Radley's fate...

  Radley’s consciousness dragged itself back from the abyss, but as soon as his senses returned, he wished they hadn’t.

  The weight pressing down on him was immense, suffocating, as if the very air was trying to squeeze the life from his body. Every breath was thick and heavy, like inhaling a lungful of smoke and decay, the stench of sulfur burning the back of his throat. The heat was omnipresent, not like standing beside a flame but like being inside one, a searing sauna hitting every inch of his body, filling every pore of his skin.

  Radley barely had time to register this before his stomach twisted violently. He retched, doubling over onto his knees, his body rejecting this place with every fiber of his being. But there was no poison in the air—no magic, no spell tearing him apart. It was just that unbearable, a hell beyond anything he could have imagined.

  Gagging, spitting bile, he forced himself to control his breathing, ragged as it was. He wasn’t dying—not yet. His body still functioned, still endured, though every nerve in his system screamed that he shouldn’t be here.

  His trembling hands fumbled through the mind of his item box, grasping for salvation, and it came with the last of X-Heal spell scrolls. He activated it immediately and relief flooded his body as a golden light surged through his veins.

  Wounds closed. His strength returned. His mind steadied.

  But the air, the heat, the weight—none of it faded. This was not an affliction that could be healed.

  It was simply this place.

  With his vision finally clear, Radley forced himself to look.

  A barren, desolate wasteland stretched before him, endless and red. The ground was cracked and dry, somewhere between sand and stone, shifting subtly beneath his weight. Above, the sky was void of a sun, yet a dim, reddish dusk bathed the land in eerie twilight. Three celestial bodies—three vistas, he somehow knew—hung in the heavens, cold and alien, watching.

  Radley staggered to his feet, swallowing his panic. He needed to understand.

  Where was he? What was this?

  Instinct kicked in. He reached inward, calling upon the skill that had been second nature for decades. Status. The unseen interface he had always relied upon, the system that had guided him, had let him see his own capabilities, his limits, his power. And in others.

  It was there but the response was scrambled, warped, a static interference buzzing at the edges of his thoughts.

  A chill, far colder than the hellish heat, crept down his spine.

  And then, realization struck like a dagger to the gut.

  No. No, no, no, no.

  This was it.

  The hell Edo had been cast into.

  A dry, strangled sound forced itself from his throat. He dropped to his knees and retched again, this time from sheer terror.

  He was stranded.

  No escape. No return.

  His hand scrambled for his hearthstone, his emergency failsafe, the one relic that had always ensured a way home.

  He activated it.

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Still nothing.

  Radley’s breathing quickened. His chest heaved, his pulse hammering as the horror overtook him. His hands clawed at the stone, shaking so violently he could barely hold onto it.

  “Come on,” he choked out. “Come on, come on, come on—”

  Nothing.

  His vision blurred. Tears welled up, his mind spiraling.

  He was stuck here.

  Forever.

  His entire body convulsed as he gasped, as if trying to suck in air that wasn’t tainted, wasn’t poisoned by this realm. His fingers dug into his scalp, his teeth clenched, his mind teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown—

  And then—

  A sound.

  A deep, low rumble.

  Something moved.

  The ground trembled beneath him. A shifting, sifting noise echoed across the vast emptiness.

  Radley froze.

  Like a cornered animal, he turned his head toward the source.

  Far in the distance, the earth looked to collapse but didn't. A not-sinkhole, a massive one, vibrated in place.

  And from it—

  Something rose.

  Radley’s breath hitched.

  A tendril. No, a tentacle.

  A grotesque, twisted thing of segmented chitin continued to grow, pulsing like a living, breathing centipede, yet an unmistakably alien one. It stretched into the sky like an ancient tree, shaded against the blood-hued backdrop of the hellscape.

  Then, it moved.

  It turned, revealing its end.

  The tip split apart, peeling back into a gaping, elongated maw lined with jagged, uneven teeth.

  And it was looking directly at him.

  Radley’s body locked up. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. His limbs, his muscles, his nerves—none of them obeyed.

  The thing snapped.

  A wet, monstrous clack of its serrated jaws.

  Radley’s scream barely left his throat, strangled by sheer, overwhelming terror. His entire body seized up, instincts screaming at him to move before his mind could catch up. His breath hitched, his muscles coiled—and then he turned and ran.

