My P.O.V

  After a good night's rest under a sturdy roof — a rare luxury these days — I stepped out of the lodge Lord Darin had so graciously provided. The morning air was crisp but not yet freezing. The sky was still smeared with faint hues of orange and gold.

  As I made my way through the village, the people greeted me with smiles and nods of respect. Some waved, others bowed their heads slightly. Children ran about, waving wooden swords in mock battles, some shouting my name as if I were a hero from one of the old songs.

  I offered them tired smiles and a few nods in return, my heart strangely warmed by the simple, honest joy in their faces. It had been far too long since I had felt welcomed anywhere without suspicion or fear shadowing every step.

  I soon reached the chief’s hall, an old but proud building made of dark timber and stone, smoke curling from its chimney. Inside, a fire roared in the hearth, banishing the morning chill.

  Varus, Ser Rodirik, Lord Darin, and a handful of my officers were already gathered around the heavy oak table. They all rose from their seats as I entered.

  "Please, be seated," I said, motioning them down as I strode to the head of the table.

  Emma moved quietly through the hall, carrying a tray of steaming cups. She handed me a mug of warm tea first — a simple gesture that somehow meant more to me than words. I nodded my thanks, and she smiled before returning to her grandfather’s side.

  Lord Darin leaned forward, his gnarled hands clasped together. "Did you rest well, my boy?" he asked, his voice a blend of concern and fatherly affection.

  "I did," I said, taking a grateful sip of the tea. "Thank you, Lord Darin."

  "Good, good," he said with a small smile. "You needed it. You look as though the weight of the world sits on your shoulders."

  "It feels that way at times," I admitted with a tired chuckle.

  Varus cleared his throat and slid a pair of letters across the table toward me. "News from Divina, my lord," he said. "One from Ser Gildas, and another from your sister, Princess Aria."

  I picked up the letters but set them aside for the moment. "Later. We have more pressing matters at hand."

  I straightened in my seat, my tone growing more serious. "Lord Darin, I know you've already done more than enough by offering shelter and warmth to my men. But I must ask for more — something greater still."

  He raised a brow but said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

  "My army desperately needs supplies — winter clothing, blankets, food. We are marching toward House Mandela, to seek their support against Eadric. Without proper provisions, many of my men will not survive the march, let alone another battle."

  Varus leaned forward, echoing my plea. "You have already given much, my lord, but as servants of the crown — and for the good of the realm — we humbly ask for your aid once more."

  Lord Darin leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. His face was thoughtful, heavy with the burden of leadership.

  "I can offer you some," he said at last, with a long sigh. "But understand, Alaric — I must also look to my own people. Winter is at our doorstep. If I give too much, they may suffer."

  "I understand," I said earnestly. "I would never ask you to endanger your village for us. Whatever you can spare will be received with gratitude — no more, no less."

  That seemed to ease the old chief's heart. He nodded slowly.

  "Good," he said. "I will gather what I can — grain, salted meats, wool cloaks, dried herbs. It won't be much, but it will be enough to see you to Mandeville if the gods are kind."

  "Thank you, Lord Darin," I said, bowing my head slightly in respect.

  "We'll set about it immediately," he continued. "Give my people the day, and by tomorrow morning, you’ll have what you need. Rest while you can, Alaric. The road to Mandeville is not kind — ten, perhaps eleven days march from here if the weather holds."

  "I will make sure my men are ready," I said.

  Ser Rodirik leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, that's a blessing," he said with a grin. "Once we convince Lord Mandela to join our cause, we can turn back to Divina with some damned good news for once."

  I chuckled grimly. "Easier said than done, Rodirik. Mandeville is a proud and stubborn house. We may find their gates shut in our faces."

  "Then we'll have to find the right words to open them," Varus said with a sly grin.

  Lord Darin chuckled. "You always did have a way with stubborn men, Alaric. Your mother would be proud."

  His words hit me harder than I expected, but I only nodded.

  "We'll be ready," I said. "One way or another."

  The meeting ended with a quiet sense of hope. Not certainty, but hope — and for now, that was enough.

  Aria's P.O.V - City of Divina

  Duchess Irene had called an emergency council meeting. It was sudden — so sudden, in fact, that the hall still felt half-asleep when I arrived.

  Around the long table sat Duchess Irene herself, a few of her councilors, my mother, Queen Dowager Anna, and silent as a shadow behind her, Ser Daudalus, her sworn protector.

  I took my seat quietly, my heart already unsettled. Something was wrong — I could feel it.

  Duchess Irene rose from her chair, her face stern but touched by a trace of worry.

  "Apologies for the abrupt summons," she said. "But I grow concerned. It has been days since I have received any word from Lord Alaric." She turned to me directly, her voice a little softer. "Your Highness, has your brother sent you any news? A letter, perhaps?"

  I shook my head regretfully. "Unfortunately, Duchess Irene, no. The last message we received came not from him, but from Lord Varus. Two days ago."

  "And?" the Duchess pressed, her hands tightening on the chair’s arms.

