When I snapped back into reality, I was in my room again.
The window was open. The breeze blew in, moving the curtains.
But outside, I could hear loud voices and a commotion; people were shouting and moving fast.
Something was happening.
I walked quickly to the window and leaned out.
Below, in the courtyards, knights were moving fast.
Their armour made loud noises as they moved. They were holding the Valtheris banner high. Soldiers rushed around, loading carts, sharpening blades, and tightening saddles on the horses.
My brows furrowed. 'War?'
Had a kingdom attack us?
But who?
There had been no declaration of war.
And no kingdom could march without one. It was forbidden.
And no kingdom could march without one. It was forbidden. The Pentarch had passed the law themselves — the five strongest crowns, united after ages of blood.
Binding their rule together, decreeing that before any blade was drawn, a cause must be given and approved.
Yet here they were, my father's knights, preparing like war was already at the gate.
You might wonder about the Pentarch. Who were they? And why would any kingdom bend their knee to such a decree?
Altheris, the Holy Kingdom. The oldest of all. They said it was blessed by the goddess herself. Its knights carried that faith, and no one questioned their strength.
Eryndor, the land of elves. They lived in forests, strong in magic and skilled with the bow. No army dared to march through their woods, and no one could match their sorcery.
Kaelthar, the dwarves' kingdom. It was built in the mountains. They were masters of forging weapons, and every kingdom used their weapons.
Dravon was the human kingdom, also known as the kingdom of merchants, where riches flowed like rivers. Its wealth could not be measured, its coffers deeper than imagination itself.
Sitting on the edge of the ocean, it commanded the ports and the sea lanes, while its roads reached inland to grip the land trade as well. Both routes — sea and land — bent to Dravon's hand.
And Nefarion, the Demonic Kingdom. The most mysterious of the five. No one trusted them, and none could understand them. They were sinister and dangerous but still bound by the treaty.
There had once been a war between humans and demons. The humans had won, but the cost was so high it almost didn't feel like victory.
Too many dead. Too many kingdoms broken. After that, both sides signed the treaty, and Nefarion was forced into the Pentarch. Not out of respect — but so the other crowns could keep them in check.
Together they were the Pentarch. And when they spoke, the rest of us listened. Even Valtheris, my kingdom, small as it was, had no choice.
But in the end, weren't they just old men clinging to power?
Men who called their greed a treaty. Who called their fear of each other peace.
If they truly wanted peace, why let women be traded like prizes? Why let men claim us as trophies of war?
It was never peace. Just another game played by old men who feared losing their crowns.
And if a kingdom refused a marriage? That alone could be used as a cause. Enough for the Pentarch to nod their heads and say, Yes, war is justified.
So marriage or war—either way, women like me were the blade they used.
I remembered one life, one loop.
It wasn't Dravon then. It was Altheris, the Holy Kingdom.
Strange, wasn't it? Why would the oldest and strongest kingdom, blessed by the goddess herself, want a marriage with small Valtheris?
I never found the answer. I only remembered the knights of Altheris in white armour, riding through the smoke of war.
They said it was holy. They said it was just.
But in the end, their holy fire burnt just the same.
And now, in this life, it was Dravon.
Why?
I went outside, my feet moving before I could think.
I had to find Father.
My legs carried me fast, down the stairs, across the halls. My heart was beating quickly, not from fear, but from the rush.
I reached the Hall and saw him standing there, speaking to his men.
"Father!" I called as I hurried to him. "What happened? Are we at war?"
My father laughed.
I blinked at him, tilting my head in confusion.
"No, Seraphina," he said, his voice steady. "We are not at war. Relax."
I couldn't understand. Why laugh when the whole palace was moving like fire had broken out?
But then my eyes caught the man standing before him.
A court magistrate. His robe was long, marked with strange symbols. He held a staff in one hand, and even from where I stood, I could see his knuckles were white from gripping it too hard.
His face was pale.
My father's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"It is nothing," he said. "Just some monsters."
And with that, he turned and left with the Magister.
I knew then. It was not war. It was monsters.
But my mind kept circling back to the look on the magister's face.
His face was pale, and he was scared. Too scared. I had seen the fear in his eyes.
What was my father hiding from me?
I clenched my fist.
And I already knew how to find out.
My father left the hall with the magister, the sound of their steps fading slowly as they went further away.
I whispered the words, Blood Whisper.
At once, I could hear them. Their voices carried to me through the rose in the garden, every word reaching my ears.
"It is worse than you told me," my father said. His tone was low and tight.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the magister answered. His voice shook. "It is a horde. Not just a few monsters. They have already destroyed five villages. Every villager… slaughtered."
The magister went on, his fear clear in every word. "Our soldiers fought. They tried to hold the line. But the monsters tore through them. Their numbers are too many. They are moving north… closer. They will soon reach the palace."
So that was it.
That was why the magister's eyes were filled with fear.
Not just monsters. A tide of them. A tide that had already left blood and ash in its path.