The ballroom fell into chaos as several invited guests subtly began to encircle the room, moving like shadows under Zacharias’s silent hand signal. Xander’s sharp eyes caught the motion, and he exchanged a warning glance with his siblings—a silent notification to be ready.
King Xerxes, however, was too consumed with his interrogation of the Golden Bank representatives to notice the subtle shift in the room. Then it happened—the guests began extinguishing the ballroom’s candles one by one. A moment ago, the room had been ablaze with light and color; now, darkness crept in, suffocating the grandeur.
“What is happening?” Xerxes grumbled, glancing around as the dimness grew oppressive.
The answer came in the form of a chilling sight. Zacharias’s eyes glinted with a predatory yellow glow, piercing the darkness like a reptilian marking its prey. He wasn’t alone. One by one, other guests revealed the same glowing eyes—yellow orbs brimming with malevolence. Zacharias’s skill was being shared, likely through another guest’s power.
The clinking of metal began to fill the room, a symphony of hidden weapons being unsheathed. Xerxes turned in place, his composure faltering as the unfamiliar sounds intensified. “What’s going on?” he demanded again, his voice losing its edge.
Xemena’s cry cut through the confusion like a dagger. “FATHER, IT’S A TRAP!”
The warning came just in time. Xander drew his longsword in one swift motion, charging toward his father. Xerxes turned to face his son, his heart breaking at the sight of the blade poised to strike. Betrayal? His eldest son? Grief twisted his features as he braced for the blow.
But Xander’s blade was not meant for him. In a dazzling arc, the sword clashed against Zacharias’s twin shortswords, the strike deflecting what would have been a lethal blow to the king’s neck. Zacharias moved with the precision of a viper, one blade parrying Xander while the other grazed Xerxes’s throat, leaving a shallow but painful wound.
The king staggered, falling to one knee, his hand pressing against his bleeding neck. His eyes locked onto Zacharias, the first prince of Zairule, whose glowing gaze burned with unbridled ambition.
“KILL THEM ALL!” Zacharias roared, his voice igniting chaos like wildfire.
The ballroom erupted. Guests tore away their disguises, revealing weapons and armor hidden beneath their fine clothing. They were no nobles—they were assassins. Blades flashed and struck down Xandrian dignitaries before they could react.
Amidst the carnage, Niles’s voice rang out, raw with urgency. “RUN!”
Screams filled the air as unarmed nobles scrambled to escape, only to find the exits blocked by guards wearing Xandrian colors, now cutting down their own people with cold efficiency.
Xhiva, targeted by three assassins armed with crossbows, moved with surprising agility for his size. Grabbing a heavy feasting table, he swung it like a makeshift shield, the bolts embedding harmlessly into the wood. “Stay close!” he barked to Roy and Gustavus, who had initially bolted but quickly returned to stand back-to-back with their ally.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Xemena was a force of nature. A soldier charged her, sword raised high, but she was faster. Drawing the dagger Niles had gifted her, she sidestepped his attack and struck him down with one fluid motion. Her eyes scanned the chaos, locking onto her father, unarmed and dazed, wandering the dance floor like a man lost in a nightmare.
“FATHER, FIGHT!” she screamed, throwing the fallen soldier’s sword toward him. But Xerxes stood motionless, staring at the blood on his hand from his wound, the thrown blade landed next to him. Xerxes voice trembled, barely audible amidst the slaughter. “How could this happen?”
The king stumbled forward, his steps heavy with disbelief. Loyal servants and nobles hurled themselves in front of him, their bodies torn apart by the blades meant for their sovereign. Xerxes barely noticed their sacrifice, his mind clouded with despair.
“FATHER!” Xemena shouted again, her voice cracking with desperation. Her distraction cost her—an assassin lunged at her from the shadows. She barely managed to parry the blade with her dagger, her movements driven by sheer survival instinct.
The once-grand ballroom was now a battlefield, the glow of the full moon casting eerie light through the shattered windows, illuminating the faces of both the desperate and the damned.
In Xemena’s periphery, she caught sight of her eldest brother, Xander, locked in a fierce duel with Zacharias. Xander, the strongest warrior in the entire Xandrian kingdom, was being forced back—something she had never thought possible. His long, horsetail-style hair whipped wildly with each clash of steel. His gritted teeth betrayed the strain he was under. The ballroom’s confined space made his massive two-handed sword cumbersome, leaving him at a disadvantage against Zacharias’s twin blades.
Zacharias fought with precision and speed, his movements as fluid and deadly as a serpent’s strike. He circled Xander with a cruel grin, his glowing yellow eyes—enhanced by his skill Viper Eyes—cutting through the darkness like twin lanterns. “Is this all you’ve got, mighty prince?” Zacharias taunted, his voice a venomous whisper. “If I’d known it would be this easy, I’d have taken your life years ago.”
With a dancer’s grace, Zacharias feinted to the left before slicing to the right, his blade carving a shallow wound across Xander’s side. The prince staggered, forced to retreat a few steps to regain his footing. Blood darkened the edges of his shirt, and his breaths grew heavier.
Then, as if on cue, heavy curtains fell across the ballroom windows, cutting off the moonlight. Darkness consumed the space, save for the faint glow of Zacharias’s predatory eyes. “Sweet dreams, dear prince,” Zacharias murmured, his tone mocking and sinister. He melted into the shadows, preparing his next ambush, his movements nearly imperceptible to all but himself.
Meanwhile, Xhiva was slowing down. Though his strength and speed were formidable for a man of his size, his stamina faltered. The once-mighty feasting table in his hands moved less and less with each swing, its wooden surface splintered and riddled with arrowheads.
“Keep going!” Roy urged, his voice steady but strained.
“We’ve got your back!” Gustavus added, though his wide eyes betrayed his fear.
Xhiva’s chest heaved, sweat pouring down his brow, but he nodded, refusing to give in.
Unnoticed by the trio, an assassin crept closer, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. He had singled out Roy, Xandria’s famed “secret weapon,” as his target. The assassin moved with eerie precision, and by the time Roy noticed, it was too late. The blade was already descending toward him.
But instead of finding its mark, the steel pierced flesh elsewhere.
Roy’s eyes widened in horror as Niles threw himself into the assassin’s path, his body colliding with the attacker in a desperate attempt to deflect the strike. The blade shifted direction but still found purchase, sliding through Niles’s abdomen with a chilling ease.
The room seemed to freeze. Niles gasped, his face pale but determined, as the assassin pulled back his bloodied blade. Roy’s voice caught in his throat, a strangled cry forming as he watched his friend stumble.
“NILES!” Roy finally screamed, his hands reaching out to catch his friend before he fell to the ground.