PROLOGUE
The Darkest Day
The night everything ended for the royalty of Norgalia came without warnings, without speeches, without signs in the sky.
There were only screams.
The Palace of Suns guards were the first to fall. Some didn't even have time to draw their weapons. Blood spread across the marble corridors so fast that no one had time to understand what was happening.
The Seven Pillars advanced without haste.
Gabriel at the front, his gaze fixed forward.
Michael, leaving a trail of heat behind him.
Jackson, silent, walking as if sound itself did not exist.
Azrael, with the calm of one who sees death every day.
Haskell, her fingers trembling, yet never stopping.
Marcus, analyzing every angle of the palace as if it were just another blueprint.
Julius, shattering anything that dared stand in their way.
To the guards, they had been legends. Until that night, no one had ever seen the seven of them together up close. Some believed they were protectors. Others, saints.
That night, they learned how wrong they were.
In the north wing, Queen Samara I woke with a sharp gasp. At first, she thought it was a nightmare: the smell of heated metal, hurried footsteps in the halls, screams cut short mid-sound. Then she heard something that left no room for doubt—the dull impact of a body slamming against her chamber door.
Samara leapt from the bed. She gathered her only child into her arms, still half asleep, and pressed him tightly against her chest.
"Easy… easy…" she whispered, more to herself than to him.
She opened the door. The guard who usually stood watch lay on the floor, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Blood slowly leaked from the corner of his mouth.
Samara swallowed a scream.
She forced herself to move.
Barefoot, she ran through the palace corridors. She stumbled twice; once, she nearly dropped the child. The floor was slick. The air reeked of sweat, iron, and smoke.
Turning a corner, she found a maid hiding behind heavy curtains, shaking uncontrollably.
"Your Majesty…" the woman murmured, eyes wide.
Samara did not hesitate.
"Listen to me," she said, her voice breaking but firm. "I need you to take my son."
The maid blinked, confused.
"What…?"
"Take him," Samara repeated, placing the child into her arms. "Get him out of here. Take him far from the palace—far from those monsters. As far as you can."
The maid looked down at the child, then back at the queen.
"I can't, Your Majesty… if they find me—"
"If he stays with me, he dies," Samara cut in. "And I will not let him die here, bound to this throne and this corrupt government. Please."
Tears streamed down her face, but she did not stop.
"When he grows up," she added, "don't tell him any of this. I don't want him carrying this story. I just want him to live."
The maid swallowed hard. She was terrified, but she nodded. There was no time to think.
Samara looked at her son one last time. She hummed, barely audible, the lullaby she always sang to him. Then, with no other choice, she let go.
"Run," she said.
The maid obeyed.
She crossed the corridor, rushed down a service stairwell, and found a side window. She forced the latch open with her shoulder and nearly fell into the void. Grabbing onto a vine, she slid down into the garden, clutching the child tightly to her chest.
At the stables, she took the first horse she saw, mounted clumsily, and galloped out through a side exit without looking back.
Meanwhile, Samara stepped onto a balcony overlooking the main garden. In the distance, she saw a lone figure on horseback disappearing into the night.
She kept humming.
Her lips trembled with the melody.
She never heard the footsteps behind her.
Gabriel entered the balcony silently. He stopped a few steps from the queen and observed her for a single second, as if confirming a fact.
He said nothing.
He drove the sword through her back.
Samara lurched forward, gripping the railing. The song died in her throat. Blood spilled across her gown, tracing a dark path to the floor.
Gabriel withdrew the blade and let her fall.
The queen died there, staring into the darkness of the garden, never knowing if her child had escaped.
Far away, beyond the walls of Norgalia, the maid slowed the horse for a moment. She dismounted, looked down at the baby in her arms, and whispered:
"Your name will be… Pablo."
Then she rode on into the night.