as Michael but Micheal now holds the tittle as the strongest in his generation.
"Javier…" My voice cracked as the name left my lips. I already knew the answer, but I had to ask. "Was it you? Did you kill Irene and Enoch?" The image of their lifeless bodies flashed in my mind, my heart twisting painfully.
Javier tilted his head slightly, his crystal-blue eyes unreadable. Then, with chilling indifference, he said, "Oh? You mean that woman and her son? She was quite stubborn, kept insisting she didn't know anyone called Majesty… even though we found your torn red dress."
His words cut through me like a blade.
"So you did kill them, Enoch was barley ten years old," I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks, recalling the moment he called me big sis.
Javier let out a small sigh. "And so what if I did?" He shrugged, as if the lives he had taken meant nothing. "We're executioners, Majesty. We follow Lady Nyxelene's orders. You know that."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
"She could have lived, you know," he continued, his voice calm, almost casual. "I wasn't planning to kill her, but…" He gave me a knowing look. "She knew Šërēĺįťh. She attacked first. It just turned out that way." He took a step closer, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. "If you want to blame someone, blame yourself. All you had to do was turn yourself in, and they would still be alive. But you were selfish. You knew you were putting them in danger, yet you stayed."
His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "You're more heartless than me, Majesty. And I am the executioner."
His words shattered something inside me.
I wanted to scream. To curse him. To tear him apart with my bare hands. But all I could do was stand there, drowning in the unbearable weight of my own guilt.
It was my fault.
If only I had left sooner.
If only I hadn't dragged them into this.
If only… If only…
Tears blurred my vision. My breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.
Javier was right.