Aethelgard, 12:30 a.m. — Kingdom of Caelyrion
The stillness of the early morning lay over the castle like a cold veil. The wind whispered through the cracks in the tall windows, lulling to sleep those still fortunate enough to rest.
Lioren slept deeply, curled among pillows and linen blankets. His bed—far too large for a twelve-year-old boy—resembled more a slumbering prince's throne, or perhaps that of a hero from the stories his mother still told him when sleep was slow to come. His face was calm, lips slightly parted, a soft sigh with each movement. A boy suspended between the realm of dreams and a world of duties he could not yet grasp.
DONG–DONG
DONG–DONG
DONG–DONG
The alarm bells tore through the silence like a blade. Lioren opened his eyes, confused. His heart raced, and for a moment, he couldn't tell whether this was some strange nightmare—one that fades the moment you wake—or if it was real.
The door burst open.
— Lioren! Hurry! Now!
It was his mother. Lianora. Her voice choked by panic. She was barefoot, wearing only a crumpled silk gown. Her golden hair, loose, trembled with each hurried step. And her eyes—so serene in times of peace—now carried a storm.
— Mother...? What's... happening?
— An invasion. Take only what you can carry. We must leave.
Not fully understanding, but feeling the weight of urgency in her voice, Lioren obeyed. He leapt from the bed, his feet touching the cold floor. His hands trembled. He tried putting on his boots, but slipped. He had to try again. A stifled sob escaped—whether from fear or frustration, he didn't know.
Lianora grasped his hand tightly. Just as she had when he was too small to walk the castle corridors alone. As if, for that moment, he still was.
They ran.
The castle seemed unfamiliar. A place he had always known... now twisted, dark, oppressive. The scent of smoke began to drift through the halls like a grim omen.
— Where are we going?!
— Your father... he left us a path. We'll take it.
They reached a reinforced door. It groaned as it opened, revealing a hidden passage. Maeve was already waiting there.
Her armor gleamed beneath the torchlight. But it was her face that stood out—dark, glistening hair, her violet eyes like twin sapphires, though tonight they bore a different light. Not just urgency. Farewell.
— Your Majesty. Lioren. Quickly, please.
The passage was narrow and damp. It smelled of earth and mildew. The stones were slick beneath their feet. Lioren stumbled, but Maeve caught him firmly. The warmth of her hand brought reassurance.
— Are you both alright? — she asked.
— We are. — answered Lianora and Lioren, breathless.
The path felt endless. When they finally emerged through a stone door at the castle's base, they were swallowed by the night. But what awaited them was not darkness... it was fire.
The sky blazed in orange and red. The castle burned. Towers crumbled. Lioren stopped. His eyes widened. His throat clenched.
He knew every window of that place. Every corridor. Every room. Watching it fall... was like witnessing the death of a home, the death of childhood.
Twelve knights waited for them. At the center, a carriage protected by magical runes that pulsed with a pale light—as if fear itself had taken on color.
— They're in the flanks. They've reached the noble quarter. We must leave NOW.
— And Sigvar? — The question burst forth like a shot. Lianora froze. Her eyes searched the void. Her chest heaved.
Eirik, one of the knights, answered with difficulty. He did not raise his gaze.
— He still fights, Your Majesty. Said he would meet you at the safe point.
Lioren noticed. The way Eirik avoided her eyes, as though carrying a burden of guilt. He knew. Perhaps they all did.
His mother hesitated. And for a brief instant, Lioren saw the queen unravel. Not the strong woman of the court. But a wife. A woman on the verge of loss.
Maeve held her.
— He will come. He is Sigvar.
It was enough. Lianora nodded. They climbed into the carriage. The convoy departed.
Rocked by the motion, Lioren huddled on the bench. His hands on his knees. His eyes on the floor. He didn't cry. He wasn't sure if he should. But something grew inside his chest. A strange emptiness. As though something had been left behind and could never be recovered.
— Mother... he will come back, won't he?
She didn't answer immediately. She pulled him close. Held him tightly. As if, in that moment, he were still her sleepy little prince.
As if, by holding him, she could shield him from everything.
— He will, my love. I promise.
He wanted to believe. Desperately. But his face now rested against her chest, and he could hear her heart racing. Too fast.
Their path led them into the Forest of Ysilwen. The shadows of the trees felt like protective shields against the burning sky. It was said that an ancient beast slept there—but no tale of monsters felt more terrifying than what they had left behind.
Maeve rode at the front.
— You're safe here. Rest. Tonight, the forest is our ally.
Exhausted, Lioren gave in to sleep. His head resting on his mother's shoulder. His eyes heavy.
— You'll stay with me until the end, right? — he whispered.
Lianora kissed his forehead.
— Until the end, my love. Until the end.
And then he slept.
...
BOOOOM!
An explosion shattered the silence.
And with it, the promise was put to the test.