Hakan
The city was a furnace of terror, flames licking hungrily at the melting castle walls, smoke curling into the sky in thick, choking plumes. Dragons tore through the streets and towers alike, their wings casting shadows as wide as banners, their breath turning stone and timber into molten ruin. Screams and the clash of desperate steel filled the air, blending with the roar of beasts and the crackle of fire. Bodies—some charred, some impaled, some crushed beneath rubble—lay scattered among the chaos, a testament to the merciless onslaught.
Amid the devastation, a woman in a red gown shouted frantically, her voice carried over the chaos:
"S-SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY! HURRY UP AND… ...RAISE THE WHITE FLAG!"
She was surrounded by soldiers, their weapons raised but trembling under the weight of the enemy. Her urgency was palpable, her fear infectious, but Luciana—standing apart in her white-and-gold dress—felt a different fire awaken within her.
THIS IS MY CHANCE TO GET OUT OF HERE! I'M GOING TO MAKE SURE I ESCAPE THIS TIME! she thought, her voice resolute in her own mind, echoing against the roar of destruction around her.
A plan formed in an instant. I'LL HIDE IN THE NORTHERN TOWER FOR A BIT AND THEN CLIMB DOWN THE WALL TO ESCAPE. Her movements were swift, silent in contrast to the surrounding mayhem, each footstep echoing sharply against the crumbling stone: CLACK CLACK CLACK.
Meanwhile, the woman in red and a man in green, along with other kneeling figures, lifted a white flag high above their heads. It was a desperate gesture of submission, signaling surrender to the two formidable riders on horseback approaching the broken gates. Luciana's eyes followed the scene with sharp calculation—her opportunity to flee had arrived.
The surrender was complete. The kneeling woman in red and the man in green trembled beneath the enemy gaze. A horse's hoof hovered dangerously close to the woman's outstretched hand: CLIP CLOP.
The rider atop the black horse, commanding and brooding, addressed the conqueror:
"THEY HAVE SURRENDERED, YOUR MAJESTY. WHAT SHOULD WE DO?"
The conqueror, a long-haired man clad in dark, imposing armor, his face hidden in shadow, replied with a chilling calm that made even the air around him feel heavy:
"SLIT THEIR THROATS AND DISPLAY THEIR HEADS OVER THE CASTLE WALLS."
One prisoner cried out desperately, their voice quivering with terror:
"W-WAIT!"
But the command had already been given. A double-bladed axe flashed in the sunlight, its metallic edge glinting and swishing through the smoke and fire: GLINT, SWISH. The execution began in a horrific, mechanical inevitability: SLASH, SPLATTER.
The woman in red trembled violently, clinging to the man in green as blood spattered across the marble floor and scorched stone. Their bodies shook, the impact of each strike reverberating through the hall: TREMBLE TREMBLE, THUMP.
The man in green grovelled at the conqueror's feet, voice breaking as he begged for his life:
"P-PLEASE… ...DON'T KILL ME!"
Desperation drove him further. "Y-YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE TREASURE BACK!" he cried, offering bribes and gold to stay his doom.
But mercy was not granted.
A dark silhouette loomed suddenly above the two prisoners, vast and menacing, eyes glowing red, a massive axe clenched in its hands: LOOOOM.
The woman screamed, a piercing sound that cut through the roar of battle:
"EEK!"
The terrifying silhouette of the executioner loomed over the kneeling man and woman, massive and oppressive, a dark omen of the inevitable. The man in green, desperation etched into every trembling feature, had one final, feeble offer to make:
"P-PLEASE WAIT! I'LL GIVE YOU MY DAUGHTER!"
The woman in red clung to him, her mind racing for a solution, panic sharpening her thoughts.
"I HAVE TO THINK OF SOMETHING! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ALL OF US AT THIS RATE!" she thought frantically, eyes darting over the conqueror and his brutal entourage.
The man in green, entirely consumed by fear for himself, cried out again, voice cracking:
"PLEASE JUST SPARE MY LIFE!"
The great conqueror atop his black steed regarded him with absolute contempt. A harsh snort escaped his lips.
