As night deepened over Renia, Celistine and Lady Rehena sat quietly in the glow of the candlelit dining hall, sharing a rare moment of peace with Lord Herbet. The rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced dishes filled the room, carrying with it a fleeting sense of normalcy in a world turned upside down.
"This food is magnificent," Celistine murmured, savoring a bite and sharing a faint smile with Rehena, who returned it with equal warmth.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Lord Herbet said with a gracious bow. "We shall ensure you dine well while you remain in Renia."
Their calm was abruptly shattered by the sharp echo of armored footsteps pounding across the stone floors. A sudden tension gripped the room, and before Celistine could question it, two knights burst through the door, faces pale with fear.
"Your Majesty! Lady Rehena! The thieves… they are here! The city is surrounded! We've been ambushed!" Their voices trembled, laden with panic.
"What? This cannot be!" Lord Herbet exclaimed, his voice cracking in disbelief, while Celistine and Rehena exchanged wide-eyed, terrified glances.
"Quickly, Your Majesty! You must hide! Lady Rehena, follow me!" Robert, Herbet's right-hand knight, barked orders, urging them toward a hidden passage behind the study room's towering bookshelves.
As they hurried, Celistine's mind raced. Had Barron betrayed them, secretly colluding with the thieves to seize Renia and end her life? Or had he been lured away by a cunning trap? The realization that they were outnumbered—five hundred knights against countless marauders—clamped a chilling weight on her chest. The city's fate, their home, teetered dangerously.
Far beyond the mansion, Barron rode with grim urgency. The distant glow of flames reached his eyes before he even crossed the city gates. Smoke coiled into the night sky like a dark serpent, and screams echoed across the streets. Every heartbeat matched the pounding of his steed's hooves, driving him forward despite the fatigue clawing at his limbs.
When Barron arrived, chaos greeted him. Renia burned. Citizens ran in terror, some struck down by thieves without mercy. Fires licked the sky, casting shadows that danced grotesquely across the ruined streets. Barron shouted,
"Help the commoners! The rest, to the mansion!" His soldiers fanned out, defending the innocent while he surged forward, determined and relentless.
Meanwhile, Grace and Carlo had ridden tirelessly, changing horses at every town along the way to reach Renia before Barron. Carlo had dyed his hair black, and Grace had donned the guise of a right-hand maid to Empress Celistine, blending into the night. As they approached the outskirts of the city, their stomachs twisted at the sight: Renia was aflame, bloodied bodies littered the streets, and thieves roamed unchallenged.
"The Empress! Hiyah!" Grace shouted, drawing her dagger as she and Carlo surged forward. Their path was obstructed by marauders, but they pressed onward, focused solely on reaching the mansion. At the center of the attackers' plan was a dark figure with violet hair—Maxon, the brother of Medeya—masked by a cunning disguise.
Inside the mansion, Celistine, Lord Herbet, and Lady Rehena reached the study room, seeking the hidden passage behind the bookshelf. But before action could be taken, Robert was struck, jamming the mechanism. The room was quickly surrounded as Hagorn, the enemy leader, charged.
"Seize them!" Hagorn shouted, his sword gleaming under candlelight.
"No!" Rehena cried, rushing toward her father, only to be yanked back by a soldier who grabbed her hair, eliciting a scream that echoed through the hall. Maxon leveled his sword at Celistine, a cruel smile on his lips.
"Empress of the Western Empire, at last you shall die! Hahaha!"
Celistine's mind raced—this was the force that had tried to end her life before. The man before her, guiding the ambush, had betrayed them, orchestrating Barron's absence and the city's vulnerability.
Hagorn turned to Maxon, questioning strategy. "What now?"
"Kill them," Maxon said coldly. "Take Renia. Leave nothing."
Celistine's chest tightened. She closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable. Then, the heavy slam of boots echoed through the room. She opened her eyes to see a black-haired figure standing defiantly before her: Carlo, grown into a tall, formidable man, clashing swords with Maxon in a dazzling display of skill.
"Don't you dare lay a finger on her!" Carlo's voice rang out as he engaged Maxon with deadly precision.
Celistine froze, relief and disbelief warring in her chest. It was Carlo, her brother, standing between her and death itself.
Grace, swift and lethal, had already engaged Hagorn, stabbing him through the chest with ruthless efficiency. The room became a whirlwind of steel and shadow, as Carlo and Grace pressed their advantage. Maxon, distracted, failed to notice the candle base hurled in his path, giving the two allies an opening.
Despite the chaos, Grace's focus remained unbroken. She tore through the ranks of thieves with controlled ferocity, while Carlo fought with strength tempered by experience. Together, they cornered Maxon, pressing him into a wall, swords against his chest.
"At last, we meet again," Grace hissed, blade at his throat.
"Hahaha… I missed you," Maxon taunted, but his bravado faltered. Using a desperate throw of the candle base, he slipped away into the shadows. Grace considered pursuit, but Barron was engaged elsewhere, and she could not abandon the Empress.
Celistine, shaken but alive, turned to her brother. "Carlo?"
"Sister Celistine?" Carlo replied, voice trembling with worry and longing. They embraced passionately, seeking comfort in each other amidst the chaos, their reunion a fragile flame of solace.
"Barron is here! Carlo, you must hide!" Grace urged.
Rehena revealed the hidden passageway, concealing Carlo as Barron stormed into the study. Robert, wounded but alive, claimed to have slain Hagorn, providing some clarity amidst the carnage.
"Your Majesty, are you unharmed?" Barron asked, concern etched on his face.
"Yes… I am," Celistine replied, worry still lingering. "But what of the people of Renia?"
