It was a dangerous thing to do, no doubt about it.

It meant putting not only his life, but his very existence, his soul, at stake. He couldn't take that lightly. And he wasn't, he really wasn't.

But, at the same time, if he didn't do that, if he didn't get strong again....

It was possible that he wouldn't survive to have a future in the first place. More importantly, that none of them would survive. The people he really cared about. Anyone but himself.

It was a heavy decision, but he had to make it. The sooner the better.

Desmond bit his lower lip hard. He felt the blood flow. He felt that metallic, nauseating taste filling his mouth.

He felt like he was going to puke his guts out.

It wasn't a good decision.

A safe decision.

If there was such a thing, he would have made that decision without a second thought. He had never made a simple decision. Not with a life like his, hell, with the situations he constantly ended up in.

If he lost his mind...

If he ended up addicted to blood, to human flesh, he could end up being the threat that would wipe out his loved ones.

Desmond felt a chill.

No.

After all, he couldn't do that. Take more blood. Too risky. Too risky. It wasn't worth it.

And he'd done enough, getting this far.

“What are you thinking about?” Abigail asked him.

“Nothing," Desmond answered, quickly, perhaps too quickly.

Abigail looked back at him as if she knew that had been a blatant lie. As if? Surely she knew, she could read him like an open book.

Still, she didn't expose his lie.

Abigail grabbed him again, pulling him to his feet. They advanced across the rooftops a little way away from the flames. Only the plural didn't fit. Abigail was doing all the work, she couldn't even say 'practically'.

Desmond was dead weight to such an extent that when they hit the ground, Abigail scooped him up in her arms like a child. No letting him lean on her as if he could still stand, more or less, and crawl forward on his own. It would only be keeping up a mere pretense.

That's why Desmond didn't comment, or protest.

Because it was really necessary. But that was not all. In the past, a part of him would have been embarrassed anyway to be carried around like a small child. Or a woman on their wedding night.

He wouldn't have cared about the context, only about feeling smaller, stupid and useless, feeling inadequate, especially in Abigail's eyes. Those childish feelings no longer haunted him. He had grown up, bettered himself. He had proven his worth more than enough times that he himself, always his greatest enemy, believed it.

Value in a physical sense, of course. Personal was another story.

Yeah, he wasn't as childish as before, at least. And even if he was he'd be too fucked up to give a shit about a little thing like that, anyway.

Abigail led him through the battle, all the way to the palace gate. It was covered in ice along with the vast majority of the outside of the building.

“Blocked, of course," Abigail muttered, sounding a little annoyed.

They could have turned around and gone in through one of the windows. There were many on every floor of the building and very few, after all that mess, remained intact.

Abigail didn't want to do that, however.

What she did was take the sword out of his hands.

She hit the ice covering the door with it. That did make him feel a little frustrated, and not be carried in her arms. That sword wasn't just his weapon. It was like part of him.

Knowing he couldn't wield it was humiliating and frustrating.

He tried to suppress those useless and unreasonable feelings. He bit his lip even harder.

Abigail continued to strike at the ice, using his sword.

It took her four or five hits, lost count, well, more like never started it. But she succeeded. Breaking the ice, that is.

Not all of it.

It would take more than four or five blows to break all the ice on the door, that's for sure.

But she broke enough for both of them to enter the palace, sneaking through the gap in the door.

Abigail stepped inside and carefully set him down on the floor in the center of the room. There was no ice inside, but it didn't matter, the cold was piercing anyway. She couldn't complain, though, and it was better than being outside in the middle of a war zone. This was still the safest place in the city, just as he had said.

In the middle of a war zone, 'safest' didn't count for much. But it was still true.

Abigail crouched down beside him, looking at him with concern and tenderness. As always. A mother's look.

“I shouldn't have let you go so far. Not a second time. I'm sorry.”

And, as always, she had a habit of apologizing for things that had nothing to do with her. The truth is that she preferred not to think because she could have become accustomed to feeling responsible for the mistakes of others.

The truth is that I preferred not to think about why she might have become accustomed to feeling responsible for the mistakes of others.

