After a long and arduous journey from the Western Empire, several days having passed, Celistine finally arrived in the Northern Kingdom. She bore with her the heavy weight of sorrow—the loss of her dearest friend, Grace—while Johanes' face remained shadowed with melancholy. Celistine's carriage had just crossed the first border of the North, and she could scarcely hold back her tears, pressing her hand to her mouth as she took in the scene before her. The North lay in ruin. Many were gaunt and malnourished, their clothes hanging in tatters, and the houses crumbled from neglect, abandoned by those who should have supported them.
A crowd had already gathered, drawn by the sight of the daughter of the North, once destined to be the Empress of the Western Empire. Whispers fluttered through the assembly:
"Why is the Empress of the West here?"
"Is she come to offer aid?"
Murmurs rippled as Celistine drew the curtain across the carriage window, hiding herself from view. Her heart seethed with anger, for three long years Harold had ignored her, and now she saw the ruin he had wrought upon her homeland. Her jaw tightened, fists clenched, teeth grinding in silent fury.
"Father," she commanded, her voice sharp with determination, "order your guards to gather all the people. I have words for them."
King Henry wasted no time. His men went forth, summoning the citizens of the Northern Kingdom to the mansion. Victims of Harold's cruelty began to assemble, curious and anxious in equal measure. Upon reaching the grand mansion, Celistine alighted from her carriage. The maids lined the steps, some tending to a wounded Johanes, who was gently escorted to the clinic. Carlo, overwhelmed with relief, embraced Celistine tightly.
"Sister! Thank the gods you've returned! We have missed you terribly!" he exclaimed, his eyes brimming with joy. Behind him stood Cilist, their youngest sibling, poised to greet her eldest sister.
"Cilist, my dear, how have you fared?" Celistine asked, a gentle smile softening her features. Three years had passed since she last saw her youngest sister.
Cilist advanced, her face calm and composed, betraying no resentment. Their relationship was not strained, yet her demeanor remained nonchalant. She embraced her eldest sister with quiet warmth.
"I am well," she said. "I am glad you have returned, sister."
Just then, Carlo's gaze faltered. He noticed Grace's absence and hesitated, words caught in his throat.
"Ah… sister? Where is Grace?" he asked tentatively. Celistine's heart grew heavier. She had hoped to keep it hidden, yet the truth demanded to be told.
"She was captured… and I do not know if she is alive or not," Celistine said, her voice a mixture of sorrow and resolve. Shock rippled through Carlo and Cilist.
"What? No… this cannot be!" Carlo exclaimed, disbelief etched across his face. The uncertainty, the shadow of Harold's cruelty, weighed upon them. Celistine stepped closer, gripping Carlo's shoulders, meeting his gaze.
"We will save her, if she is alive… soon. But not now," she said, determination flaring in her eyes. Desperation mingled with hope, and Carlo, seeing her resolve, nodded and steadied himself.
Then Celistine turned to face the assembled people.
"Your Majesty, are you here to help us?" one commoner ventured, his voice quivering. Murmurs began to rise through the crowd.
"Have you ever sent us food, Your Grace?" a woman asked, clutching her frail child to her chest, her eyes hollow with hunger.
Celistine's heart hardened at the sight. She saw the child, emaciated and weak, and the mother's despair etched into every line of her face. She adjusted the folds of her simple emerald dress, its deep green shimmering softly in the morning light, then stepped forward. Raising her chin, she addressed the assembly with clear, resolute authority:
"I am here to announce that I am no longer the Empress of the Four Kingdoms!" she proclaimed, her voice unwavering.
A wave of disbelief passed through the crowd.
"What? She is not the Empress anymore?"
"We are doomed! What shall become of the North?"
The people murmured, fear etched in every face. Their hope, once placed solely in the Western Empire, trembled.
"Do not despair, my people!" Celistine continued, her voice softening but brimming with resolve. "I have come to make amends!"
"But how can you do that, Your Grace? The North has already fallen!" one man called out, doubt and fear heavy in his tone.
"Fear not! I shall find new ways to support us, to restore our grains and wheat. I admit I neglected to check upon the North; I was deceived, manipulated by the Emperor himself. But I swear, we shall rise again! I will train every one of you to be independent, and no soul shall dare to harm or oppress you again. By the gods, you shall never endure such cruelty as before!"