  His hands acted on their own, reaching into his inventory, selecting one of his backup spears. The weight of it in his grip was familiar enough to the Gae Bolg, but too small, pitiful in the face of this monstrous thing chasing him, rolling through the earth like a sandworm swimming through the hell-scorched earth like it was water.

  Radley didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. The oppressive heat, the thick, choking air, the weight of this world pressing down on him—it was all secondary to the thing hunting him. He had no idea where he was running to, only that stopping meant death.

  A deep, guttural groan rumbled from behind him, the vibration rattling in his bones. It wasn’t just sound—he felt it, a hunger, visceral, sickening resonance that made his stomach churn. He could hear the thing’s movement now, the wet, slick grinding of chitinous plates shifting, the grotesque slither of something far too large for the mind to comprehend.

  It was gaining.

  Radley snapped around, skidding to a halt, pivoting his stance, and jumped, thrusting his spear forward in one fluid motion. His warrior’s instinct kicked in—if he couldn’t outrun it, maybe he could hurt it.

  The tip of his weapon met the thing’s grotesque, centipede-like hide.

  A dull thud.

  The spear barely scratched it.

  Radley barely had time to react before the monster centipede lunged at him, the gaping maw snapping shut where he had just been standing. He twisted, throwing himself into a desperate roll, dirt and ash clinging to his sweat-slick skin. Another lunge. Another sidestep. His body moved on instinct, dodging, weaving, barely staying ahead of the abomination’s relentless attacks.

  Too big, he realized. Too damn big.

  It wasn’t invincible, but any strike he landed was like stabbing a mountain with a toothpick. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hit it—it was that his hits didn’t matter.

  But its size was also its weakness.

  Radley grinded his teeth. He wasn’t faster by much, but enough. He darted to the side, using its own momentum against it. The giant monster thing lurched, missing him by inches, and crashed into the earth with a sickening tremor. Sand and dust exploded around them as the impact cratered the land, cracks spiderwebbing outward.

  The cat-and-mouse game continued. Radley kept moving, kept baiting, dodging, using every bit of terrain he could to stay ahead. He slashed and stabbed when he could, not to wound but to distract. The monstrous beast was relentless, but it had weight, and weight meant inertia. As long as he kept it off balance, as long as he could move—

  Despite the terror consuming him, some fractured part of Radley’s mind clung to reason—desperately searching for any hope of survival. Edo had lasted thirty years in this hell. That thought alone should have given him some sliver of reassurance. If that bastard could survive, then so could he. Right?

  Then, the earth rumbled again. Deeper this time.

  Radley’s gut twisted in warning. He turned his head just in time to see the ground shudder, cracks splintering outward like veins of rot. The soil didn’t merely break—it churned, liquefied, something beneath forcing its way through. Another grotesque, centipede-like monster erupted skyward, its chitinous plating gleaming with sickly luminescence.

  Then another. And another.

  Four in total now.

  But they did not immediately attack. Instead, they loomed, writhing, shifting with an eerie deliberation. Radley’s mind raced. That first one had been relentless, driven by unyielding hunger. But now they all hung back. Waiting.

  His grip tightened around his spear as his breath came ragged. Why weren’t they striking? Were they arguing in an incomprehensible language at who gets to eat him?

  Then the monstrous creatures moved—not forward, but outward. Spreading apart, forming a loose perimeter around him. Encircling him.

  No.

  Understanding dawned like plunging into ice cold water. These weren’t separate creatures. They were limbs. Extensions of something far beneath the surface.

  A single entity. One vast and monstrous, stretching deep below this forsaken world.

  It's world. A singular hunger. Absolute.

  A white-hot, primal terror surged through him. One-on-one, he might’ve had a glimmer of a chance. Four-on-one? He had none.

  Radley whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “Thirty years…” The words tasted like dust in his mouth. Only now, only in this moment, did he truly understand.

  The maws lunged. Each at a different angle. A kill box.

  Radley reacted on instinct. He leapt, barely avoiding the first, rolling to the side as another crashed into the ground where he had stood moments before. The sheer force of impact sent shockwaves through the earth, nearly knocking him off balance.

  He lashed out with his spear in a last, desperate attempt, to ricochet himself off the second of the giant appendages—

  But it rolled through his attack.

  The spear splintered.