“It was my decision. Not yours. Lately, I do nothing but throw myself into the abyss you're trying to pull away from." Looking back, sadly that was putting it mildly, really. He'd been being too stupid, not listening, lately. With reasons. He always had reasons, at the end of the day, told himself it was for this and that, most often for Abigail's sake.

But he'd been too stupid.

“I'm the one who should apologize. Well, I guess that's what I'm doing.” Ah, always so eloquent.

Another display of his innate stupidity.

“Don't worry…”

It was hard to have it any other way when Abigail wouldn't listen to her own advice. He shouldn't have to worry about his own decisions, but Abigail had to worry about his?

She was taking too much responsibility on her shoulders.

Maybe that was an inseparable part of being a mother, a good mother, and it wasn't for any particular reason.

A loud bang sounded.

Abigail, very tense, turned in its direction.

“I have to get out of here. This isn't over.”

"I understand," he replied simply. What else could he say?

“I'll be back soon. I promise.”

She always came back.

She always kept her promises.

Desmond nodded, finally.

Abigail patted his hand a few times, affectionately, and left him behind in the icy ruins of the palace. Reluctantly, but she left him. For his sake, of course.

But Desmond felt his strength leaving him as he watched her walk away. As he watched her back walk away.

It was a shock. He didn't think he had a drop left in the tank in the first place.

The boy sighed deeply.

More than pain, what he felt was numbness all over his body. But if he moved even one toe, one muscle, the pain would start again. It would flare up.

He had hit rock bottom.

There was really nothing more he could do for them.

Turning his head was painful and also an effort. He turned it to look out the windows. In their frames still hung, surprisingly, some broken glass.

He could not see much through those windows. And even less from his position, that is, lying on the floor.

He would get up to see something else, but it wouldn't serve any purpose.

He needed to rest and...

Resting wouldn't help him. He wouldn't regain his strength so easily. He was broken, thanks to the ravages of that poison. He could have no illusions of returning to battle after a while.

Not unless he was willing to drink someone else's blood.

And he had passed up his best chance. Now he couldn't go back on his decision, even if he regretted it. And he was not regretful, on the contrary, relieved. He knew he had made the right decision.

He was tired and very fed up with, well, everything.

Still, his mind didn't stop working, imagining not only what was going on nearby that he couldn't see, from the sounds of battle.

Imagining what would be going on even further away. All over the city.

How the invasion was going. Which side had the upper hand.

It was the only thing he could do.

Everything and everyone had a limit. His body had already found it, collapsing. Soon after it was his mind's turn.

He stopped fighting, listening to the voice of reason, instead of persisting in the madness that normally pushed him to ignore everything in order to move forward.

For the first time in... fuck, he didn't even know how long, he was able to accept that enough was enough.

Consciousness left him.

——

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that the wall where the windows through which he had been watching the progress of the battle had been were now nothing but a big hole. More destruction, more dust and debris piled up. The second thing, which captured his full attention, was that he had regained consciousness in time to see the sun set over the ruins of the once proud and beautiful capital.

So much destruction, so much misery and death, and he could have prevented it. Had he been in the fullness of his strength, he could have prevented it.

Not each and every death. Every harm.

He was no god, and would never expect anything so unreasonable from himself. Not even someone like him could expect such a thing. However, at least he was sure it wouldn't have gone as wrong as it did now.

Caught in his guilt loop, he lost sight of the most important thing.

Not the passage of time, although it was also important that many hours must have passed for the sun to set.

But the silence.

Too much silence, a silence that was even oppressive, not reassuring. This silence meant that it was all over. One way or another.

And he had no way of knowing which side the gods had favored.

With his heart in a fist, knowing he was the same as he had been hours ago and could do nothing, Desmond waited for the answer to be revealed to him.

If Christina and Amy had died, perhaps it would be better to be put out of his misery with a bullet in the head?

No, he had to move on, even if it was like this.

For Abigail.

With Abigail...

But he was getting too far ahead of himself. First things first. Watch and wait.

Watch and wait, that was all he could do.

Desmond swallowed hard.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He didn't have to wait too long, really, but it took forever anyway.

