Chapter 34 - Princess Ariel

  The man woke with a start.

  For a moment, he couldn’t tell what had pulled him from sleep, no noise, no dream, just light.

  It poured through the cracks in his shutters, golden and fierce, flooding the small room with a warmth that shouldn’t exist at this hour. He blinked, squinting at the walls. The fire had long gone out, yet the boards glowed as if they were bathed in midday sun.

  He pushed himself up with a groan, rubbing the grit from his eyes.

  “Already morning?” he muttered. But something was wrong. The air was still heavy, the sounds outside was still, no birds, no wind. Only the soft hum of heat.

  Frowning, he crossed to the window and tugged the shutters open.

  For an instant, he thought the sun had risen early, its light spilling across the fields in molten waves. But the sun had no right to be there now, low, vast, and burning on the wrong side of the horizon.

  It wasn’t the soft gold of dawn either, but something deeper, harsher, a searing white ringed in red, pulsing like a living heart.

  He stumbled back, a hand flying up to shield his face. Even through the cracks in his fingers, the brilliance lanced through, painting the room in streaks of fire.

  “The sun…” he whispered, voice small.

  Outside, the wind picked up, a slow, shuddering breath that rolled across the plains. The crops bowed as one, the earth humming faintly beneath his feet.

  And far above, the false sun burned, unmoving

  ***

  North of Solvara.

  The wind howled across Varghelm’s walls, dragging flurries of snow through the narrow battlements.

  A lone sentry stood watch, wrapped in a cloak too thin for the cold.

  The moon’s veins pulsed faintly that night, brighter than usual.

  He’d been staring into the dark for hours, the world a blur of black mountains and white frost when the light came.

  At first, he thought it was lightning, a brief flash over the horizon.

  But lightning didn’t stay.

  And it didn’t grow.

  The glow swelled from the south, spilling over the clouds like molten gold. The night peeled away before it, shadows burning into nothing.

  “By the gods…” he whispered, stepping forward. The frost hissed beneath his boots, melting under a heat that shouldn’t exist.

  The light climbed higher, blinding, until the mountains cast no shadow at all. For a moment, he could see every stone on the parapet, every trembling flake of snow.

  A second sun, vast, brilliant, impossibly close, burning where no sun should be.

  Around him, other soldiers emerged, shielding their eyes. One of them cursed under his breath

  “Is this… them?” one muttered. “Solvara?”

  No one answered.

  ***

  “Keep your voice down,” one of them hissed, stepping over the rotted carcass of an aberration half-buried in the dirt. Its bones still steamed faintly, the air thick with the stench of iron.

  The wounds were jagged, too clean to be made by a blade, too precise for a beast.

  “Not human,” he muttered. “A mythical creature, maybe.”

  The four travelers moved carefully through the old road, their cloaks heavy with dust. The ruins of a watchtower loomed nearby, Solvaran make, long abandoned.

  One of them hissed.

  “Gods, this land’s getting worse by the week,” the youngest muttered, eyes darting toward the treeline. “Aberrations this close to the border… soon there’ll be nowhere left to travel.”

  “Quiet,” their leader warned, raising a hand. The air had changed. Warmer. He looked up.

  Over the horizon, the night split open.

  A light, vast, golden, unnatural, flooded the valley, burning away shadow and mist alike.

  The adventurers froze where they stood, faces lit by a sun that shouldn’t exist.

  One of them fell to their knees.

  The leader only stared. “That’s Solvara’s direction,” he murmured.

  The younger one swallowed hard.

  No words.

  They just watched as the false dawn swallowed the stars.

  Across lands divided, all eyes turned to the same impossible light.

  ***

  Year 1129 AD of the Imperial Calendar

  The Pacification of Solvara

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  Compiled by the Spires of Varghelm

  Background:

  In the evening hours preceding the event, allied forces under banners of a Hundred Nations advanced upon the city-state of Solvara with the stated objective of pacification and reclamation.

  Reports indicate a coordinated assault by Varghelm-associated divisions alongside knight orders. The objective was clear: to bring the so-called “City of White” to heel after years of defiance and atrocities.

  What followed, however, diverged from all records of conventional warfare.

  (Recorded Phenomena):

  At precisely the 12th hour, 9th minute, and 9th second, an unregistered celestial event was observed above the city. Initial witnesses described it as a golden star ascending from the ground—a fragment of light piercing through the cloud line. Within moments, the star fractured, its radiance spilling across the entire firmament like molten glass.

  The battlefield fell silent. Both Allied and Solvaran forces ceased combat as unfamiliar symbols began to manifest within the light, thousands of characters, rotating and reforming into geometric lattices.

  The sigils encircled the city, creating a visible boundary of gold, trapping all within.

  Then came the annihilation.

  Witness accounts cease to exist beyond this point; only distant observers survived to describe what followed. The sphere collapsed inward, releasing a wave of radiance that consumed Solvara in full. Matter disintegrated, stone, steel, flesh, erased without trace. Structures and terrain vanished within seconds. The ground buckled; the air ignited.

