The first light of dawn broke over the hills, casting a pale glow on the land beyond Sun City. Smoke still rose from the ruined capital, turning the morning sky gray. The air smelled of ash and death.
Prince Aron stood at the mouth of the cave, his body stiff and sore, his heart heavy. He stared at the city he had once called home — now just a scar on the earth.
Beside him stood Lina, quiet and watchful. She carried a small pack slung over one shoulder, and the dagger still at her belt.
"We should move," she said softly.
Aron didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on the broken towers in the distance.
"I'll come back," he said at last, his voice low but firm. "One day, I'll make him pay."
Lina looked at him with something like pity. "You're a prince with no army. No gold. No home. How will you do it?"
"I don't know," Aron said. "But I will."
---
They began their journey, moving down narrow paths through the woods. The land outside the city had changed overnight. Farms lay empty. Villages had been looted. They passed the bodies of those who had tried to flee and failed.
At midday, they reached a burned-out farmhouse. The walls were blackened, the roof fallen in. Aron stopped and stared at it.
"My father once visited this farm," he said. "The farmer gave him bread. My father promised to protect him."
"No one is safe now," Lina said. "Not with the Puppet Master in control."
Aron clenched his fists. His nails bit into his palms, but he felt nothing. His heart was numb.
---
That night, they found shelter beneath an old stone bridge. They shared a piece of stale bread Lina had taken from the ruined farm.
As they ate, Aron asked, "Why are you helping me?"
Lina hesitated. Then she said, "I lost my family too. My village was destroyed in a war your father's lords started. I hated the crown. But I hate the Puppet Master more. At least your father's men fought with honor. This masked man brings only ruin."
Aron nodded. The fire in his heart burned a little brighter. "Then we have the same enemy."
---
Far away, in Sun City's shattered palace, Jaren sat on a throne of stone and ash. His silver mask caught the light of the fires that still smoldered in the great hall.
Before him knelt a group of lords — the few who had chosen to bend the knee rather than die.
"You rule the ruins," said Lord Bren, an old man with sharp eyes. "But the land beyond the city will not bow so easily."
Jaren's voice was quiet, but it filled the hall. "They will. Or they will burn."
---
He rose, his black cloak swirling around him.
"Send word to the south and west. Tell them: the Puppet Master sits the throne now. And his reach will grow."
As the lords hurried to obey, Jaren walked to the broken window. He looked out at the dark land beyond.
Run, little prince, he thought. Run as far as you can. But in the end, you are just another piece on my board.