For him it took forever before he saw Abigail and the others walk through that door. Besides, he wasn't just referring to Christina and Amy, but their team. The princess was also accompanying them.

Good.

They had come back to fight because they needed the princess alive to secure their future.

If after all this she had died out there anyway?

Well, it would be the kind of cruel joke the gods seemed to like.

And it sounded like he only cared about Charlotte to the extent that the girl could help them, but that wasn't true. Maybe it was counterproductive, but the truth was that she had grown fond of her.

Seeing her, he felt happy and relieved simply to see her safe.

He didn't think of his own benefit.

Even though he had been ready to abandon her and the capital to their fate, until he realized he couldn't afford to do that. Until Abigail made him wake up and get rid of the fear, rather.

Yes, he had been ready to abandon her..... but he loved her anyway.

As hypocritical and dirty as it sounded.

In his eyes, she was something like a little sister.

And he thought Charlotte also appreciated him in a similar way, though perhaps he was being too presumptuous in stating that.

Upon seeing him, the first thing Charlotte did was frown. Yes, a shadow fell over her face.

But...

It seemed to him it was more as if she had seen a particularly annoying inconvenience. Not like she was really worried about him, about his condition. As a person.

She gave him that impression, for some reason.

He knew the reason.

His body wasn't in perfect condition, but neither was his mind. It was bullshit. He was overreacting.

The girl left him no room to deceive himself by her next words.

“What's wrong with him? I thought he was fixed again.”

'Fixed.' Like a tool.

No, no, again he was falling into the error of overthinking things. The girl was exhausted, struggling for several hours. Exhausted and in shock, from seeing so many people die in front of her, from being forced to kill so many others.

And for guilt, thick guilt, if he felt guilty enough to make it hard to breathe, then how would she be, who was queen in all but name.

That was it. He was being hasty. And being unfair.

He wasn't okay, well, Charlotte wasn't either.

"That's just a... temporary thing, your majesty," Amy replied, hesitantly.

That said, Amy walked over to him, knelt down beside him. It seemed to him that she was going to say something, but in the end nothing. She simply looked at him. The girl was breathing heavily.

Her face was covered with dirt and blood.

Her clothes, too.

Speaking of guilt, the thing he felt most guilty about was not being there, fighting side by side with his team. Giving everything to make sure they didn't get hurt.

But they hadn't needed that. They were fine.

That was the important thing.

Fine physically, at least. Mentally, they could take care of that in the weeks and months to come.

Whatever it took.

Mentally, neither of them could be well. Especially Christina... That's why he had practically begged her to stay behind.

And she had ignored him, had come to help him, despite the risks.

She was the reason they had been able to defeat the second mechanical spider.

Without her, the war machine would have killed them all.

Or maybe they would have found a way, who knew? But in any case, she had been instrumental in getting things right.

He wondered if it had been worth it, though.

Or maybe they would have found a way, who knew? But, in any case, she had been instrumental in making things work out.

He wondered if it had been worth it, though.

If Christina herself felt it had been worth it. Because... Because she was...

How was she?

He wished he knew, but her appearance didn't give him much hope. Unlike Amy, she was staying away from him. That wasn't particularly unusual these days, but today was different.

She stood there, clutching the book tightly to her chest, as if she was afraid it would slip away. So tightly that her hands were shaking. Her hair covered her eyes. He couldn't see what was in her eyes.

Nothing good, for sure.

But ah, he wished he knew how she was. And if he would get better.

"What did you do to make him better then? Whatever he needs, I can..."

"Blood."

To her credit, Charlotte took that answer at face value. As if it were a common, everyday occurrence. She didn't hesitate.

"Anybody's blood will do?"

"Yes," Abigail replied dispassionately.

"Then that's enough talk." Charlotte's voice, on the other hand, was filled with a determination like steel.

And that same steel... She directed it toward her arm. To cut herself. To cut herself and for him to drink. Certainly her blood wouldn't have as much effect as Abigail's. For better or worse.

But it wasn't as if that girl wasn't powerful, and anyway, well, the danger was over.

There was no reason for that anymore. Even if he was willing to bet it all. And he wasn't.

Of course, Charlotte didn't know the whole story. She'd barely been told anything. And...

