"Dead." The word was a ghost on Gabriel's lips, echoing hauntingly in the hollow of his soul, as if its mere utterance could bind the dreadful reality into existence.

Janus placed his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I'm sorry, my prince.” Gabriel saw the mirror of his own torment in Janus's eyes, as though the shared grief was a cruel, insatiable beast feeding on their desolation.

“He's gone.” The maelstrom of emotions, stirred by the knowledge of the king's demise, threatened to overwhelm Gabriel. The man who had tormented him was dead. The source of his humiliation and physical pain was now nothing more than a lifeless husk.

A strange relief filled him. There would be no more torment, no more unjust punishment. Yet, paradoxically, there was a void. A hollow emptiness where a father’s love should have resided, a paternal affection Gabriel had always yearned for, one that he never admitted; even to himself.

Janus’ sturdy arms, so often used for fighting, now provided a comforting shield as he held Gabriel, their bodies entwined in shared sorrow. Protocol and decorum, usually unyielding in their grasp, retreated in the face of two individuals who had just lost their fathers.

"Prince, we have to move," Jamison's voice broke through the silent room. His words were heavy with sorrow but determined, a reminder of the reality they had to accept.

Tears streaked Gabriel's face, a silent testament to the storm brewing within him. Absently, he wiped them away with his sleeve before obediently trailing after Jamison while counting the stones beneath his feet as a temporary distraction.

A group of guards awaited them, each face more stunned than the last at the sight of the prince. Some even made signs warding off the spirit of Ash, as if fearing the deity’s wrath had fallen upon the prince.

Soon, the queen’s chamber doors loomed. A haven amidst the chaos. Jamison knocked on the heavy wooden door and announced their arrival, "We have secured the prince."

Gasps echoed from the other side, followed by the creak of the door swinging open. Gabriel’s mother emerged, her relief palpable, but her joy turned into concern as she took in his bloodied appearance. After a moment's hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, her words a fervent whisper against the shell of his ear, "My boy, you're alive, you're alive."

As the queen pulled back, her hands squeezed his shoulders, her touch grounding, reminding him he was still there, still alive.

Gabriel's gaze was drawn to a mirror standing tall in the room's corner. Its beautifully etched frame was unable to shield the grotesque reflection that it mirrored. The mirror's elegant craftsmanship held a stark contrast to the image it cast back.

His once-beige trousers were now a canvas to splatters of scarlet. Gabriel’s white undershirt, once pristine, was soaked through with a horrifying shade of crimson. His hair, matted with drying blood, clung to his scalp and forehead. The trails of tears that had unknowingly escaped his eyes had created rivulets through the blood that painted half of his face, warping his visage into a horrific tableau.

His bright green eyes pierced through the haunting image. Their vibrant hue seemed to glow unnaturally against the backdrop of blood and carnage, adding an eerie touch to the nightmare reflected. Gabriel stared back at the specter of his own worst fear, encapsulated in the mirror.

Turning to his mother, he asked her question after question. His mother’s voice was full of uncertainty, responding to the barrage with only, “We don’t know yet.” The air became heavier with each unanswerable question.

Gabriel’s gaze slid to the six guards posted in the room, protectors in a world suddenly unfamiliar. His mind swam with questions, but one bubbled to the surface. “Where’s Sarah?”

“She is being brought here,” his mother answered. Gabriel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Then the unspeakable was finally voiced into the air, the words tumbling from Gabriel’s lips like forbidden curses. “So, the King is dead…” His mother's solemn nod confirmed it, and Gabriel was again thrown into a sea of turmoil.

“I’m sorry Gabriel.”

“I thought I’d feel free, knowing that I wouldn’t endure the pain and disappointment from the man who never loved me.” Gabriel rubbed his hand over his heart, “Instead, all I feel is a void, an emptiness that wasn’t there before.”

He sank to the floor, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall – The solidity was the only certainty he could cling to in this world of chaos.

“I did this. Didn’t I?

His mother knelt beside him, her fingers gently lifting his chin until their green eyes locked. A fierce blaze burned within her gaze as she spoke, "I won’t repeat this again, Gabriel. This was not your doing. You mustn't blame yourself for the actions of others.”

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“How can I not?”

“Remember those lessons from Tunklard well. Hide your emotions. Sometimes if you pretend that you don’t feel the pain, you can even start forgetting it's there.”

“Is that what you do?” Gabriel asked angrily.

“Yes.”

“Did you forget the pain?”

“No… it’s there. If I think too long on it, I can almost grasp it. But it helps, the pain lessens each passing day. And I can’t afford to live inside that sorrow. The kingdom needs me. You need me.”

Gabriel nodded, her words striking a chord within him.

“Stay strong in the coming days. Do not wallow. And if you can’t, then hide it in front of others. You are now the heir to the throne; people will look to you. Make me proud. Become the beacon of light for the kingdom’s people that I know you can be. Please,” his mother said.