  From the core of the breach, golden fragments descended, striking the surface with catastrophic effect. Impact zones reached as far as the southern coasts, leaving scars still visible to this day.

  And then, silence.

  When the light faded, Solvara had ceased to exist.

  All known Solvaran inhabitants, knightly orders, and foreign battalions within a twenty-league radius are presumed deceased. Those of lesser Domain perished instantly; higher Domain users reportedly burned out seconds later. Only few confirmed survivors have been recorded.

  Theories and Analysis (Spires of Varghelm):

  Despite extensive examination of atmospheric residue, energy distortion, and soul residue, the cause of the event remains unknown. Current hypotheses include:

  That Solvara’s inner sanctum activated a forbidden relic or ancient ward capable of channeling a celestials blessing. If true, the result suggests catastrophic failure rather than intentional release.

  A minority among the Spires propose that the phenomenon was not man-made at all, but invoked—or perhaps answered—by forces beyond mortal control.

  —

  Of note, the royal families of solvara remain undocumented, presumed dead

  Their role, if any, remains unverified.

  ***

  Ariel dreamt.

  She didn’t often dream—at least, she never remembered them. That was normal, wasn’t it? Forgetting dreams. To recall them all would have been the stranger thing. But tonight, she dreamed, and the dream was warm, painted in soft gold.

  It was a time before she even knew Varghelm existed, before war and politics and blood. Back when the whole world to her was Solvara, her father, and Lilia.

  And her mother—still alive.

  They were atop one of the palace towers, just as they always had been. Ariel perched on her mother’s shoulders, restless, swaying left and right while her mother’s steady hands kept her from toppling.

  “Mum, look!” Ariel pointed, eyes wide. “You can see the walls from here!”

  “Yes, Ariel, you can.” Her mother’s voice was gentle, her smile radiant—always radiant.

  They stood there for a while, Ariel pointing excitedly at rooftops, towers, courtyards, the tiniest things only she seemed to care about: a crooked chimney, a flag catching the sun, a flock of pigeons scattering. Her mother listened to every word as though each one was a treasure.

  At last, she lifted Ariel down from her shoulders. Ariel pouted in protest, but her mother only laughed softly and reached down, ruffling her daughter’s hair. Ariel wriggled under her touch, still sulking, and her mother tilted her head with that same warm smile.

  “...Mummy’s going away for a little while,” she said. “So I need you to protect the city while I’m gone, alright?”

  Ariel’s small chest puffed up with pride. She grinned, showing the gap of a missing tooth. “Always!” she declared, nodding furiously.

  Her mother’s eyes glistened. She bent down, kissed Ariel’s forehead, and whispered:

  “Thank you, princess.”

  The scene stood in silence.

  The Queen knelt on one knee, her golden smile fixed on the little girl before her. Ariel, no older than seven, stood tall with her chest puffed up, her missing tooth flashing proudly as she promised to “always protect the city.” The light was warm, steady, eternal.

  But, another figure was there.

  Beside them stood the same child, grown into a young woman. Her hair was matted with ash, her dress torn, her skin smeared with dust. Her knuckles were raw, her knees bruised from falling. She looked nothing like the bright little girl, and yet she was unmistakably the same. The princess.

  She stared at her mother and her younger self, the fragile golden memory that refused to see her. And then she broke.

  Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the tower’s stone floor. Her hands clawed at the ground as sobs tore from her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered at first. Then louder, broken, over and over:

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The words tumbled out without end, spilling like the tears streaming down her face. She tried to wipe them away, but they only came faster, blurring her sight, drowning her voice.

  Her mother never turned to her. The little girl never looked her way. Neither seemed to hear.

  “I couldn’t protect them,” she choked. “I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect anything.”

  Her apology fell into the golden air, unheard, unanswered. The dream wavered, light flickering, and then the tower, the warmth, the smile—her mother, her younger self—dissolved into threads of gold, slipping away beyond her reach.

  Ariel reached for them, choking on her tears, but the dream was already fading.

  She woke with a gasp.

  Her body jerked upright, breath ragged, heart hammering against her ribs as though it would break free. Tears streaked her face, hot and endless, blurring the ruin before her eyes. She dragged her hand across her cheek, but the tears refused to stop, just as they hadn’t in the dream.

  Ash fell like snow

  Around her was rubble. Broken stone, shattered beams, the blackened skeletons of once-familiar halls. The air still stank of smoke and ash. The silence pressed in, suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of fire dying somewhere beyond.

  She curled forward, arms wrapping around her trembling body as the grief crashed over her in waves. For a heartbeat, she thought she still saw the glimmer of her mother’s golden smile, the small child standing tall beside her. But it was gone, replaced only by dust, ruin, and the truth.

  She folded into herself.

  A princess with nothing left to protect—nothing left at all.