"That's not going to happen. Forget about it. You don't need to know why."

It looked like that wasn't going to change.

Since she refused to tell the truth, Charlotte ignored Abigail's words and looked directly at him, seeking his approval.

Desmond couldn't say he wanted her to know the truth.

He shook his head at her mute question.

At last Charlotte lowered her sword.

"They can't see him like this. Not today. It would be catastrophic for morale." He was surprised she'd accepted it so easily. He had expected her to give in, yes, but after pressing harder until she got the truth from Abigail's lips and then understood why it couldn't be. Not so fast, so easy. "Stay where you are."

Yes.

He wasn't going anywhere, that was for sure.

“And I…" Charlotte's voice trembled slightly. "I've got some cleanup to do.”

Cleanup?

——

Before leaving the palace, Charlotte took a deep breath, in order to normalize the rhythm of her breathing. She made sure her legs weren't shaking, too. Her people had to see her strong. More importantly, she had to appear strong. Because otherwise she would collapse, sooner rather than later. It wouldn't even be hard.

To be frank with herself, she was surprised she had made it this far without collapsing. She didn't think she'd have the strength.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

Perhaps it was only in those moments that one found true strength.

She stepped outside at last, looking around. Looking at the ravages of war. What she had saved didn't even enter her mind, only what she had failed to avoid. Charlotte had lived a life full of luxury. She had had everything she had wanted and more, except a family. In return, her only responsibility was....

It was supposed to be to protect the kingdom.

And she had given it everything, or so she had believed. Yet this was the result. The capital of her kingdom, the safest place, in theory, lay in ruins.

Had they not received reinforcements from other cities, perhaps that was literally all that would have been left of them. Ruins and ghosts wandering among them. Full of regret, searching for something.

She felt sick. She hated herself. For failing, for being too weak. Really, that was all they had expected of her in return for everything and she had failed. This line of thinking wasn't helping her keep her composure, that's for sure, but she couldn't stop either.

They had defeated the enemy. Killed every last one of the invaders.

But this was only one battle of many until the war would end, if it could end. Many monarchs before her had surely hoped to live to see the end of the war.

And all had died simply to put it on pause, making it the next generation's problem.

The same mistakes, over and over again.

But they hadn't received a prophecy from the gods. Well, they hadn't had anyone around who had received it. She hadn't believed Desmond's words. She'd thought, at the time, that it was nothing more than a delusion. That it would pass. That it wasn't true or perhaps, strangely, that it couldn't be true. It wasn't as if she didn't believe in gods, that would be as stupid as not believing in the oxygen that kept her alive. But a part of her thought it couldn't be true, yes.

Now, however, quite the opposite.

She wished fervently that Desmond was right. And if in his state he couldn't make that vision a reality, she would be the one to do it. She would dedicate her whole life to achieving that. To kill every last one of the Imperials.

With her own hands, if necessary.

Deep in thought, she didn't notice that Abigail had been coming after her until she got close enough to give her a good scare, almost making her heart leap out of her throat. She raised a hand to bring it to her chest, but the hand only went halfway.

She dropped it before it was too late. I can't show weakness, the girl reminded himself. Freaking out over nothing would reveal how nervous she was. She had to project calmness, otherwise she couldn't expect the same from her subjects.

Calmness. Calm. Calm.

More surprising than her sudden appearance was that she was here in the first place. She'd expected... Well, expected was a big word. She had assumed that Abigail would stay at the palace, always near the boy she adored so much, who was everything to her. So she couldn't imagine why she'd come out after her.

"What are you doing here?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she asked anyway. "Don't you have to take care of your little boy?"

The woman didn't answer. She looked back at her, that was all.

"Eh? Aren't you going to say something?"

More silence. Unbelievable, had that woman come all this way just to distract and irritate her? Charlotte knew she didn't like her, and the feeling was mutual, but she couldn't be so childish. For sure. Anyway, if she had a good reason to go after her, she'd open her mouth. Couldn't waste any more time with that woman.

"As you wish. But stay out of my way."

