The night sky over Kerila was unusually still—too still. Even the wind, which normally whispered through the palace gardens, had gone silent, as though holding its breath.
Princess Nelsa stood on the palace balcony, wrapped in a silk cloak of deep violet, the royal color of her kingdom. She was only eighteen, yet her eyes held a sharpness that often made her seem older. Below her, the torches along the palace walls flickered like nervous hearts. Something was wrong. She felt it in her bones.
Her younger brother Tivan had fallen asleep on her lap just minutes ago. Now, even his breathing seemed too loud for the silence outside.
Then she heard it.
A scream—distant, but unmistakably human. It was followed by the clash of steel and the bellowing of men.
The princess shot to her feet, lifting her brother and rushing him into the hall. "Stay here," she whispered as she laid him gently behind a dresser. "Do not come out, no matter what."
She didn't know those would be the last words she'd ever say to him.
⸻
King Halveth stormed into the hall moments later, sword drawn, blood on his robe. "Nelsa!" he called hoarsely.
"Father?"
"We're betrayed," he said, grabbing her shoulders. "Your uncle… Lerula. He's turned against us. The soldiers—they're inside the gates. The court… your mother…" His voice cracked. "There's no time."
Nelsa's heart pounded against her ribs. "What about Tivan? And Samira?"
King Halveth's eyes filled with anguish. "They're gone." He didn't say how. He didn't need to.
Tears blurred her vision, but her father gripped her face and steadied her.
"You must live," he said. "You must carry the name of Kerila. Go through the west corridor—behind the tapestry of the Lion King. There is a hidden door. Follow it until you reach the forest. You remember the signal calls I taught you?"
She nodded, too numb to speak.
"Good. Do not look back. And Nelsa…" His voice broke again. "You are the last light of this house. Let them not snuff it out."
She held him tightly, wanting time to stop, but a loud crash down the hall snapped them apart.
"Go!" he commanded, drawing his blade again.
Nelsa turned and ran—heartbroken, terrified, but with fire now burning behind her tears.
⸻
The passage was dark and narrow, the walls closing in around her. Behind her, she heard distant yelling—her father shouting battle cries, then… silence.
She emerged near the stables, slipped into the woods, and ran.
She ran until her feet bled. She ran until the sounds of death and fire faded into the whispering trees. But freedom was not waiting for her.
A group of soldiers—foreign and heavily armed—intercepted her near the old trade path. Their red armor marked them as warriors of the Shashaa Empire, the empire that ruled all others, including her own.
"Pretty one," one of them sneered. "She'll fetch a price in the palace."
She fought, clawed, bit—her royal pride refusing to break. But they were too many. They threw her into a cage with others—farmers, children, women—all taken as spoils of war.
⸻
That night, under a sky she could no longer call hers, Nelsa curled into a corner of the cage, silent tears tracing her cheeks.
Her world had burned.
Her family was gone.
And yet, deep within her heart, something had awakened—not just grief, but something darker. Something sharper.
She would return. She would rise. And she would have revenge.
⸻