Her words carried power, and the crowd's eyes widened. Hope flickered anew in their hearts.
"I WILL RAISE THE NORTH TO A STRENGTH NONE SHALL DARE CHALLENGE! ONE DAY, WE SHALL BE UNDEFEATABLE AND UNTOUCHABLE! I SWEAR IT IN THE NAME OF MY FATHER—I, CELISTINE WEZELLIA NORENIAN, WILL RAISE OUR FLAG!"
With that, she seized the Northern flag, it's black fabric emblazoned with a fierce red dragon, and a bold letter 'N' at its heart, lifting it high into the sky. The people erupted, shouting her name, their voices echoing her courage. It was the dawn of a new era—the rebirth of the North, its people united under Celistine's unwavering resolve.
*******
Hours passed after Celistine gave hope to the Northern people. She returned to her chamber, smaller than the one she had in the Western Empire, yet it brought her peace—no more obligations, no more Harold, no more Medeya to face each day. Throwing herself upon the bed, she gazed at the ceiling, the sorrow in her chest still heavy, for she could not get used to Grace's absence by her side.
"I swear, Grace… I will save you. Just endure a little longer," Celistine whispered, before exhaustion finally pulled her into rest.
A sudden knock stirred the silence.
Knock. Knock.
"My lady, it is time for dinner. Are you still weary?" asked the maid beyond the door.
"I'll be there shortly," Celistine replied, rising to change into her simple day dress—a plain white gown. She tied her hair neatly, choosing simplicity as she always did before her marriage to Harold. Unlike her life in the West, where an empress was surrounded by dozens of attendants to ensure her elegance, here in the North she was attended by only one or two.
She made her way to the dining hall, where she found Carlo, Cilist, and their father, King Henry. Carlo wore a blue tunic, Cilist a plain black day dress, while King Henry sat in his official attire, reviewing matters of state before supper. Celistine took her seat at her father's left, while the twins sat on his right—Carlo closest to their father, and Cilist beside Carlo. The meal began, and Celistine's heart filled with quiet joy. She had missed this warmth, this picture of family at a shared table. Memories of their mother surfaced—how long it had been since they had eaten together under her gentle gaze. Their mother, Celistina, had perished in a carriage accident, the true hand behind her death still unknown.
"It has been a long while since we have all dined together," King Henry said, his eyes bright with joy as he looked at his children. Celistine smiled.
"Yes, Father. I am happy that together we face these trials," she answered, tasting the steak upon her plate.
"And you, Cilist—how have you been?" she asked, turning to her youngest sister.
"It sucks," Cilist muttered coldly, her tone filled with disdain. Celistine laughed softly; some things never changed.
"Stop it, Cilist. That is no way to speak to your sister," Carlo scolded, clearly annoyed. The two were often at odds—Carlo, cheerful and adventurous, the opposite of Cilist, who preferred solitude in her chamber, content only with food, avoiding both sword and company.
"Enough, both of you. This is not the time for quarrels," King Henry interjected firmly. "We should celebrate your sister's return."
Celistine smiled faintly as they resumed eating, the warmth of family filling her heart. For a fleeting moment, it felt like old times—safe, whole, unbroken. Yet beneath that warmth, a knot of unease pressed against her chest, refusing to let her breathe freely.
Her fork slipped from her hand with a soft clatter, and she finally looked up at her father.
"Father…" Celistine's voice trembled slightly as she lowered her fork.
"I heard you whispering—that you wanted to help him find his lost heir. Is that correct, Father? After the late emperor died… is it true?"
The table fell into a heavy silence. Carlo and Cilist exchanged uneasy glances, their forks paused mid-air, hearts tightening. Not a single word dared escape.
"You deserve to know the truth," King Henry said at last, his voice low but firm, carrying the weight of years and secrets long kept.
"Long ago… the emperor's first wife bore him a son," he continued, pausing to meet each of their eyes.
"A boy… destined to inherit the throne."
Carlo leaned forward, eyes wide, voice trembling with memory.
"I remember, Father… the empress decided to return to the West after visiting us here in the North. You and Mother went with her… and then—suddenly—the ambush. The ten-year-old prince… he was there, wasn't he?"