Yes. Abigail could follow her like a shadow if she liked that. As long as she stayed out of it. The battle had been won, but this was just as important. Appearing before her people for the first time after the end of the battle. She had to do it right. They had earned the present. Now she had to win the future.

And it all started with the first brick.

Charlotte took a deep breath. Again. She had to keep her composure or this couldn't go well.

Outside the palace, not far away, were gathered her soldiers. Not all of those who had survived the battle, not by a long shot, fortunately. For otherwise the number would have been crushingly small.

But a few. Enough to make her feel comfortable.

And, in the midst of that crowd, there were also a few of the people who had been saved. Not all of them. Again, the number would have been too small for her heart to bear, otherwise.

They had saved those people and more. Many.

Actually, it could have been much worse.

But they had been unable in many cases to prevent them from losing their homes, their belongings.... Their families. They had all lost... too much....

The invaders had been defeated and killed. But not all the guilty had received their punishment. The golden masks were still there, in the crowd. Standing proudly, as if they were heroes.

As if they had done more than just clean up their own mess. As much as possible.

Was it enough? No. Not as far as she was concerned.

And that's why it was time to... clean up. Yeah. That's right. Charlotte couldn't stop herself, and she didn't want to. Charlotte had come all this way with the intention of giving some kind of motivational speech, but now she understood that words were blown away by the wind. That they weren't nearly enough.

What these people, forsaken by cruel fate, needed were not words but deeds.

"Guards... arrest them!" she shouted in a hoarse voice.

The soldiers looked at her as if they didn't understand. The citizens too, with a certain fear.

As if they had believed her words were directed at them. It hurt her that they might think that, but it was understandable, given the situation. With the ruins of their normal lives behind them, they obviously couldn't think normally.Who could?

"Princess?" said one of her soldiers. They too were evidently too confused by such a simple order, which should have been obvious.

"The traitors with the golden masks! After them!

The normal people turned away from the soldiers and the golden masks. They feared, naturally, that things would go awry again. That they weren't out of danger after all.

Charlotte felt bad for a moment, but she wouldn't let them do anything to any citizens.

Not anymore.

That was why she was doing this, why it was necessary. The soldiers quickly surrounded the golden masks. They were all gathered there, all those who had survived, at least. So they could get this over with quickly. Good.

And even though all the golden masks were there, the numerical superiority of their forces was obvious.

"What's the meaning of this? We have defended this city. We... "Charlotte couldn't believe that one of the golden masks had dared to protest as if he had the right to even open his mouth.

It was outrageous. The word was too mild for her taste, but she could think of no other.

"You are traitors," she spat venomously. She spat the truth, which burned more than any poison. "Conspiring to assassinate my knight, working against me from the first minute. You must have thought you could stab me in the back and get away with it just because I'm a girl. Well, you'll get what you deserve. Get it fucking straight. You'll get what you fucking deserve."

Some of the golden masks were grabbed, and they didn't resist. Not yet anyway. It's not like she expected them to give up and accept their deaths.

But they shouldn't be a problem, even when they started fighting.

Too few of them.

"If you hadn't poisoned him, those spiders wouldn't have done so much damage! The flames wouldn't have spread to such an extent! You dirty traitors, if Desmond had been able to fight at the peak of his strength...!"

She hadn't been able to keep her composure at all.

She was still on the right track, but she was screaming wildly, with no control over herself. The most important thing about it was....

Well, maybe it was a figment of her imagination, but her voice sounded dangerously close to breaking at several points.

They couldn't see her cry. Anger was better than tears, so Charlotte embraced her anger to stay strong.

"We're sorry. We're sorry, but...!"

Another golden mask pleaded. At least this one didn't think he was entitled to anything, he simply apologized.

Too bad an apology was useless. Words were carried away by the wind, yes, it couldn't be more bitterly true. To know that, it would take nothing more than to stop and look around.

To know it, it would take no more than that for months.

"It's too late now," Charlotte declared. "My soldiers...!"

Abigail grabbed her shoulder, taking her by surprise for the second time. In the heat of the moment, she had forgotten she was there. Now she was deciding to do something. And that something was to get in her way, even though she had warned her. It seemed that no one took her seriously. Maybe that was her fault.

Maybe.