"HMPH," he said, voice echoing with merciless authority. "HOW PATHETIC. YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO DEFILE THE SACRED TOMBS AND YET YOU EXPECT TO BE SPARED?"
In his panic, the man in green betrayed his accomplice without hesitation, gesturing toward the woman in red who clung to him.
"T-THIS IS ALL THAT DARK MAGE'S FAULT! HE WAS THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO ROB THE SACRED TOMBS!"
A tall, muscular man stepped forward from the conqueror's side, his braided ponytail swinging as he gripped a massive axe. His gaze lingered on the woman in red, his thoughts betraying a momentary distraction:
"SHE'S SO PRECIOUS AND BEAUTIFUL THAT…"
But the conqueror's command cut through any hesitation. His voice, cold and unwavering, decreed the final sentence:
"BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND AND MAKE SURE THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS."
A chill ran down my spine. I, the blonde woman in white and gold, felt the deadly weight of his decree. Mercy would not be shown. My plan, my fleeting chance to survive, had to be executed immediately.
The woman in red's panic was palpable. The man in green, still groveling, desperately repeated:
"P-PLEASE WAIT! I'LL GIVE YOU MY DAUGHTER!" Bowing low, he begged once more: "P-PLEASE…"
The executioner, the tall man with the braided ponytail, considered the woman in red for a moment longer:
"SHE'S SO PRECIOUS AND BEAUTIFUL THAT…"
The woman in red's mind, sharp and calculating despite the terror, caught a glimmer of opportunity.
"I HAVE TO THINK OF SOMETHING! THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ALL OF US AT THIS RATE!"
Her eyes lit with sudden realization—the conqueror might be swayed by the political value of her daughter. THE KING OF BRION AND THE KING OF TAYAR ARE SWORN ENEMIES! I CAN USE THIS TO MY ADVANTAGE! she thought.
The man in green confirmed her hope, shouting:
"OF COURSE! THE KING OF BRION IS OBSESSED WITH MY DAUGHTER!" He added that she was due to travel to the capital to be married that very day.
The conqueror's attention, piqued, was evident as he asked, muttering thoughtfully:
"SO WHERE IS THIS DAUGHTER OF YOURS?"
The woman in red seized the moment, her face a mask of scheming calculation. Even a soldier confirmed her plan's potential:
"…EVEN THE KING OF BRION HAS ASKED FOR HER!"
________
Luciana
I, Luciana, had been watching the entire spectacle from a distance, my mind sharp despite the fear coursing through me. My steps echoed against the stone floor as I moved with calculated speed: CLACK CLACK CLACK, heading toward the Northern Tower.
I'LL HIDE IN THE NORTHERN TOWER FOR A BIT AND THEN CLIMB DOWN THE WALL TO ESCAPE.
Reaching the tower, I quickly began my descent, hands gripping the rough stone and boots seeking purchase on the narrow ledge. I paused, breath trembling as I looked down at the chaos below: GULP. ALL THE SOLDIERS HAVE GATHERED AT THE CASTLE GATES. THIS IS MY CHANCE TO GET OUT OF HERE.
Suddenly, a new sound cut through the roar of battle, sharp and unmistakable: the frantic flapping of wings. FLAP FLAP.
My blood ran cold, instinct screaming: FREEZE. I CAN HEAR SOMETHING FLYING TOWARDS ME…
________
Hakan
The battlefield was a furnace of chaos, smoke curling upward from the ruins, the air heavy with the stench of scorched stone, burning wood, and dragonfire. Amid the cacophony, I—Duke Callisto—stood resolute, my dragon-scale armor radiating heat against my skin. The blue and white dragons screeched overhead, wings slicing through the fiery haze, but my attention was consumed entirely by the figure sprawled across the blood-stained courtyard.
The blonde woman in white and gold, tossed back to the ground by the dragon, shivered violently. Dust and ash clung to her gown, and blood spattered her delicate features. She flinched at my approach, inner panic radiating from her like heat from a fire. OH NO… HE'S GOING TO KILL ME… her thoughts trembled, mirrored in her wide, terrified eyes.
I observed her with a detached curiosity at first, dismissing her as just another pawn in this slaughtered city. SHE'S NOT THAT PRETTY. WHY WAS THAT OLD FOOL INTERESTED IN HER?