  Radley’s breath caught. His eyes flicked to his inventory, reaching for anything, anything—

  A third maw struck. He barely had time to process the impact before the agony tore through him.

  He was airborne. Ragdolled into the sky...

  Everything spun. His vision blurred. Somewhere below, the monstrous limbs coiled and twisted, waiting to claim him.

  Radley still reached for something, anything, his mind screaming for escape—

  The fourth maw surged upward to meet him.

  The last images Radley would ever see before being swallowed was the twisted landscape of this hellish world spiraling around him. And a sky fractured and devoid of any hope.

  He felt it. A sickening, wet crunch.

  Then, silence. A crushing darkness. A tomb of wet, pulsating flesh.

  And the horrifying realization he was still alive.

  * * *

  Radley plunged into darkness.

  At first, he thought he had fallen into water—cold, suffocating, and endless. The weightless drift of his body, the way the liquid pulled at him, sent his instincts into a panic. He kicked, arms thrashing, trying to swim upward, but there was no surface. No light. No air. Just the oppressive pressure of thick, undulating fluid around him.

  Then came the sting.

  A slow, creeping burn against his skin, like nettles brushing over raw flesh. But the pain deepened, intensified. His breath hitched—or it would have, had his lungs not already been filled with the vile substance. The sting became fire, unbearable, searing through his nerves. His skin bubbled, peeling away in ribbons. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came, only more of the fluid rushing in, invading every part of him.

  The realization hit like a gong. This wasn’t water.

  It was digesting him.

  Radley clawed at himself, at nothing, at the void that surrounded him, but there was no escape. His flesh sloughed away, muscle melting, bones weakening into a soft pulp. His thoughts fragmented, slipping from his grasp as his very essence was stripped away. He fought against the inevitable, against the oblivion that loomed, but then—

  Nothing.

  For a moment, there was peace. A silence so absolute it felt like it had always been there.

  Then, he woke.

  The thick, churning fluid surrounded him once more. The sting returned, slow at first, then burning, then unbearable. His body was whole again, but only so it could be stripped away once more.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Radley tried to scream. The liquid filled his mouth.

  And the pain began anew.

  Time lost meaning. He no longer knew when the suffering began or ended. He drowned. He burned. He faded. He reawakened.

  The third time, he did not awaken with a scream. He barely stirred at all. The mind that was Radley flickered like a dying ember. Memory, identity—these things unraveled, sinking into the endless, acidic tide.

  By the fourth, there was no Radley at all.

  Only a soul that ever knew pain.

  A What-if ending...

  - consider this side canon had Edo gone down the harem king route

  - in this alt-canon, he only killed Radley's male children

  Dora had never forgotten that day—the day she tried to tempt Edo with everything she had. It lingered in her mind like a wound that never fully healed. The gown she wore that evening had been chosen with care—elegant, seductive, draped in delicate lace and flowing silk, designed to leave an impression. She had summoned her Hero to her private chambers, hoping to capture his attention, to bend him to her will.

  Edo was days returned from his victory over the demonlord, fresh and marinated from glories won. He was a hero and yet, his appearance was so different from what she had imagined. He was not a typical warrior—a hulking figure basking in conquest from fantasy tales told. Instead he was lean, tall enough, with dark hair that curled slightly, speckled with silver streaks that gave him an air of wisdom beyond his years. His dark eyes though firm bore a quiet sadness. And despite the commanding presence his power afforded him, akin to an archmage of legend, Edo carried himself with the grace of a common man, one lacking of any real over-vanity.

  If it wasn't for his dark robes shimmering faintly with enchantments, and his rune-etched crystal staff, he would hardly look otherworldly at all. Of course, here in this summons, he had on nothing more than a dress tunic a peasant might wear when called by their liege.

  Dora half-expected him to look at her with hunger in his eyes, to see her as a prize won, as a woman to be claimed. She had imagined that in the aftermath of his victory, he would be the one to dictate the terms of her submission. But as Edo entered her stately chambers, she saw only simplicity in his gaze—a peaceful, unassuming admiration for a victory shared. There was no hunger, no real desire. His eyes didn’t even seem to acknowledge her beauty. Instead, he seemed more embarrassed at her overall pretense.

  It threw her off balance. She had envisioned herself the object of any man's desire, but he was looking at her as though she were just another person, or rather a someone he was not allowed to touch. Or want to. His focus, his heart, wasn’t on her at all.