  I let out a slow breath, choosing my words carefully. "They were attacked. By Sami raiders."

  The hall fell silent at once. Even the normally stoic councilors shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Their fear was almost tangible — like a cold breeze creeping under the door.

  "I see..." Duchess Irene murmured, her expression hard to read.

  I continued, my voice steadier than I felt. "That was the last we heard. No reports since. I can only hope Alaric and his men prevailed."

  Count Royland, a grizzled old veteran who had seen too many wars, muttered from his place at the table, "May the gods watch over them..."

  Before another word could be said, the doors to the hall burst open. Ser Gildas stormed in, his cloak still swirling around his boots from the sudden movement.

  He didn’t bow, didn’t greet the council — a grave breach of etiquette that instantly set the room buzzing with anxious whispers. He marched straight toward me, leaned down, and spoke in a low, urgent whisper:

  "Eadric has been seen riding toward Iza again."

  A chill raced down my spine.

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  "Are you certain?" I whispered back, careful to keep my voice low, not wishing to spark panic.

  "As certain as the sun rises, Your Highness," Ser Gildas said grimly. "Our scouts confirmed it. He is not retreating. He is rallying."

  I forced myself to remain composed, even as my heart began to pound.

  Duchess Irene leaned forward, her brow furrowed in suspicion. "What news, Your Highness?"

  I hesitated only for a heartbeat, then rose from my chair, speaking clearly.

  "Eadric has been seen returning to Iza."

  The reaction was immediate. A wave of murmuring swept the hall, chairs scraping the stone floor as counts and countesses exchanged terrified glances.

  "What?!" Duchess Irene exclaimed, rising to her feet. "I thought he was withdrawing!"

  "So did we," I said tightly.

  Countess Nadia, her jeweled fingers trembling slightly, turned to Ser Gildas. "Are you absolutely certain of this?"

  "I am, My Lady," Ser Gildas said firmly, bowing his head. "Our scouts observed his banners flying as he crossed the Valemont fields. It is him."

  Queen Dowager Anna, who had thus far watched the proceedings with a cold, unreadable gaze, finally spoke.

  "Hmph. Looks like the grieving period is over," she said dryly, though I caught the slight tremor in her voice. For all her pride, even she felt the shadow looming over us now.

  The hall descended into a low roar of worried discussion, each lord and lady voicing their fears, some even whispering about preparing defenses.

  "We must send word to Alaric at once," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. "He must be warned. His expedition to House Mandela may have to be delayed."

  Duchess Irene nodded grimly. "I'll dispatch my fastest rider. There is no time to lose."

  "Nor can we assume Eadric’s movements are random," Ser Gildas added. "This could be a feint — or the beginning of a greater push toward Divina itself."

  The council murmured again, now more fearful than ever.

  I stood there silently, heart heavy with dread.

  Alaric... wherever you are, please hold on.

  I immediately returned to my personal chambers, my heart pounding as I sat at my desk, the candlelight flickering violently as if sharing my unrest. I dipped the quill in ink with trembling fingers and began to write.

  Dear Brother,

  Perhaps it is time for you to turn back.

  Duke Eadric Darien is advancing—he has crossed Valemont Fields and is now merely seven days away from Divina. Without you here, we are doomed to fail.

  House Mandela can wait. They may be convinced another day. But here, now, you are needed more than ever.

  I apologize for calling you back when you have already sacrificed so much. I know how important your mission is, but Divina stands on the edge of a blade.

  Please, hurry.

  Take care of yourself, Brother. You are all we have left.

  —Aria

  I finished the letter with a heavy sigh, the words not enough to express the growing fear inside me. I rolled up the parchment with care and sealed it with the wax and the sigil of House Feldyn — a roaring lion under a golden sun.

  Without wasting a moment, I called out, "Ser Gildas!"

  The old knight entered without delay, ever watchful, his hand always resting casually near his sword.

  "Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly.

  I extended the letter toward him. "Take this to the fastest messenger we have. It must reach Alaric without delay. Spare no horse, no coin, no effort. Ride day and night if you must."

  Ser Gildas accepted the letter with a solemn nod, the lines on his weathered face tightening. "It will be done, my lady. I will choose the best man, and if none are swift enough, I will deliver it myself."

  "Thank you, Ser Gildas," I said softly, my voice almost cracking. "If Alaric does not come back in time..."

  I could not even finish the thought.

  "You are not alone, Your Highness," Ser Gildas said, his voice firm and reassuring. "We will hold Divina until our last breath. But with Lord Alaric, we may yet prevail."

  I managed a small, strained smile. "Then go. Time is slipping away."

  He saluted me across the chest with his fist, then turned and hurried from the chamber, already barking orders as he disappeared down the stone corridors.

  Alone once more, I sank back into my chair, staring at the dying flame of the candle. I could only pray that the messenger would reach my brother before it was too late.