Then I looked closer. Her eyes caught me. I froze, and a slow, predatory smirk touched my lips. BUT HER EYES ARE CAPTIVATING. THEY SHINE BRIGHTLY LIKE STARS AND REMIND ME OF THE NIGHT SKY…
A sudden jolt of recognition shot through my mind. The moment her gaze met mine, a memory surged forward—a flash of a terrifying red dragon, of a girl, fearless and small, staring at me a decade ago. The image of white hair, pale skin, and unflinching eyes crystallized in my mind. I FEEL LIKE I'VE SEEN EYES LIKE THESE ONCE BEFORE…
I pressed a hand to my head, the realization striking like lightning.
…I MET TEN YEARS AGO.
The recollection sharpened, memories flooding back with uncanny clarity: the girl, the forest, the wounded dragon I had sought to protect, the helpless yet fearless expression she had worn. The resemblance was undeniable.
THEN THAT CHILD MUST LIVE SOMEWHERE AROUND HERE AS WELL.
Yet, as my gaze lingered on the blonde hair framing the woman's terrified face, a moment of doubt crept in. I DON'T THINK SHE'S THE ONE I'M THINKING OF BECAUSE HER HAIR COLOR IS DIFFERENT…
Still, the eyes—those extraordinary, unwavering eyes—were a mark I could not ignore. The girl I had encountered ten years ago, the one who had stared back at me without fear, the one whose presence had left an imprint on my soul… she had to be nearby.
The courtyard smelled of ash, blood, and fear. The flames around us writhed like serpents, hissing against shattered stone as the mother of the blonde woman shoved her daughter forward—offering her like one might offer livestock.
The mother's voice quivered, a pathetic attempt at grace melting under terror.
"S-so… what do you think of my daughter?"
Her hands gripped the girl's arms too tightly, her nails digging into her skin in her urgency.
"If you give me some time, I'll make sure to dress her up nicely and send her over to you."
She dared to smile—thin, trembling, desperate.
"Or if you're willing to give me a few days, I can make her look even more beautiful."
Her words were soured by the smoke, her pleading tone a noise I barely tolerated.
I stared at her without expression—because her offer was meaningless. I had no interest in her daughter as a decorative piece. Beauty dressed up for show made no difference to me. I was thinking only of those eyes… those impossible, star-like eyes that echoed a memory burned into me from ten years past.
The mother continued babbling, her voice cracking as flames snapped behind her.
The daughter remained frozen—wide-eyed, breath trembling, dust clinging to her lashes.
Those eyes.
The only thing about her that held my attention.
Silence fell thickly, broken only by the distant shrieks of dragons and the crackling of fire devouring the palace.
I let them wait.
Let them drown in their own terror.
And then—
SWISH.
I lowered my trident with a swift, decisive motion.
The metal crashed into the ground inches before the blonde woman's knees. The impact sent a gust of dust and broken stone against her. Her breath hitched sharply—"AH—!"—as her hair whipped back from the force.
Every soldier froze.
The mother choked on her breath.
The air itself seemed to bow under the weight of what I was about to say.
I met the blonde woman's eyes—hers wide and shining, mine blazing with the red wrath of my bloodline.
"YOU HAVE A CHOICE TO MAKE."
Her lips parted in a soft, startled gasp.
"Huh…?"
I extended my hand toward her—steady, commanding, inescapable.
The gesture contrasted sharply with the corpses, fire, and ruin surrounding us. It was almost gentle… but the words that followed were anything but.
"DO YOU WANT TO BECOME MY BRIDE…"
A pause.
A deliberate, crushing pause.
"…OR…"
My voice dropped, resonant and final—an execution sentence disguised as an offer.
"DO YOU WISH TO BE BURIED ALIVE IN THE SACRED TOMBS OF MY ANCESTORS…"
"…ALONG WITH EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS CASTLE?"
No screams.
No pleading.
Only the harsh crackle of fire bearing witness to her impossible choice.
The fate of every trembling soul in the burning courtyard—her mother, the surviving soldiers, the kneeling traitors—rested squarely in her hands.