Princess Seraphine sat at her ornate desk, the delicate scratching of her quill the only sound in the dimly lit chamber. The room was filled with the subtle scent of parchment and ink, a testament to the countless letters and decrees she had penned. The air outside was cool, the soft whisper of wind through the trees carrying with it the scent of rain, hinting at an approaching storm.
The heavy door to her chamber creaked open, and one of her knights hurried in, his armor clinking softly. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee before her, his head bowed low. His breathing was steady, but the tension in his posture betrayed his unease.
“Your Highness,” the knight began, his voice careful and measured, “The Crimson Claw successfully dispatched the dark elves. Earlier today, we confirmed that the entire village of Eldralis was burned to the ground. No survivors have been reported. However,” he hesitated, “three of the four party members were found dead outside the entrance of the Abyssal Crucible, their bodies mutilated, with multiple limbs severed.”
Seraphine paused, placing the feathered quill gently onto its stand. Slowly, she rose from her chair, her gown shimmering in the faint light as she moved toward the window. She gazed out over the sprawling kingdom of Lunaris, her expression serene, yet her eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
“Those deplorable elves,” she murmured, a hint of disdain curling her lips. “I’ve always despised their indecisiveness. Good riddance.” Her soft laughter filled the room, as chilling as it was beautiful. “As for that party of nobodies… I couldn’t care less about their fate.”
She turned to face the knight, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “Locate the fourth member. I want to know what he saw, what he knows. Then, ensure he meets the same end as the others.”
The knight bowed his head, acknowledging her command. The weight of her words settled on him like a heavy mantle, and he could feel the cold steel of responsibility pressing against his chest.
Seraphine returned to her desk, picking up a sealed letter she had just finished writing. With an air of finality, she extended it to the knight. “Deliver this to King Valenstrad of Hothrean,” she instructed. “Inform him that the Hero we summoned was a failure. It is time to proceed with Plan B.”
The knight took the letter, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he recognized the importance of its contents. He stood, his armor clanking softly, and gave a deep bow before swiftly exiting the room.
As the door closed behind him, Seraphine allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The pieces were falling into place, and soon, the true game would begin. She glanced once more at the darkening sky beyond her window, as if the storm brewing in the distance was a reflection of the plans she had set in motion.
Princess Seraphine had always understood the dynamics of power, even as a child. She watched her father collect bribes, using the kingdom’s wealth to bolster the fortunes of his favored allies. The kingdom flourished under a facade of prosperity, built on corruption and deceit. Night after night, she saw different women enter her father’s chambers, their presence a stark reminder of his indiscretions. Her mother, ever the dutiful queen, turned a blind eye, desperate to maintain the illusion of a united family.
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Seraphine’s childhood was one of isolation, surrounded by people who pretended to care for her, but she knew better. Her friends were mere pawns, instructed to play with her, to keep her company, but never truly understanding her. Yet, this loneliness never bothered her; she had no need for friendship. All she cared for was power. She dreamed of shaping the world in her image, to bend it to her will. For that, she needed the throne.
At the age of twelve, Seraphine made her first move. She orchestrated her mother’s execution by stealing her father’s most precious jewels and planting them among her mother’s belongings. The queen was accused of treason, her pleas of innocence falling on deaf ears. Seraphine watched with cold detachment as her mother was beheaded, the guillotine’s blade shining as it ended the queen’s life. No one ever suspected poor, innocent Seraphine.
When she turned sixteen, Seraphine struck again. This time, it was her father’s turn to fall. She poisoned him using the very women he invited into his chambers, their beauty hiding the deadly intent Seraphine had instilled in them. The king’s death was slow and painful, a fitting end for a man who had ruled through corruption and lust. With her father’s demise, Seraphine was coronated as the princess of Lunaris, the first step in her grand plan.
But power did not come without challenges. The Dark King loomed on the horizon, a constant thorn in her side. His influence spread chaos, threatening the order she sought to impose. He was too far to reach, yet his actions always forced her hand, making her clean up the messes he left behind. She knew that to truly solidify her rule, she needed to eliminate this threat once and for all.
Thus, she devised a plan—a plan that required the summoning of a hero, a being of great power who could do what her armies could not. The ritual was ancient and dark, demanding the blood of 200 souls to fulfill its purpose. The preparation was meticulous and time-consuming, taking weeks to gather the necessary components and ensure the alignment of the stars and moons. Each detail had to be perfect, each step taken with utmost precision.
Seraphine oversaw every aspect of the ritual, her frustration mounting as the process dragged on. The Crimson Claw, ever loyal to her, carried out the grisly task of kidnapping and slaughtering the 200 innocents required for the ritual. Once their work was done and the ritual complete, Seraphine had another task for them. The dark elves of Eldralis were too close to identifying her plans, and their peaceful nature made them a threat. Seraphine knew that they would object and likely alert the wood elves further away if they discovered what she was doing. She couldn’t afford to have them interfere, so she ordered the Crimson Claw to eliminate them immediately.
The dark elves, known for their peaceful nature, wisdom, and connection to the natural world, stood no chance against the brutal efficiency of the Crimson Claw. Eldralis was burned to the ground, its people slaughtered, ensuring that no word of Seraphine’s plans would reach the ears of potential allies.
Finally, the day came when the ritual was complete, and the hero was summoned. But when Myuk appeared, her heart sank. He was not the powerful savior she had envisioned—he was weak, unimpressive, and completely inadequate for the task she had in mind. The weeks of preparation, the countless lives sacrificed, all seemed to mock her in that moment. A failure. Her first failure. Yet, she was undeterred. Plan B was already in motion, and she would stop at nothing to achieve her ultimate goal. The world would bow to her will, or it would burn in the process.