  My P.O.V

  After all the preparations were complete, my host gathered at the center of the village. Our horses were saddled, supplies packed, and the men stood ready to depart. Yet all around us, the villagers crowded the square, faces full of bittersweet smiles. Some waved; a few held torches despite the morning light, as if unwilling to let us leave without one final act of honor.

  Their gazes weighed on me. These people saw us as heroes—saviors—though in truth, we had done little but pass through their lives. Still, their faith in us wrapped around my heart like a chain.

  I dismounted, the cold air sharp against my skin, and walked toward Lord Darin. The old chief stood proud among his people, his weathered face breaking into a warm smile as I approached.

  I approached him and bowed my head slightly.

  "Lord Darin, thank you for everything. For the shelter, the supplies, and for treating my men with such kindness."

  He chuckled, a deep, hearty sound. "No need for such formalities, my boy. It was an honor to have you here. It gladdens my heart to see you grown and strong."

  I hesitated, then decided to ask the question that had been gnawing at me since yesterday's council.

  "One last thing... at the council meeting, you mentioned something... that my mother would be proud of me. You spoke as if you knew her."

  I searched his face for answers. "Did you know her, Lord Darin?"

  Lord Darin's smile faltered for a moment. He shifted uneasily, running a hand through his graying beard.

  "Ahh, Alaric... I wondered if you'd ask," he said quietly. "Truth be told, I don’t know if I am the right man to speak of such things. But your mother—" he paused, as if weighing the memories, "—your mother was a remarkable woman. Brave. Gentle. A soul brighter than any sun."

  I held his gaze, sensing there was more.

  With a sigh, he reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small, weathered bundle wrapped in oilcloth. He handed it to me carefully, as if it were a sacred relic.

  "Here. Take this. It's a map — given to me by your father before the war began. He trusted me to hold onto it."

  I furrowed my brow as I unwrapped the cloth, revealing the old, crinkled parchment.

  "A map?" I asked.

  Lord Darin nodded. "Aye. Your father said... that one day, when the time was right, you would need it. I never made sense of it myself. Spent ten years trying to find the place it marks, to no avail."

  "And you think... everything I need to know about her is there?" I asked, my voice low.

  "I believe so," he said, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I am sorry, Alaric. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I gave my word. And a man must honor his word, even when it weighs heavy on his heart."

  I folded the map carefully and tucked it into my cloak.

  "You have nothing to apologize for," I said. "I thank you for keeping it safe all these years... and for keeping your promise."

  He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.

  "Your mother would be proud of the man you've become, Alaric. And so would your father. Never doubt that."

  I nodded, feeling the weight of both gratitude and sorrow in my chest.

  "I won't forget your kindness, Lord Darin. Nor the hospitality you've shown my men. If fate wills it, we shall meet again."

  "I pray that we do," he said with a bittersweet smile. "Now go, my boy. The road ahead is long, and the world will not wait."

  With that, I turned back to my men. The villagers watched as we mounted our horses, their faces filled with a mix of admiration and hope. Some even cheered softly, raising their hands in farewell.

  As we rode out of the village, I cast one last glance back. Their faith in us stirred something deep within me — a sense of pride, yes, but also a heavy burden.

  They looked at us as heroes, as saviors, even though we had done little more than pass through their lives.

  I only hoped that, in time, I could become worthy of the faith they placed in me.

  I tightened my grip on the reins as we rode further from the village, but my mind wasn't on the road ahead. It wandered—unruly, chaotic—dragging me into questions I had buried for years.

  Who was she?

  Who was my mother, truly?

  And why… why would my father—King Valero himself—go through such lengths to hide her from the world? From me?

  I stared down at the old map tucked safely in my cloak, feeling its weight like a stone pressed against my heart.

  I had always accepted the official story, the whispered rumors at court—that I was a shameful mistake, a stain upon my father's honor, a bastard born of some nameless affair. But if that were the truth… then why all these secrets? Why the mystery?

  Is there something about her… something dangerous?

  Was she a noblewoman forbidden to my father? A princess of a foreign land? A sorceress whispered of in legends? Or something even greater?

  Am I…

  Am I a child of someone important? A royalty in my own right?

  No.

  That’s impossible.

  The only royal blood in my veins flows from my father’s side—or so I have always been told. My place has always been at the edges of the court, never at its center. A reminder of scandal, not legacy.

  And yet... if she were no one of consequence, why keep it hidden?

  Why the map?

  Why the secrecy even until death?

  There had to be a reason. A reason strong enough for my father to break promises, to weave lies, to leave behind only fragments of truth like this one.

  The thought gnawed at me, growing more urgent with every step we took away from the village.

  There’s something important about her.

  Something the world was never meant to know.

  Something that could change everything I thought I knew about myself.

  I sighed, the cold wind biting at my cheeks, but it did little to cool the fire beginning to burn inside me.

  hen this is over… when the rebellion is crushed, when Divina is safe…

  I swore to myself right then:

  I will find that place on the map.

  I will uncover the truth.

  No matter what it is.

  No matter what it means for me… or the world.