But she would be sure to rectify it.

"I said stay out of my way. I thought you, of all people, would understand me better than anyone else."

Yes.

They had poisoned Desmond, her treasure, almost killing him. Almost taking away not only the boy but the opportunity she had been seeking for thousands and thousands of years.

Naturally, she would be mad with rage, even if she rarely showed it.

Naturally, she wouldn't settle for seeing Richard dead, he who did it personally, but all of them. Every last one of them.

Or at least that was what she had thought.

Had she been wrong about the witch?

"Look at them. Your citizens. It's the right decision, but not the time. It's not what they need today."

Charlotte had already looked at them. Yes, they were scared, nervous. But they didn't know what they wanted. As unpleasant as it was at first, they would be calmer when all of Albion's enemies had been eliminated.

She could not allow the golden masks to live a second longer.

She didn't say anything of the sort to the witch. All she did was growl:

"Get out of my way."

After a moment, Abigail dropped her hand. The woman didn't look away from her as if reprimanding her for her decision. But at least now she understood her place. She didn't need her useless opinion. Just her mouth shut.

Charlotte turned to her own and gave the final order.

"My soldiers, execute them!"

——

The girl gave the order, ignoring her words. At this point there was no way to stop anything from happening anyway, after all she had said, and how she had said it.

But people's opinion would be more favorable if she hadn't been the one to start this.

Anyway, it was too late.

One of the golden masks was pleading for mercy, trying to reason with the princess, just as Abigail had done.

His plea was silenced. By a sword through the throat.

Which, of course, caused the inevitable battle to break out. Again. The last thing the citizens needed, after the horror and stress of the last dozen hours. Maybe more.

Both sides were out of strength. Completely exhausted from the constant battle to repel the invaders, for hours on end. Exhausted physically, but mostly mentally. Too many losses.

However, they had no choice. They had to fight.

It quickly became clear that the golden masks were losing. Rather, they had not had a chance to win from the beginning.

Numerical advantage wasn't always everything. But in a situation like this, it was.

The enemies would lose even if she stood idly by, waiting for it all to be over. That didn't mean she was going to do so, no, no.

She had to intervene to end this as quickly and, therefore, with as few casualties as possible.

That is, none.

She could easily handle this fight. She wasn't worried about it at all. What worried her was that it had happened in the first place.

And more importantly, what did that mean for their future.

The trajectory Charlotte was taking, and where she would end up.

——

Abigail came out after Charlotte.

He was emotionally immature, but it wasn't like he needed mom by his side all the time. He was, however, a little worried. He knew she wouldn't leave him in this state without a good reason. He didn't know what that good reason would be, and he didn't want to know. Too tired.

Too tired to fall asleep, to rest, in fact.

Christina. He couldn't rest or lift a finger, but at least he could talk to her. Knowing himself, maybe he would end up screwing up, but someone had to do something. At least try.

"How is she?"

He hadn't made a mistake. In his cowardice, he hadn't addressed Christina directly, but Amy. Even though he already imagined what she was going to answer him. The same thing he felt.

"I... I wish I knew."

Yeah. Christina was bad, that much was obvious, but how bad? He wished he knew.

Desmond swallowed saliva, chiding himself for his cowardice. This time he turned to Christina. Not without some trepidation.

"Thank you." Of all the things he could have said to her, that was what came out of his mouth in the end.

Christina looked at him as if surprised. No wonder, he supposed. He himself didn't know it was going to come out of his mouth until it did. On second thought, though, it made all the sense in the world.

"Thank you for risking everything for me. You could have stayed where you were, and still.... Thank you." He looked sideways at Amy, as if to say 'thank you, too, of course'. She, too, had taken a big risk. But he thought if he added that, it would sound less strong or how to put it..... Personal? Something along those lines. He didn't know how to say it, it had been a feeling more than anything else. Maybe wrong, as good as his instincts tended to be.

Anyway. She would understand, he hoped.

"It's nothing. You did the same," Christina replied, slowly and after a while.

Desmond didn't know what to say. Nor how to take the tone with which she had said it.

The sun had set over the ruins and silence reigned. But their battles, internal and external, had only just begun.