"Alright, men! Take your battle stations! The Reaper has arrived in Southrade!" The sergeant’s voice roared through the castle yard like a war drum, his horn blaring an ominous call to arms.

The knights leapt into action, scrambling to don armor and snatch up their weapons. Clanging steel and shouted orders filled the air as cannons were wheeled into position and archers manned the battlements. The castle, moments ago calm, became a hive of tense, frantic preparation.

Frank moved through the chaos with calm precision, leading a horse from the stables. The animal was a powerful, black-coated beast that pawed the ground as if sensing the weight of its duty.

Approaching Alice, who stood near the gates, Frank gave her a steady look before passing her the reins. Her armor gleamed faintly, a cold contrast to her slumped shoulders and empty stare.

"Here’s the horse," Frank said quietly. "Pouches are stocked with water, weapons, and a medical kit. Use them wisely."

Alice gazed at the horse, a soft “woah…” escaping her lips. For years, she’d been denied the luxury of a mount, walking to her assignments as others mocked her status. This horse was both a gift and a bitter reminder of what she was not.

Mounting the saddle with practiced ease, Alice looked toward the darkening horizon.

"I'm off, then. Take care, Frank," she murmured.

Frank offered her a rare, somber nod. "I shall pray for your victory."

The gates creaked open, and Alice rode out into the encroaching night. Behind her, the castle’s cries and commotion faded, swallowed by the pounding hooves of her horse and the whistling of the wind.

The narrow path stretched before her, swallowed by the thickening shadows of the forest. Trees loomed like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the starless sky. The wind tore through the woods, carrying the first chill of an approaching storm.

Alice sat rigid in the saddle, her cloak whipping behind her, her hands clutching the reins until her knuckles turned white. The rhythmic pounding of hooves echoed her hammering heartbeat. Every step brought her closer to Southrade—and to him.

I want you to hunt down someone again… and you will kill the Reaper known as Axel.

Yokubo’s words replayed in her mind, sharp and damning. Alice’s throat tightened, the weight of her mission pressing down on her chest like a stone.

Lightning forked across the sky, its brief, violent glow illuminating the path. The thunder followed, a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very ground. A single tear escaped down her cheek, lost to the wind as her expression hardened.

Why am I so afraid? she asked herself, but the answer clawed at the edge of her thoughts—a truth too painful to confront.

Her sister’s voice echoed faintly in her mind:

You’re leaving so soon?

The image of Annabelle’s fragile smile and sorrow-filled eyes surfaced unbidden. Alice bit down on her lip, but the tears came faster now. Her mask cracked. She was no longer the stoic knight, no longer the unflinching servant—just a girl terrified of leaving her sister behind in this cruel world.

The rain began to fall, soft at first, dotting her armor with icy pinpricks. The storm was closing in, a wall of darkness swallowing the forest ahead. Her horse snorted, uneasy, but Alice pressed it forward. She had no choice—no chance to stop, no moment to falter.

And then it happened.

A sharp pain lanced through her skull. Alice gasped, clutching at her temple as the reins slipped from her hands. The forest spun in her vision, its shadows stretching and twisting as if to consume her. Her horse slowed to a trot, sensing her distress, but she hardly noticed.

Her memories overwhelmed her—a tidal wave of grief, pain, and love crashing through the thin walls of her resolve.

The past flooded her mind.

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- 7 Years Ago -

The smell of freshly baked bread drifted through the small wooden house, mingling with the earthy scent of the sunlit dirt path outside. Golden light spilled through cracks in the walls, painting streaks across the wooden floor.

“Give it back!” Alice’s voice trembled with frustration, her small claws digging into the floorboards. She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, her tail flicking wildly behind her.

“Nope.” Annabelle smirked, leaning lazily against the doorframe. In her hand, she held Alice’s cherished doll high, taunting her younger sister. “You can have it when you stop being such a brat.”

“You’re the brat!” Alice stomped her foot, her young face flushed. “Give it back, or—or I’ll tell Grandma!”

“Go ahead.” Annabelle waved the doll teasingly, but her grin faltered as Alice’s eyes welled with tears. “Don’t forget who helped you sew this stupid thing in the first place.”

“It’s not stupid!” Alice shouted, her voice cracking with anger. “You promised you’d stop calling my stuff stupid! You’re so mean!”

Annabelle’s smirk vanished. The sting of Alice’s words cut deeper than she let show, but pride kept her quiet. She hugged the doll closer. “I was joking,” she muttered softly, guilt starting to gnaw at her.

Alice looked down, her shoulders drooping. The fight had drained out of her. “I wish you weren’t my sister,” she said quietly, her voice brittle.

Annabelle froze, the air in the room thick and heavy. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Annabelle tossed the doll onto the table where it landed with a dull thud. “Fine,” she said, her voice sharp and tight. “Maybe I won’t be.”