Sorrow still enveloped him, but he couldn’t afford the selfishness of showing it when his mother needed him to be her pillar of strength. When the kingdom would look up to him in the days to come.

A change was inevitable. He could no longer afford to be the aloof prince. He could no longer stand by and let others shape his fate. Gabriel resolved to fill his void with purpose - a drive to create a better world than the one he was born into. That journey would start now.

He rose to his feet. “Thank you, Ma.”

His face changed to neutrality; the mask firmly in place. He turned and approached the guards. “Thank you for protecting us.”

"It is our duty," replied one guard, stepping forward.

“I thank you for it, nonetheless.” He paused, surveying each guard. "May I know your names?"

One guard stepped forward and tilted his head slightly. "Dorel, My prince." The others followed suit, each revealing their names.

"Dorel, Abral, Saxtus, Drax, Brandon, and Albert," he repeated, offering them gentle smiles in return. "I witnessed your brothers fighting outside, side by side, protecting each other, protecting me. Their bravery was unmatched."

"You honor them, Prince."

“I’m sure you know about me, know how I don’t like to fight.” He saw some of the men nodding. “It doesn’t matter what I like anymore. I saw them use the sword to protect, and I shall do the same. This I swear by Victra.”

Saxtus stepped forward, thumping his chest with his fist. The other guards followed in unison. "Fight valiantly, die with honor," they each said.

With a nod, Gabriel placed his blood-streaked fist over his heart. "Fight valiantly, die with honor," he echoed. Leaving the guards to themselves, his gaze landed on his mother. A single tear escaped from her as she moved to join him, but the door bursting open interrupted them.

Heart pounding, Gabriel spun around, desperately hoping to see Sarah's familiar face. But instead, a stream of guards poured in, grim-faced and on high alert. Artus trailed them, his features ghostly pale beneath the dim torchlight. As his gaze met Gabriel's, a shiver seemed to go through him.

"Are you alright?" The tremor in Artus's voice was barely perceptible.

Stunned by this rare show of brotherly concern, Gabriel faltered. "I'm... I'm fine."

“What is happening?” Artus asked.

Gabriel hesitated, the weight of the news threatening to break him. He took a deep breath, but before he could speak, his mother’s soft yet commanding voice interrupted. "Artus, please sit,"

“No woman, just tell me what in Ash is happening.”

“I’m sorry Artus… your father has been killed.”

As if he had been slapped, he staggered backward, eyes widening in disbelief. "No... It's impossible…. He’s invincible"

She reached out, attempting to comfort him, but he recoiled. His anguished cry resonated throughout the room, making everyone flinch. Jamison peeked in from behind the door, assessing the situation, then discreetly retreated.

Artus's voice, now raw with pain, broke the silence. "How did he...?"

The former queen drew her breath, “He was assassinated”.

“Who by.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but think that Artus’s words were eerily similar to the late king’s questions, a lifetime ago.

“It was one of the maids. It happened in his chambers just before the bells tolled.”

“A maid killed Pa?” Artus asked in a quite voice.

A vision of a blonde maid with lifeless eyes flashed through Gabriel's mind. Why would she kill the king? How?

Trying to piece together his understanding, “But why was she there in the first place?"

His mother faced him, a subtle flicker of pain in her eyes. While most might have missed it, Gabriel knew her all too well. He recognized the meaning behind that slow blink. "She often visited him late in the chambers," she replied.

“That makes little sense. Why would the King need a maid in the middle of the night?” Gabriel asked.

Their mother hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. After what felt like an eternity, she said, "They were... involved together."

Gabriel's thoughts raced, connecting the dots. The King had been involved with the maid. The sorrow in her eyes, her unsteady gait, her resentment towards the son of the man who used her, and the guilt that surfaced when she faced the queen.

Gabriel's fist tightened, a wave of nausea coming over him as he thought of the king's coercion of the young woman.

It doesn’t add up though. These aren’t the actions of a single killer. Who were the other attackers that tried to kill him?

Artus's eyes darkened. "You're spewing lies!" he shouted, moving threateningly closer.

"I wish they were, Artus," she whispered, remorse clear in her voice.

Artus's fury melted into despair. Clutching his head, he mumbled, "First my brother, now my father.”

Witnessing his brother's sorrow, something shifted in Gabriel. The tears welling in his eyes broke the mask of stoicism he had built. Abandoning his usual guarded demeanor, he reached out, attempting to bridge the chasm of grief between them. Artus, after a heartbeat, grasped Gabriel's hand in response.

A truth crystallized within Gabriel. “This didn’t happen just because of the king’s declaration of war. This had to have been planned weeks in advance,” he said. His mother only nodded in response.

“The maid was only one part of the plan. She had to be working with someone. And that someone wants to see me dead,” Gabriel said.

Before she could answer, the chamber door swung open violently again. A guard, bloodied and gasping for breath, staggered in. Janus, equally disturbed, was right behind him.

The guard's voice quivered as he said, "Your Majesty... The princess…She’s been taken."