From his bed, positioned steadfastly by the window, Xenon watched the moon and stars, a solitary habit he'd adopted for nights when he felt restless. It had been two weeks since his eighth birthday—a grand celebration that saw his room refurbished—and he had insisted his bed's location remain unchanged. Tonight, his usual distraction failed; his mind raced, and agitation simmered beneath his skin.
He waited for his mother, Alia Valentinne. She always found a moment to tuck him in, her busy schedule no match for her son's need for the fantastical tales of adventure she and his father, Theron, had shared. Theron's noble family, a pillar of military and strategic power in Lykonis, commanded the heart of the Kingdom of Eurodycea's countryside. But tonight, she was late, and that small change troubled him.
Then came the first scream. It tore through the night, followed by another, and another, each one sounding like a guard from the estate. With each echoing cry, his anxiety swelled. When his mother finally appeared, her face was not the comforting sight he expected. Instead of reassurance, he saw raw panic, and an expression he had never witnessed before: fear.
…
A storm of worry, fear and anxiety drove Alia through the halls. She had met the elf only once before—a lord from the forested and mountainous realm of Nerradorr. Born from two powerful households, the elf had met with Theron months ago to discuss business. Alia recalled his presence: a ferocious, untamed strength that reminded her of a freezing blizzard. The details of their business were Theron's domain, and she had always trusted him completely to handle matters outside their estate. But the elf's unannounced arrival signalled a catastrophic failure in that trust.
He had simply walked up to the gates, alone and without a single escort, and slaughtered the guards. However, this brutality was not the biggest source of her fear. It was the raw terror in the guards' screams, and even more so, her husband's response. Theron, a master of strategy and a pillar of military might, had never once shown fear. Now, it was etched into his every frantic movement, his panicked expression, and, most chillingly, in his eyes. Moments ago, he had pulled her aside with undeniable urgency, giving her a single instruction: retrieve Xenon and escape through the secret passage.
Alia arrived at her son's door and found her childhood friend, Orion Ironheart, waiting. "Guard this door," she instructed, her voice laced with an urgency that even she hadn't anticipated. He gave a sharp nod of affirmation, and she hurried inside.
Xenon rushed to her, his small arms wrapping around her waist. It was then, in his innocent embrace, that she felt her own fear seep further through her carefully constructed facade. "Mommy, is everything alright?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. His question was a knife to her already fragile heart, threatening to tear her world to shreds. She had to be strong.
With a deep breath, Alia collected herself, cupping his little face in her hands. "Everything is going to be alright, my love," she said, her voice a calm she didn't feel. "We're going on a little trip. I need you to listen to me now: hold my hand tightly and don't let go. Can you do that for Mommy?"
Xenon, though filled with a fear he didn't understand, trusted his mother implicitly. He nodded, his small hands clutching hers with surprising strength. As she led him down the corridor, he looked back and asked, "But Mommy, don't we need to pack?"
Alia didn't falter. "No, dear. Uncle Orion has already prepared everything."
Xenon glanced at the captain, who gave him a gentle smile and a nod. "That's right, little one. Everything is prepared."
As they hurried down the different corridors to her study, Alia heard a scream straight from her nightmares. Grief overcame her. It felt as if someone had ripped out her heart. Theron's screams, filled with absolute terror, reverberated through her entire being. But she had to be strong if she wanted her boy to live. She would just have to mourn later. Fighting tears, she had to pick up Xenon as he tried to rush to his father's side. As they rushed to her study, he kept asking what was wrong with his father, but she could not answer him.
The sound of his father's final, terror-filled scream tore through the halls, a sound Alia knew she would carry for the rest of her life—however short that might be. Grief threatened to consume her, but she fought it back, scooping up Xenon as he tried to run toward the sound. "What's wrong with Daddy?" he kept asking, but she could not speak, could not offer a single word of comfort.
They came to an abrupt halt at the study door. The air thinned, and a brutal, unnatural cold settled over them, stealing the warmth from their skin and the strength from their limbs. It was a cold that spoke of death. It was the monster.
Alia's resolve hardened. She would not lose both her husband and her son in one night. She would face death if it meant her boy lived. Pulling Xenon into a final, crushing embrace, she pressed a kiss to his forehead before unlatching her family necklace. The cool metal was a promise as she placed it around his neck. "Always remember that Mommy loves you," she murmured, a plea more than a statement.
She handed him to Orion. "Keep him safe. Promise me."
"I promise you, Alia," Orion vowed, his grip on Xenon an iron certainty. The boy's heartbroken protests were a new agony, each word a shard of her own breaking heart. She turned, her back to her son, her face to the encroaching chill. She was no longer a mother or a wife, but a shield, ready to face death itself.
…
Xenon's small world shattered as Orion pulled him away. The last thing he saw before the door shut was a figure at the far end of the corridor, a horrific, ice-cold presence that would haunt his dreams for years to come. There was no sound this time, no final scream, but a profound, aching silence. Xenon felt it in the very fibres of his being: his mother was gone. Clinging to the necklace, the last tangible link to her, he was spirited away on horseback into the night. The final memory his consciousness held was the sight of smoke billowing from their home, a dark stain against the distant stars.