The door slammed shut behind her as she walked out, leaving Alice alone with her words—words she immediately wished she could take back.

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The storm howled as Alice’s memories tore through her mind like jagged shards of glass. Her vision blurred, rain and tears streaking her face as the weight of that day crushed her anew.

I wish you weren’t my sister.

The words echoed relentlessly, twisting her insides with a guilt she could never shake.

“Annabelle…” she whispered, her voice lost to the roaring wind. Her heart ached as her sister’s face resurfaced in her mind—the fragile smile, the kindness she never deserved, the sacrifices Annabelle made.

Her hands trembled violently on the reins. Her body felt heavy, as though every painful memory weighed her down, dragging her deeper into the storm. The thunder rumbled louder, each crash mirroring the chaotic beat of her heart.

“I’m sorry…” she choked out, the words barely audible, swallowed by the night. Her fingers slipped, the reins falling free as the horse slowed beneath her.

Her memories overwhelmed her, pulling her under like a dark tide. Alice lowered her head, the rain drumming against her armor as her grief consumed her. She was no longer the determined knight riding to face her death—just a girl haunted by the past and clinging desperately to a promise she couldn’t afford to break.

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The night after the ruthless pillage roared with cruel laughter and the flicker of torchlight. Alice’s breaths came sharp and shallow, her trembling hands barely keeping the blood-slicked sword from slipping. The knight she struck lay still behind her, his final gasps drowned by the pounding in her ears.

Encircling her like vultures, the knights jeered.

“She’s feral! Someone put the pup down!”

“A bold one, huh? Look at her—she’s barely able to lift up that sword.”

Alice stumbled back, her bare feet scraping against the dirt as her golden eyes darted desperately for an escape. But there was none. Towering above them all, Yokubo stepped forward, his crimson eyes glowing with amusement.

“Stay back!” Alice shrieked, swinging the blade wildly, her arms shaking under its weight. She didn’t care. If this was her end, she would go fighting.

Yokubo tilted his head, smirking. “And what do you want, little one, if you win?”

Alice’s voice cracked as she shouted, “My sister’s freedom!” She pointed at Annabelle, her resolve burning even as tears stained her cheeks.

Yokubo chuckled, gesturing for Annabelle to be dragged forward. Alice’s heart wrenched as her sister stumbled into view, silenced by a cloth but begging with tearful eyes.

“And if you lose?” Yokubo pressed.

Alice tightened her grip, her voice trembling. “Then… kill me. Or do whatever you want.”

Laughter erupted again, but Alice no longer heard it. All that mattered was the monster before her, the man who stole her world.

“Fine,” Yokubo said, cracking his knuckles. “The first to surrender loses.”

Alice’s legs shook, but she raised her blade. “Come and fight me!” she roared, charging with everything she had.

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The horse galloped furiously through the storm-tossed night, its hooves pounding against the rain-slicked ground with a frantic energy that mirrored its rider. The wind howled, whipping through the trees and tearing at Alice’s cloak, but she paid it no mind. Her tears mingled with the rain as they streaked down her face, her sobs barely audible over the thunderous rhythm of hooves and the distant growl of thunder.

Alice clutched the reins as though they were the only tether keeping her from collapsing entirely. The night clawed at her, suffocating her with its darkness, and yet the fire burning in her chest would not let her stop. Memories of that night replayed mercilessly in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

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The courtyard was a stage of cruelty, its audience a sea of jeering knights hungry for blood. Yokubo stood at the center, towering like an unshakable monument of malice. The torchlight flickered and danced around him, casting jagged shadows across his face—shadows that twisted his grin into something monstrous.

Alice faced him, her small frame dwarfed by the monster before her. Her stolen sword trembled in her hands, the blood of the fallen knight still streaking its edge. Her legs quivered, but she held her ground, her lips cracked and set in a thin, stubborn line.

Yokubo tilted his head, mocking curiosity dripping from his voice. “What’s wrong, little pup? You were so loud a moment ago.” His words were light, playful, yet they carried a weight that pressed against Alice’s chest, suffocating her. “Show me the fire you barked about.”

The knights howled with laughter, the sound like a cacophony of jackals tearing at her resolve.

Alice gritted her teeth, her chest heaving as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She couldn’t back down now. She wouldn’t.

With a strangled cry, she sprinted forward, raising the blade high over her head. The weight of it pulled against her untrained muscles, but her desperation carried her faster than her feet could move.

Yokubo didn’t flinch. He waited.

Alice swung.

In an instant, the sword stopped, as if caught in midair. Yokubo’s hand gripped the blade with impossible strength, the edge biting harmlessly into his palm. The sound of the impact echoed, followed by a sharp silence.

Alice’s eyes widened in horror.