Their mother, Celistina Marie Demetria Norenian, was the sister of Charisa Mary Demetria Wendelia, the Western Empire's first empress and the true first wife of Emperor Philippe. After Charisa's death, Philippe remarried Margaret Hamasol Wendelia, who became the empire's second empress.
Flashback
It was 850 years ago, in the first month, when King Henry and Celistina decided to escort the Empress to the Western Empire. With them was Empress Charisa's son, Prince Pacerion Callistus Wendelia, the firstborn of Philippe and Charisa. Meanwhile, five-year-old Celistine remained behind with her six-month-old twin siblings, Carlo and Cilist.
King Henry, Celistina, and Empress Charisa began their journey.
"Mom, I miss Dad," Prince Pacerion said, leaning against his mother's shoulder. Empress Charisa gently patted her son's head.
"Do not worry, my son. She will return soon from her trip," Empress Charisa said warmly, trying to comfort him. The emperor was absent during the construction of ports and warships for the Western Empire to expand its military, so the boy was mourning his father.
"Your son is just like you, Charisa, haha," Celistina said, laughing.
"Well, I guess so, haha," Empress Charisa replied to Celistina.
A brief moment of happiness came as they reached a mountain with sparse vegetation. On the right side, there was a cliff with water flowing below, until—
"KYAAA!" Charisa shouted as a sudden torrent from above struck their carriage. They were attacked by around thirty random men. Empress Charisa's guards, including King Henry's, numbered only twenty, leaving them surrounded.
"Stay here! I will help them!" King Henry shouted, drawing his sword from its holster, while Celistine grabbed his hand, worried.
"My love, be safe, please!" Celistina cried, her worry evident in her eyes as they met Henry's. He nodded and leapt into the fray.
Henry wielded his sword, slaying enemies who attempted to reach the carriage. The number of attackers kept growing, pressing against his allies.
Meanwhile, Charisa, Pacerion, and Celistina trembled inside the carriage, hoping to survive as they saw blood everywhere, including the carriage window. Suddenly, the side of the carriage broke, dragging the two women and Pacerion out.
"Celistina!" Henry shouted and immediately ran to save his wife and the Empress. An enemy nearly killed Celistina, but Henry intervened just in time, killing the attacker. Behind Celistine were Empress Charisa and Pacerion, trembling as they witnessed the brutal attack.
Celistine saw an enemy aiming a bow at Charisa's back. In a sudden, desperate move, she ran behind Charisa to shield her sister. But just as the arrow was released, it struck Celistina in the heart instead.
"CELISTINA! NOOOOO!" Henry cried, seeing it with his own eyes as Charisa caught her youngest sister to protect her.
Henry ran toward his wife, but he had already been fatally struck from behind. He fell to the ground in shock, watching Celistina as she whispered to her husband "I love you," before her eyes closed forever. Meanwhile, the attacker slowly turned toward Charisa and Pacerion, ready to strike them down. Seeing this, Charisa stood, leaving Celistina's lifeless body behind as she grabbed Pacerion, who was frozen and unsure what to do.
"Let's run, Pacerion!" Charisa cried, her voice trembling as they fled from the pursuing enemies. Suddenly, a killer, who had just wounded Henry, reached Charisa—and pierced her back.
"Shit! You are really hard to kill!" the enemy said, then stab Charisa's heart in front of Pacerion's eyes.
"MOOOM!" Pacerion shouted, touching his trembling mother's shoulder. Summoning her last strength, Charisa pushed him to run.
"RUN, PACERION! RUN!" Pacerion tore across the blood-soaked ground, every heartbeat hammering in his ears. The clash of swords and the cries of the fallen echoed around him. Branches whipped his face, debris tore at his clothes, but he pushed on, driven by fear and survival.
Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through his left shoulder—an arrow had found its mark.
"UGH!"
He screamed, stumbling violently, arms flailing to regain balance. The edge of the cliff loomed before him, jagged and merciless. With a final desperate step, he tumbled over, plunging into the roaring river below. Water
End of Flashback
King Henry's voice fell heavy over the dining table as he finished the tale.
"So, Father… did they find the prince's body?" Carlo asked quietly.
King Henry sipped his wine, his eyes dark with memory.
"No," he said. "And that is why… the late emperor believed Prince Pacerion still lives."