  And still, she moved toward him, careful steps full of deliberate intention, her body swaying seductively, each movement meant to draw his attention. But Edo’s reaction wasn’t what she hoped.

  When she was near enough, Edo, with the same gentle calm he had always possessed, opened his arms—and asked only for a hug.

  A hug.

  Dora’s breath caught in her throat. She had sought more than that, far more. She had offered herself to him, her beauty, her power, all with the intent to seduce. And yet, he only wanted to a hug—where was the passion or desire?

  The simplicity of it all was maddening. He really had no ulterior motives. Edo’s innocence, his humility, made her feel small, insignificant in comparison. She had wanted to be the object of his longing, but instead, she would only ever be a Queen to him, nothing more.

  Radley’s words, that cursed voice, echoed in her mind: “Your hero doesn’t view you as a woman.”

  It was true. He didn’t see her that way. Edo never looked at her the way others had, never saw the woman behind the regal mask she wore. In that moment, Dora felt the harsh sting of rejection. Not because he had turned her down, but because he had never even noticed her desire in the first place.

  But now, as she lay trapped in the suffocating darkness of her nightmare, Dora began to truly understand. What if he had simply been oblivious? Was it possible that Edo, in his quiet nobility then, hadn’t even noticed her advances? Or that he had been embarrassed by the very thought of taking advantage of her? His overwhelming magic power, and perhaps who he was in his world, had made him a man of restraint in hers. In a world where so many would’ve taken what they wanted, Edo had only extended his arms, offering her something she hadn’t even known how to accept. Perhaps it wasn’t rejection at all—it was a kindness she had failed to see.

  Regret pressed on her chest like a heavy weight, suffocating her with its sheer force. Where that one misunderstanding led. What had she been seeking all along?

  Was it a hero who valued her more as a queen? Those thoughts turned bitter towards Radley. His image in her mind, a poison spreading through her family's kingdom. Nay the entire continent.

  Or had she really needed to just be seen as a woman, one without the crown, without the armor of royalty? She had mistaken Edo's innocence for indifference, his humility for weakness. But in truth, it was she who had been weak—blinded by ambition, desperate to cling to her image of power.

  The memory of Edo, his arms open, had been a simple moment—innocent, pure—but in her mind, it twisted, shifted, darkened. The figure of Edo grew larger, looming above her. The once kind, humble man was now a towering conqueror, a usurper who had risen from the ashes of Hell itself. His power now radiated off him, pressing down on her like gravity tenfold.

  She saw herself kneeling before his new visage, trembling, begging for mercy, as he lorded above her. The terror of that one moment was all-consuming. It was not the terror of rejection, but the terror of her own failure, of the mistakes she had made, of the price she would have to pay now.

  One thirty years in the making.

  Edo was no longer the innocent hero who had simply wanted a hug. He was her master now, a conqueror who had claimed dominion over her very soul.

  In that moment, Dora understood. She had failed her hero. She had failed herself. She had failed them all.

  * * *

  +18 scene ?? explicit section ahead ??

  Dora’s eyes snapped open, the harshness of her nightmare still searing through her mind. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her body trembling with the aftershocks that clung to her like a second skin. For a moment, she felt the sharp pang of dread flood through her—her heart racing, her skin slick with sweat. But then, it came—the deep, suffocating emptiness. The silence was overwhelming, cold, barren, as though the very air around her had been sucked out, leaving only a empty shell.

  She became painfully aware of her own skin, chilled against the air. It was the sensation of being completely exposed, stripped of all pretense. Naked. Vulnerable. Raw. Her entire body felt like an exposed nerve trembling under the weight of invisible eyes.

  Her heart hammered in her chest as she searched the unfamiliar surroundings. Where was she? This was not her room, not her palace. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, pressing in like the weight of the past itself, suffocating the space. The oppressive silence seemed to pulse, thick with something she couldn’t name—something primal and inevitable.

  The chill of the room seeped into her bones, but it wasn’t just the cold that made her shiver. It was fear. Not the night terror that still echoed in her mind, but the fear of the unknown, of being in a place where nothing felt familiar. Her body shook, the tremors of uncertainty running through her as though the ground beneath her feet might vanish at any moment. But there was no pain. Only a crushing weight of something far worse.

  Shame.

