Nehoviah Imperial Palace
Titran's face immediately changes to that of bewilderment as he quickly grabs his royal outfit from the floor, where he had left it when he was undressing to make love to his wife.
It was now; Amber could hear the incessant chants of a thousand men, some miles away. Her heart thumped against her chest.
"The guard…he speaks the truth." Amber said and then swallowed hard. Titran was already almost dressed; he planted a kiss on Amber's lips before grabbing a dagger and making his way towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Amber asked worriedly.
"To wage war." Titran answered before walking out of the room.
Amber's throat dried up…
"Kings are supposed to sit on their throne and let the knights and guards do their job…. I am not ready to be a widow." She screams before sighing.
Soon another guard walks into the chamber.
"The guards in this palace seem to be growing some nerves, walking into my chamber as they please." Amber cursed out, and the guard, realizing his mistake, quickly apologized.
Luckily for him, Amber was already covered up by a blue robe.
"Apologies for my lack of manners. The king commanded me to take you to safety."
The guard said, and Amber snarled.
"Your apology is as useless to me as a dead man in his grave."
Nehoviah was a kingdom carved from stone. Its walls rose directly from the cliffs of a towering rock, a fortress whose very foundation seemed unassailable.
Above, the river cut a silver path through the valley, a single bridge with a long span of stone that linked Nehoviah to the world beyond. For centuries it had been their pride, their lifeline, and now it was their greatest weakness.
Across the far side of the bridge, the armies of Galvestone march forward, their banners unfurled like storm clouds, each one bearing the sigil of an owl.
Their ranks stretched farther than the eye could see, disciplined lines of soldiers moving as one. From the watchtower of Nehoviah, they looked like a thousand ants marching.
They marched across the bridge in perfect rhythm, thousands of boots hammering against stone, like a swarm of black ants creeping toward the heart of the kingdom.
Nehoviah soldiers scrambled to protect the towers that guarded the bridgehead. The sigil of the fig tree—green leaves painted against a field of gold—hung proudly above the gate.
Archers lined the parapets, their bows drawn, waiting for the signal from their lord commander. Below them, knights shouted orders as villagers ran to safety, clutching children and whatever possessions they could carry.
Galveston soldiers pressed on. Each of them holding their shield in one hand and a sword in the other.
The stone halls of Nehoviah Palace trembled with every crash from outside.
Torches flickered wildly, smoke seeping through cracks in the ceiling.
Inside the castle, Amber was running in a frantic manner, barefoot across the marble floor, her silken gown torn by haste. Her breath came sharp and shallow, echoing down the corridors as screams rose in the distance.
Two knights were beside her, leading her to safety, as some of the walls of the castle came tumbling down from the fire stones lurched at them by their enemies.
Behind her, a wall shook under the weight of another firestone's strike—dust rained from the vaulted ceiling, and a tapestry was set ablaze.
Amber did not look back. Although death flashed before her very eyes, she halted in her steps, then turned to the knights.
"My son… Save my son, Legon." She said, suddenly remembering she had a son within the walls of the castle, who was helpless, strapped to a chair, a cripple.
From the tower window, Lord Commander of Nehoviah watched, jaw clenched, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. The war horns echoed again, and the great battle for the high kingdom had begun.
The roar of the Galveston assault grew nearer, mingling with the crackle of fire. The air grew suffocating, heavy with ash.
Stones were set on fire, and huge catapults were already being cranked back to hurl fire toward the high walls of the castle.
Galveston had taken them unaware; they were not prepared. Yet among the chaos, high-ranked soldiers were already drawing the battle line, and soon the clashes of swords pierced the air.
The bridge became the stage of slaughter. Nehoviah defenders rained death upon the advancing host, but for every Galvestone soldier that fell into the river far below, two more pressed forward. Shields overlapped, pikes angled outward, and the owl banners crept ever closer.
Nehoviah soldiers were losing the war, and it soon began to dawn on them.
The smell of blood began to fill the air, thick and overwhelming, clinging to every breath. The wails of the injured rose above the chaos, a haunting chorus to the clash of steel.
Swords met with a sharp clang!
Shields splintered under heavy blows, and sweat ran down weary brows of the soldiers, stinging their eyes already blurred by dust and smoke.
The ground itself trembled beneath the weight of men and horses, now stained crimson, as the war grew more savage with each passing heartbeat.
Soon Titran burst into the palace, armor scorched, his sword still in hand. His face, once stern with pride, was carved now with urgency and fear.