Barron scanned the room, puzzled by the aftermath. "The enemies are defeated… but who killed Hagorn?" He glanced at Robert, blood-soaked and weary. Grace tended to Robert's wounds silently, unnoticed but essential. Barron, uneasy yet vigilant, commanded his knights to leave no trace of the thieves.
Maxon, cowardly, had escaped—but the plan had failed. Renia, though battered and scarred, had survived the night. Grace, Celistine, Carlo, and Barron stood amid the ruins, determined and unbroken, their unity a beacon of hope in the shadow of devastation.
_____
It had been a tragic night, yet the city of Renia endured — scarred but not broken — through the strength of the Empress's knight. Though the victory was far from flawless, it was still a triumph, for Celistine and Rehena had stood their ground and claimed the battle. Meanwhile, Barron and Lord Herbert turned their attention to Renia itself. The town lay in ruins: homes were reduced to ashes, the air thick with the bitter stench of charred wood. Innocent lives had been shattered, many wounded beyond healing, and countless soldiers lay still upon the blood-stained streets. Yet Barron, with quiet determination, worked to mend the broken city, striving to return Renia to the order and dignity it once held.
And yet, amidst this labor, confusion gnawed at him. Where were the Shadows he had assigned to guard Celistine? Why had they vanished without a word? Perhaps they had been driven by fear, abandoning their charge under the cover of silence. Barron could not shake the unease within him. Messages he had once received during the war came rushing back, their weight pressing upon his thoughts. Could it truly be Robert who struck down the leader of the thieves? His instincts twisted in doubt. Grace could not be suspected — it was impossible. Such a precise, lethal strike belonged only to a knight of superior training, one whose skill was honed by years of discipline. The mystery lingered, unsettling his heart.
While Barron busied himself with the burdens outside the palace walls, Celistine finally sought rest. Exhausted from all that had transpired, she retired to her chamber. No longer trailed by the Shadows, she was left unguarded in the silence of her room. Moments later, the stillness was broken. Through the vast balcony window stepped a figure, the faint moonlight outlining him — Carlo.
At once, Celistine rose to her feet, her breath catching in disbelief. She hurried forward, and the siblings embraced tightly, a bond unbroken even by years of separation. Carlo, taller now and grown into the frame of a man, still bore the familiar presence she remembered. His hair was darkened, dyed black, as though he had wrapped himself in shadows to move unseen.
"How are you? Why are you here? And why — why did you join Grace?" Celistine's voice trembled, heavy with both joy and fear, her worry for her younger brother burning through her words.
Carlo's arms held her with the same warmth he had known in childhood. "I wanted to see you, Sister. It has been three long years since our eyes last met. Father… he misses you greatly." His voice carried both relief and sorrow, and when they sat together upon the edge of her bed, he spoke eagerly, desperate to share what had weighed upon his heart.
Celistine, her brows furrowed with concern, asked, "How fares the North?" She needed clarity — to hear the truth from her brother's lips.
Carlo's expression dimmed. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his words. "The North has already fallen. The people starve, Sister — hunger devours them daily, for not a single supply of food has been sent. I… I thought we had been abandoned." His voice broke, tears glistening as they streaked down his cheeks.
Then his sorrow poured forth like a flood. "Sister.… you cannot imagine what it is like back in the North," he whispered, his voice shaking. "The snow no longer feels like a blanket of purity. It has become a graveyard's shroud. Children cry until their voices break, and then they fall silent, too weak even to weep. Mothers cradle them, pressing them close as if their warmth could drive away the hunger gnawing at their bones."
His hands clenched in helplessness. "We have scraped every field, every storehouse, every crumb left behind. Even the roots beneath the frozen earth have been pulled up, boiled in bitter water, and yet it is never enough. The smoke that rises from our hearths carries no scent of bread or stew — only ash. The old ones… they give what little they have to the young, hoping their sacrifice will keep the next generation alive. But many do not wake by morning."
Carlo's eyes glistened with both grief and rage. "Do you know what it feels like to see a neighbor's farm, once green and full, now a barren wasteland of frost? To hear the sound of doors creaking in the night because some are desperate enough to steal even rotten grain? The North has always endured hardship, but never like this. This is not simply hunger, Celistine — it is despair."
The chamber fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, as though even the night itself mourned with him.
Celistine's heart clenched with pain, guilt piercing her like a blade. She felt as though she had failed — not as an empress, not as a warrior, but as the eldest daughter of King Henry, entrusted with duty. Tears welled in her eyes as well, and she brushed her brother's cheeks with trembling fingers, wiping away his grief. Then, she drew him once more into her embrace, the two holding each other as though the years apart had never existed.
Carlo's voice wavered as he pleaded softly, "So what will you do, Sister? When will you return to the North? Come with me… please." His words were not only a request but a cry for salvation, his heart desperate for hope.
Celistine's gaze fell, her soul torn between longing and duty. "If I return now, Carlo, it will bring nothing but uproar to the Western Empire. The Emperor will not stay his hand. He may seize the North and twist your return into an accusation — branding you a kidnapper of the Empress herself." Her tone carried the weight of foresight, heavy yet unyielding. "I must tread with care. First, we must prepare. I shall arrange for a great sum of gold to be transported, so Father may purchase food from the neighboring kingdoms. And for guidance… I shall seek Lady Rehena's counsel."
Her words were steady, yet beneath them lay an ache — the yearning of a daughter who wished only to go home, and the sorrow of a ruler who understood the chains of her throne. Carlo could see the resolve in her, but also the silent suffering she bore for her people and her family.