  This realization cut into her like a blade never could. Her eyes scanned the room, desperate for some clue, but nothing. The walls were bare, the shadows deep, offering no comfort or clarity. Her body, still trembling, curled inward as her thoughts spiraled, frantic and disjointed, trying to come to grips with this new reality.

  In the stillness, her mind churned backward, the memories of the past thirty years rising up like ghosts from the grave. Betrayals. Manipulations. Her desperate attempts to cling to power as though it were the only thing that could hold her together. Her breath caught in her throat as memories flooded her, each one heavier than the last. All of them, every single one, that led to her right here. She had tried so hard to keep control, to guard her crown as if it were the only thing standing between her and the abyss.

  But now, in the cold emptiness of this place, she realized just how fragile it had been. A thin thread, hanging by a single strand, and it had snapped.

  Radley.

  She could feel the bitterness rising in her throat. His endless guile. His warmongering. He had used her, bent her to his whims, and when she had been most desperate, she willingly aided it. All for the sake of keeping hold onto her fragile power. All for the sake of her fear. Fear that without it, she would be nothing—just another woman lost to the dust of history. He had made sure she stayed fearful, controlling her with the subtlety of a seasoned manipulator. But she had chosen him, hadn’t she? She had trusted him, believed his lies, later his promises, clinging to the illusion that he was the one who could keep her kingdom safe. Her position secured.

  But it wasn’t Radley she should have feared.

  The truth settled on her like a death shroud, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dora could see the thread unraveling in her mind, the pieces falling into place. It had been Edo, hadn't it? The one she had betrayed, the one she had casted away, assuming he would always remain a distant memory, beneath her even—just another pawn moved off the board. She had destroyed him. She had destroyed the one man who could have been the one to save her from herself.

  The weight of that realization pressed down on her chest, suffocating her with a sense of irrevocable loss. Her mind now could never be free of him. His presence would forever haunt her like a ghost, lingering in every corner of her thoughts, in every shadow that crept through the corners of her memories. From here on out. For as long as she is allowed to live.

  And then, like an echo from the deepest corners of her soul, the images of her sons flooded her mind—their heads, cold and lifeless, decapitated in her throne room as a display of his new cruelty. The very sons she had birthed, raised with the hope that they would carry on her legacy, a better Radley, now reduced to nothing more than a cruel reminder of her failures.

  Her chest tightened, and tears, unbidden and heavy, welled in the corners of her eyes. For thirty years, Dora had fought to hold herself together. She had buried her grief beneath the weight of her crown, tried to ignore the guilt that gnawed at her from the inside. She had buried the agony of her losses that night, her wits too focused on survival. She had been too afraid, too proud to let it out, to let herself feel the full depth of her failure as she pleaded Edo for his whatever mercy he could give.

  But now, in this cold, empty space, there was no need to keep it inside. No need to be strong anymore. The mask was gone. The walls had crumbled.

  The sobs came, raw and unrestrained. Her body shook with a deep, quiet grief that she had been buried for far too long. Every sound, every tear, felt like a release. She wept for her sons. She wept for her daughter. She wept for the life she had lost, for the choices she had made. She even wept for Edo too. And for the first time in years, Dora allowed herself to grieve, to feel the weight of her mistakes and her regret. The sound of her sobs filled the room, a lament for all she had lost, a lament for all that had slipped through her fingers.

  And for the first time, she let herself feel human again.

  As Dora wept, she suddenly felt a strange, almost imperceptible change in the air. The cold around her seemed to... shift, as though a crack had formed in its thick, suffocating grasp. A light, faint at first, began to seep through the edges of her despair, cutting a thin sliver into the blackness. It was small, fragile—yet in its quiet glow, it illuminated something that made her heart lurch in her chest.

  The faint light revealed the collar around her neck. Dora’s trembling fingers reached up instinctively to touch it, and the cold metal sent a sharp shiver down her spine. The weight of it was unbearable, a reminder of everything she had lost. The collar clung to her like a part of her, a symbol of her captivity, but it felt... strange, almost like it was both foreign and intimately familiar. The fear coursing through her veins made her numb, unable to tell if it was the collar that had become a part of her, or if it was the terror that had twisted her senses.

  But the light revealed more of the room—small, stark, and plain. A cell. She was in a cell.

