Chapter 47: Determination
She was drowning. No—not in water. In an infinite, dark sea. Frigid. Quiet. But it was not scary. The lower she went, the more she felt herself to be without weight. The darkness enveloped her like a cloak, and she hovered in something almost warm and protective. What is this feeling? Maelira wondered abstractly, her consciousness distant from the floating form of her body. Peace. This was the term. For the first time in years, there was no gnawing tug of conflict, no ache of obligation, no weight of her family's tarnished name. There was only the heavy silence. And she wanted—no, she needed—to remain. Her lips creased slightly into a smile when her consciousness continued to fade. Let me stay a little longer… just a bit more… But then— A warmth. No. Unlike the choking chill of snow or the scorching fire of war, but rather something gentle. Something inviting. Light broke into the emptiness—golden, warm, soft. A hand was extended towards her. Long fingers wrapped in radiant light brushed against hers. No… don't take me away… But the touch was persistent but gentle, and it provoked something in her—a thread so delicate and resilient it would have refused to snap, even when her body shattered. There was a whisper to her without any spoken words. Come back. And then A rush. She stretched out. She clenched her fingers tightly, desperately. She grasped at the hand—not due to a fear of the light itself, but because it was warm. So warm. So safe. For the first time in years: I don't want to lose this. She opened her eyes. A soft gasp escaped her mouth as her eyes went blurry and then cleared. She lay in a room bathed in sunlight, on silken bedding, surrounded by the smell of herbs and warm linen. Golden silk banners bearing Imperial Peacock motifs hung around the walls, and distant music wafted through somewhere else. On her right, sitting peacefully, was a youth—no more than twenty years old—wearing white and gold robes, a soft golden sheen on his flesh remaining like a lingering sunrise. He smiled when her eyes flickered open. "Maelira," he spoke softly, warmly, "are you awake?" For a second, she blinked in disbelief at what she saw. And her brow furrowed. Both her throat and her voice were parched. ". Who are you." The young man cocked his head to one side, golden eyes smiling. "I'm the one who rescued you." Her lips parted and then closed. "… You are?" He smiled quietly. You can simply call me Aung. Maelira gasped for She curled her fingers into the bed sheets. "… Aung. The Emperor of the Pagan Empire." Spreading his hands a little way apart, a wry smile pulling at lips. "Well, technically yes. But you can rest easy. Nobody around here is about to put your head on a spike." For the first time ever, a gleam of sharpness lit her eyes. "Why?" she asked, her tone firm in spite of fatigue pulling at her muscles. "Why rescue me? I am a noble of the Eastern Alliance. For all purposes technically your enemy." Aung cocked a brow and smiled more deeply. "Hah. Do you want to discuss politics first? Not even a thank you?" She blushed palely, frowning "… Thank you," she muttered begrudgingly. "There we go." Aung leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "In addition to this, however, you are not merely a noble. You're a fallen noble. Lost out on succession war, exiled to languish in some border fortress the Alliance doesn't even care about." Her lips pursed. He observed her serenely, his eyes not hard, but piercing—acute as a knife refined through years of command. "I have no objection to your presence," Aung went on. "To be frank, I respect survivors. And you… you clung to life to ensure everyone knew what was to befall them." Maelira closed her eyes briefly. "I'm. a soldier," she whispered. "This was my obligation." Aung's tones mellow "And yet none of them showed up for you. No dukes. No kings. No alliance." She was trembling. He leaned forward slightly. "But I did." For a very long time, there was only silence in the room. The chest heaved and subsided beneath her, the heaviness of them hitting her. ". Now what?" she inquired softly. Aung's eyes sparkled "Next is planning." The Imperial Palace strategy chamber was a location to which few were granted access. There Aung took Maelira the next day, his Shadow Guard marching in silence beside them, their faces obscured by veils of dark. Before them stood a massive oak table littered with maps, tokens, and glowing glyphs representing movement of troops throughout the continent. Many of the most powerful people in the Empire were present. Prime Minister Min Ye Kyaw Htin clasped his arms, narrowing his eyes to study Maelira with wary interest. General Zeya resting his back against a pillar, arms battered but face set in a sharp grin. Queen Mother Mya Theingi, unreadable and serene as always. And sitting in the darkness was Duke Swan Ya Zar, the empire's iron fist, just back in from the eastern front. Upon Maelira's entry, everyone looked towards her. For a heartbeat there was tension. Then Aung said, She is our guest. She put her very life at risk to warn us. Treat her like an ally. Min pursed his lips, yet leaned forward. "Recognized, Your High Wearing plain robes, Maelira straightened her spine even though fatigue was still lingering in her body. She cleared her throat very softly. "The Gravanhal Fortress didn't fall to a horde of mere demons," she declared firmly. "It fell to an army. A disciplined one. A coordinated one. And it was commanded by something we have never seen." The generals exchanged glances. Maelira's eyes were dark. There was a general troll. His skin was like obsidian. His eyes were like burning coals. He commanded monsters like soldiers. They didn't batter down the walls—instead, they walked through them. And then… the dead rose to join them. A shiver ran through the room. Thamain emitted a soft whistle. "A monster among generals." Swan Ya Zar had a cold steel voice. "And the Alliance?" Maelira clenched her "Too slow. Divided. Qashir and Dhakar say it was old, that it would have fallen in any case. Zaharat and Venaria are in disarray. Ilsar possesses the council, but they… blind. The High Priestess speaks in terms of mercy, but mercy does not halt an army of the dead." Her fists clenched. They believe they have time. Aung took a step forward, putting a hand on the table. They don't. His eyes ran across ministers. The forces of the Demon Lord will try their mettle against the Eastern Alliance. And having learned our vulnerabilities, they will move west. He gazed into Maelira's "And we will not wait until that day." On this evening when the palace was bathed in silver by the moon, Maelira was alone on a balcony overlooking the city. The city was abuzz with flickering torch and soft music in the distance, none of its people realizing what was brewing beyond the mountain ranges. A gentle step in her wake. She half turned. Aung slouched against the balustrade, his golden eyes gleaming in reflection of the moon. "You're thinking of home," he said softly. She sighed. "I am considering what will remain of it." Aung tilted his head. "You can remain here, in fact. You don't have to go back." Maelira smiled heist. "I will." He arched an eyebrow. "Even when they abandoned you to die?" She spun around completely, eyes narrowing. "Because someone has to remind them what loyalty is." For a minute, Aung looked at her in silence. Then he smiled. She blinked. Unfolding himself, he rubbed hands against hands. "Because when you return, you will not return a lost noble." He delved into his cloak and drew out a tiny, golden symbol—the Imperial Peacock's sigil surrounded by a phoenix. "You will travel in my stead." Maelira gasped for He inched forward, dropping his volume. "Remember what it is to be loyal. Remember who remains for this planet." For a moment, she could only stare. Then—gradually—she extended her hand and grasped the emblem. She closed her fingers around it and held its weight—greater than gold, greater than title. A promise. A dawn. A chance.. And in that instance, Maelira realized— Behind her was the ocean she drowned in. What lay ahead—was war. Yet, she was determined to face it head on.
(Continue….)