image [https://i.imgur.com/RCGrn1f.png]

A man sighed. In front of tall, ornate doors, he waits. Minutes go by with no call. He straightened his golden-lined white uniform, adorned with medals of battles won and survived.

“Don't worry, Your Highness. You made the right call.” A servant said behind, holding ledgers and files for the next meeting.

“For the people of Forshire, but not for him.”

The Royal Guard opened the door on both sides. Their impressive golden armour shone in the corridor’s candlelight. Runes, etched and engraved in golden metal, glimmer.

“The King calls for you.” A guard said, with an abrasive voice.

The noble walked into the dark room. No sunlight dared peek through the dark curtains. A haze filled the room. So hot and damp and with the smell of sex in the air, the noble tried to consciously breathe.

“Not you,” said a guard. His arm stopped the servant from entering.

The noble looked back. “He is one of mine.”

“But your highness-”

Eyes glow in the darkness of the room. The noble stared down at the guard, who trembled to the floor.

“The armour has made you delusional. Talk back again, and I will make sure your family receives you in an urn.” Glowing eyes go away as the guard restraints on his bladder weaken.

“Ugh. Embarrassing. You. Over there. Take him away and close the door behind you. Me and the king need privacy.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Another guard said as he scrambled to follow his instructions.

“Come, Hugh.”

The doors closed behind them with a slam. The noble and servant walk deeper into the large room. They approached a wide bed. Many women of the night drape over the velvet covers. Naked and asleep from an all-night session.

A lone man, clothed in red robes, sat upright on the back of the bed. Liver spots cover his wrinkled, draping skin. White hair grew in patches on the side of his head. His bald head gleamed in dim candlelight where his crown was supposed to be. Hollowed eyes stared at the noble and servant at the foot of his bed, awaiting a greeting.

“Good morning, Father.” The crown prince bowed and the servant did the same. The prince looked around at the floor. Women. In many states of undress. Many years younger than him.

“Glad you are feeling better.”

“Forshire.” A clear and calm voice echoed from a weak body. Every syllable made the prince flinch. The king held up a finger and a golden chalice floated to his bony hand.

“I did what needed to be done in your absence. Rebels were going out of control in the north. And Duke Danor’s actions didn't do him any favours. To protect the peace we fought for, I had to step in. For the good of our empire.”

“OUR?!” The king threw the chalice at the prince in anger. Blood dripped from the son's forehead, which he wiped with a handkerchief the servant offered.

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“No! MINE! Do not presume to know what I want or what is needed for MY empire just because you come from my loins!”

The prince kneeled on the ground. “I apologise. I would not have gone ahead if the situation were not so dire. Would you have wanted me to let Fourshire be hijacked by commoners? Out of your control? I took responsibility and feel no regret, Father. For there are no more independent dukedoms to lug around. Tralor is whole.”

Silence lingered while the price kneeled. Something caught his attention on the ground. A woman lay in front of him. He stretched out a hand to her face. No breath can be felt.

“Make sure it stays that way. Take charge without my permission again and I will ask a backup to take your place. Understand?”

The prince pulled his arm back and bent down deeper. Teeth grate under a calm facade. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Now, leave. I am expecting an important guest.”

The prince and servant stand up. Just before they exited the room, the half-dressed king asked a question.

“When will you throw away your servant?”

The prince looked back, surprised by the king's remark.

“Excuse me…?”

“Big things are on the horizon. Best to cast him out soon. Having a foreigner attached to you would cause misunderstandings.”

The prince turned back to the doors in thought. Doors slammed and the nervous servant relaxed.

“W-what could he possibly mean by that? Is it about the Hood?”

“No, I fear it's worse.”

As they walked down the corridor to the next meeting, the prince heard kind greetings behind them. Curious, he turned back. The king left his bed to give a baron a tight hug. Deep in an embrace, the king smiled.

“Your Highness, is that the hero?”

The prince's chest tightened. Envy wrangled his heart. “Yes, the Stalwart bastard.”

A young girl hid away. She had found a cupboard in the kitchens, filled with brushes and mops, to keep her company. She sweats from the fire that blazed outside. Smoke filled her lungs. Making her tiny self even smaller, she scrunched herself into a tight ball in the corner. Footsteps.

“Sir, they have fallen. But the girl is unaccounted for.”

A tear dropped down her cheeks, and all the hope she built up slowly drained away. She wipes her face of tears and sweat with a dirty sleeve. A broom was moved by her elbow.

The soldiers outside stopped talking. Muffled by the wood, men and women scream, weapons clang, and bombs explode, rocking the ground. The cupboard door opened wide. A soldier, clad in black and gold, aimed a rifle at the child. Slowly, the gun hummed, and the girl prepared for death.

“I am sorry... Orders are orders.”

A gunshot woke Marina. Sweat dripped from her face. She looked around and recognised Drac’s room. She looked to the left and Drac struggled with his own nightmare. Unchanged from yesterday, she stepped out of bed. She breathes deeply. Aura coalesced within her, calming her heart.

Another night…

Marina looked back at Drac and smiled in thought. “And another day.”

A man in black retrieved a blade from a man's back to slice into another chest. Before the two could fall, the man dropped down to dodge an aura sword. Another dagger in the left hand stabbed a leg. A jab to the temple ends the man's screaming. Four came forward, and four fell to the ground by his blade. Ten came forward, and four fell. Bone creak. Muscles tired and ached. Coated in the blood of many, the man in black lumbered forward.

The house. Just a few metres away.

The man blocked an attack with a reverse blade and redirected the sword. An aura kick to the stomach breaks the spine. A stab down pieced a head. A horizontal slash decapitated a head. A downward strike was blocked.

“It’s too late.” a palm to the chest pushed the man in black metres backward. The attacker took off her hood and almond eyes looked at him with pity. A large explosion shook the whole area and the man in black kneeled in despair.

COULD YOU HAVE SAVED THEM?

Drac’s eyes open wide.

Finally awake. Today is the day.

Drac sat up straight, trying to remember the nightmare he had. Getting off the bed, he knocked a few cards on the wine-bottle-littered floor. By the bed, an Orc snuggled himself into a ball on the ground, snoring without a care in the world.