  Dora swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision. As the light slowly expanded, revealing more and more of the room, she recognized the starkness of her surroundings. They were cold and bare, with only the most basic furnishings—the thin cot she was laying on felt as if it had been placed there to mock her. No luxury of her palace anymore. This was her new home, a cage.

  The light from the crack in the dark intensified for a moment, and Dora saw it—a pair of eyes, peering through a small window in the door. The eyes were dark, almost empty, watching her with a strange intensity. Dora stiffened, her skin breaking into goosebumps. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but her throat was too raw, her limbs too weak. The eyes lingered, unblinking, like the gaze of some unseen predator.

  Before Dora could make any sense of this strange, unsettling moment, the door creaked open. From the sliver of light that poured through the gap, a figure stepped in. A girl, young but tall, with long brown hair that shimmered bronze in the soft light behind her. She was naked too, just like Dora, and the collar—the same cruel thin metal that clung to Dora’s neck—was fastened around her slender throat as well.

  Dora’s breath hitched in her chest as she looked at the girl. Why? Why was she here? Her eyes scanned the girl’s face, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar sight, the softness in her gaze. It was almost too much to bear. A girl—nude, vulnerable, and... innocent—standing before her in a place that should have been reserved for the worst of men. But not now. Not anymore.

  The girl took a step closer, and her voice—soft, hesitant—broke the silence. “I heard someone crying,” she said, her tone almost apologetic. “I came to check.”

  “I apologize if I’ve caused any offense, your majesty,” the girl said next, bowing her head.

  Dora’s lips parted to speak, but no words came out. Majesty? The title felt like a ghostly mockery now. She was no queen. She was nothing now.

  The girl curtsied and introduced herself—Mheri—and stepped closer, her movements gentle as she helped Dora sit up, guiding her as she steadied herself. Dora leaned on her, unsure of where her own strength had gone. The cot beneath her was as stiff and unyielding as everything else in this barren place. As Mheri adjusted Dora’s position, Dora noticed the subtle flush of color that spread across the girl’s face. The embarrassment was clear, even as she tried to hide it by averting her eyes. It was the same loss that Dora felt, deep down, and it made her ache with the knowledge of the one thing they both shared.

  They had no dignity left.

  Dora opened her mouth, trying to speak, but her voice was hoarse. It hurt to ask. “Where are we?” The question felt hollow, as if it had no meaning anymore, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  Mheri’s face flushed deeper, and she hesitated before answering softly, “We’re in my father’s harem.”

  The words landed like a slap on Dora’s face. Her father. The implications twisted and crushed her spirit in an instant, and she could come to only one conclusion. Radley—Radley—had set this place in motion. That bastard ruined everything, and now this girl, Mheri, was trapped here too. A puppet in a twisted legacy now in different hands.

  Dora tried to gather herself, reaching for Mheri’s hands, seeking comfort in the simplest of human gestures. A touch. A sign that she was not completely alone in this new world. But when she reached out, her hands trembled violently, and she pulled back, feeling the weight of her own weakness. Her daughter? Was she here, too?

  Mheri shook her head, eyes downcast, unable to meet Dora’s gaze when she asked. “No, your majesty,” she whispered. “She’s not here.”

  Dora’s chest tightened at the answer. The brief flicker of hope in her heart, but it only burned as bright as a candle in the raging blizzard of her emotions. A small ember that her daughter might be safe, under Edo's thrall, a queen that might overcome. But she knew the truth was harsher than what could ever be borne.

  She wanted to cry out, to sob for that loss as well, for the hope her daughter represented, but instead, Dora willed herself, barely, off the edge of this precipice. She could not afford to break again—not in present company and make it even worse.

  Instead, Dora forced herself to nod, as though understanding, even though the grief was strangling her. The silence that followed was thick, and the weight of it pressed down on both of them.

  But Mheri stayed close, her presence a small comfort, as they both tried to endure in the emptiness of this new reality—this new life Dora had never thought to live through.

  With the young girl's help, Dora stood, their naked forms brushing together in the attempt. Both women blushed at the contact, but neither gave word to it. Instead, they focused on the task at hand—getting Dora out of this dank cell.

  As they walked down the hallway, Dora took in her surroundings. The walls were cold stone, barren and unadorned. But it was when they entered a larger common room—the main floor—that her breath caught in her throat.