He ran through the hallways, filled with broken glass and dust.
He walked through one of the doors in the castle, and it led to a dimly lit room.
"My love!"
Amber called, her voice breaking; she reached for him, eyes wet and frantic.
Around them, the palace, once a fortress of majesty, was nothing but ruins.
Titran caught Amber in his arms, pulling her close as the hall behind them collapsed in a rain of sparks and stone.
Guards who had sworn to protect them lay scattered, lifeless beneath the rubble.
Amber pressed her face to his chest, trembling, her tears trickling down her cheeks.
"We have to leave."
"Titran," he said, drawing in a heavy breath; he was sweating profusely.
"We will escape through the back door. Where is Legon? He asked.
"I had some knights take him to safety; I refused to leave with them because I wanted you to come along." She said, wiping her tears away.
"Let's go."
Titran said, gripping her hands. They made their way out of the chamber, sprinting through the halls.
They hurried through the dim halls, their footsteps echoing off stone walls as the distant crash of battle crept closer.
Smoke wormed its way into the passage, stinging their throats, while the glow of fire flickered faintly through the cracks in the ceilings above.
Amber's silken gown, once regal, now clung damp with sweat and ash; Titran's crown had been left behind, his hair disheveled as he dragged her forward with urgent strength.
They reached the concealed stairwell at the rear of the palace, a secret path few knew existed.
Down they went, the narrow steps slick with moss from years of salty wind. At last, they burst through a wooden door, the hinges groaning, and were greeted by the cold breath of the sea.
The shoreline stretched before them, pale beneath the moonlight.
Several boats bobbed gently on the tide, ready, their lanterns swinging faintly. Relief flickered in Amber's weary eyes—until it was swiftly extinguished.
There, sprawled across the wet sand, lay the sailor who was to ferry them away.
His body was twisted unnaturally, his clothes soaked in blood that mingled with seawater. One hand still clutched the rope he had been untying, but his lifeless eyes stared blankly at the night sky.
The sound of waves slapping against the hulls felt mocking now, a cruel reminder that escape was within reach, yet barred.
Just then Amber's eyes flickered to a body… too familiar to go unnoticed. It was her son… Legon!
His body lay on the boat… lifeless, soaked in a pool of his own blood.
Titran's breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he stepped forward, scanning the shore.
Amber clutched at his arm, trembling, torn between grief and dread. Her son, her only son…even though crippled from birth, now laid dead.
Suddenly a small gasp escaped Amber's lips; she clutched her stomach, pain shooting through her spine. She had been stabbed from behind, and the edge of the dagger dug deeper, cutting through her until it pierced through her stomach.
Titran took notice of her unsteady breath; he turned to gaze at her, and his eyes paled. Amber was struggling to gasp for breath as she clutched her stomach, now gushing out blood.
Amber's hand, which was entwined in his, slowly loosened; she collapsed on the floor, dead.
Titran's eyes darkened as he turned to gaze upon his longest nemesis, Kyron, the king of Galveston.
"Long time, Titran." Kyron, a man in his early sixties, said, before removing the dagger from Amber's back, the blades dripped with blood.
Even as he aged, he still had the dexterity of a well-trained soldier.
He slowly circled around Titran before halting in front of him.
"Seeing your face ignites the flames of old blood, once friends, but betrayed by the other."
"You cunt! What did I ever do to deserve this?! Titran was pained; he roared in anger, his veins straining on the surface of his skin.
"I didn't come here to batter words; I came here to defeat my enemies." Kyron said with a sly grin.
"Beg… Plead for mercy and I will let you leave, or begin to say your last words." Kyron said, and Titran gazed at him with hatred.
"I would rather rot in hell than beg the murderer of my son and his mother!" Titran said, then spat on Kyron's face. The saliva slowly glided down his face.
Kyron shut his eyes instinctively, then languidly wiped the saliva off his face.
"End him." He said to one of his savage-looking men who had escorted him and then began to walk away.
From behind he heard the loud groan that escaped Titran's lips when the sword pierced into his stomach, digging deeper and then coming out from his back.
The night breeze blew; the noise from the war ground had died. Galveston had come out triumphant.
The castle of Nehoviah is now laid in ruins and rubble. The entire family line has been wiped out in a single day; even the love between Amber and her husband couldn't save them from their fate.
They now lay next to each other on the wet sand on the seashore…dead.