  It was a harem—vast, its cold stone walls lined with women—naked and adorned with nothing but same collar necklaces that gleamed with cruel simplicity. Dora’s heart clenched, and shame flooded her face as her gaze swept over the scene. Her mind could hardly process the truth of it. These women, each with their own history, now reduced to mere cattle, were there at the whim of a new master.

  But it was not just the overwhelming number of them that left Dora breathless—it was their faces. The younger ones, the girls with the bronzed brown hair, were the ones that caught her eye first. Their heads hung low, their expressions marked by a shattering sense of loss. Dora could see it clearly now—these were Radley’s daughters. His many bastards, raised in the shadows of a warlord’s infidelities, their innocence stolen by the colder embrace of a new conqueror.

  Their faces were filled with dread, as though they could not yet comprehend the full weight of their father's fall. And in their eyes, Dora saw what she had failed to see in her own daughter—regret. A deep, bitter regret.

  Dora’s chest tightened. She had failed as a queen, as a mother, and in ways she couldn’t begin to grasp. She had let her kingdom fall to Radley's tactless barbarism, and now, she saw the fruits of that failure here—only the daughters of her lecherous husband were also thrown into this pit of despair.

  Her gaze wandered across the room, and her eyes locked onto several older women. Their presence in this place spoke volumes. Some she recognized—a handmaid of hers who had long went missing, a courtier whose lord husband died in an unfortunate accident, and even a missing countess Dora once called friend. These women were not children. They had lived full lives... but how many of their years here?

  Since each disappearance? Thoughts Dora could not help but gasp to. For two that was over twenty years ago... a fresh tear falling down her cheek. They looked little more than shells of their former selves—defeated, utterly broken already.

  There were two others Dora chanced a glance at as she was led through the room. But whatever demeanors these women had were cowed in this place long ago. They didn’t even try to meet her gaze. The hopelessness in their expressions was like a punch to her gut. And now, for them, came even greater uncertainty.

  But those thoughts were cut short by the sight of the many younger women, most of whom were visibly pregnant. Their bellies, round and swollen, marked them as a new generation of Radley’s legacy. Dora’s heart sank further. A few were barely older than children themselves.

  There were many variations among them—some petite, others more buxom than Dora had ever been. But it wasn’t their bodies that captured Dora’s attention—it was their eyes. The fear that radiated from each of them was palpable. They were afraid. Terrified. They had no more agency than the others. Perhaps less.

  Among these youngsters, there were a few who stood out—demihumans, their features faintly beastlike. The tufted ears of one girl made her look vaguely elven if not for the tail, while others had light fur coat patterns displayed on their nakedness. But it was the two exotic beauties—bald girls with dark skin, their features sharp and regal, with an elegance that seemed out of place even in this sordid harem—that made Dora’s breath catch. They were banded in ways too foreign for this continent, and their skin looked painted in strange markings that only served as a visible contrast to the rather plain starkness of everyone else.

  It was these two who were the only ones to meet Dora's eyes—hands locked, as if their own dark eyes were contemplating the consequence of their very existence here.

  And then it hit Dora—another gut punch, the full weight of the realization. Edo was their master now.

  The thought made her tremble, head-to-toe. Edo. The hero she had betrayed, the usurper who dethroned her, and now the one who owns all this. Them. Us.

  Dora once thought of him as the hero who saved them, then hero who rejected her, then regrettably the man who never deserved the betrayal he suffered at her own hands. And now, after all these thirty years of regret, she could already see what he would become next. A man of tyranny whose reach they can never escape.

  Dora’s eyes darted around the room, landing once more on the faces of Radley’s bastard daughters, his many mistresses, and the pregnant girls—his legacy. A shiver crawled up her spine as she understood just how much of Radley’s influence will survive after his death. Edo, the man she had betrayed, had risen far beyond what they had plotted. He had not just conquered them, but also her pride, her crown—and now, her very sense of self.

  Her head swam as the true horror of her situation set in. All of this had come about because of her. She had played a part in it—just as much as Radley had, perhaps more as much as her own decisions contributed to his downfall. And now their downfall. For it was Edo who won in the end. The hero banished had become the master of her kingdom. His vengeance had come full circle, but it will not be one of mere violence. Not a whirlwind of chaos that sees everyone dead.

  No it was far worse.

  Dora closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back the next wave of tears.

  This was her real legacy.