Yokubo sneered, tightening his grip until the steel groaned, bending beneath his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he yanked the sword away and tossed it to the ground like garbage. Alice stumbled forward, her balance broken, and before she could react—

A fist slammed into her stomach.

Her vision erupted in white as the force of the blow lifted her clean off the ground. Pain surged through her small body, her ribs groaning under the impact. She hit the dirt hard, her limbs splaying awkwardly, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

The knights erupted into a frenzy of laughter and cheers, their jeers digging into her skin like needles.

Alice pushed herself up onto trembling hands, blood dripping from her split lip, her breaths ragged and uneven.

“Get up,” Yokubo taunted, his voice echoing through the courtyard. He cracked his knuckles slowly, each pop reverberating like a death knell. “Come on, brave little pup. Didn’t you say you’d fight for her?”

Alice’s head spun, her chest burning with every inhale, but she rose. Her knees wobbled, her body screaming for her to stop, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her trembling hand and glared at Yokubo through tear-streaked eyes.

“Y-Yokubo…” she rasped, her voice hoarse.

He smiled—sharp, cruel, and hungry.

“Still barking? Good.”

In a blur, he was on her again. Before Alice could react, Yokubo grabbed her by the collar, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing.

“Let’s see how long you last.”

The first punch crashed into her ribs. A sickening crack echoed across the courtyard. Alice screamed, her body convulsing from the pain, but he didn’t stop. The next punch struck her shoulder, another her stomach, until she was a ragdoll in his grip.

The knights chanted his name as Yokubo finally dropped her. Alice crumpled to the ground like a broken marionette, her body twitching as she tried to move, her face streaked with blood and dirt.

“Stay down,” Yokubo muttered, almost bored. He turned his back to her, the crowd still roaring.

But Alice didn’t stay down.

Her fingers clawed at the dirt, dragging her battered body upright. The world spun violently around her, every nerve in her body screaming. She coughed, blood dribbling from her mouth, but she forced herself to stand, her arms dangling at her sides.

“Yokubo!” she screamed, her voice cracking.

The courtyard fell silent.

Yokubo turned, his brows raised. Then, amusement twisted his face into something grotesque.

“Still standing?” he mused, walking toward her. “How resilient. You really are your sister’s little hero, aren’t you?”

Alice’s blurry vision focused on him. Her small hands balled into fists, trembling with effort. “I… I won’t give up…”

Yokubo laughed, low and predatory. “Then I’ll break you completely.”

Before she could react, Yokubo vanished in a blur, reappearing inches in front of her. His fist crashed into her stomach with the force of a hammer. Alice’s eyes widened as all the air in her lungs rushed out.

She fell to her knees, coughing violently, blood pooling beneath her.

Yokubo placed his boot on the back of her head, pressing her face into the dirt. Alice whimpered, her tears mixing with the blood soaking the ground.

“Do you yield?” Yokubo’s voice was low, dripping with sadistic glee. He pressed harder, and Alice’s skull throbbed under the weight.

From somewhere nearby, a voice shattered the air—

“Stop!”

Annabelle’s cry cut through the chaos like a blade. She broke free from the knights’ grip, stumbling toward them, tears streaming down her face.

“Please!” Annabelle screamed, throwing herself at Yokubo’s leg. “Please stop! Take me instead! Do whatever you want, just let her go!”

Yokubo stilled. Slowly, he eased his boot off Alice’s head, his cruel grin curling wider as he looked down at Annabelle.

“You?” He tilted her chin up with one finger, forcing her to look at him. “You’d trade yourself for this broken little thing?”

Annabelle nodded frantically, her sobs wracking her body. “Please… she’s my sister…”

Yokubo’s laughter returned, colder and crueler than before. “How selfless,” he said, straightening. “Very well.”

Annabelle was dragged to her feet, her small hands still reaching for her sister as the knights pulled her back.

Alice lifted her head weakly, her broken body refusing to obey. “A… Annabelle…” she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.

Annabelle met her gaze, her tear-filled eyes filled with sorrow and apology.

“Take her to the doctor,” Yokubo ordered, flicking his hand dismissively. “Make sure she lives. I’ll want her in one piece when she wakes up.”

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

As Alice’s body was lifted from the dirt, her vision finally faded to black, her sister’s sobs echoing in her ears like a lullaby to the cruelest of nightmares.

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The horse’s hooves splashed softly through shallow puddles, their rhythm a hollow echo in the damp, misty air. Rain had ceased, but its lingering touch clung to the world—cold, quiet, and heavy. The mist wove between the trees like ghosts, their shapes blurring into shadows that seemed to watch her.

Alice slumped in the saddle, her body a hollow shell. Her hands dangled near the reins, too weak to grip them. Damp strands of hair clung to her pale face, framing a faint, broken smile—one that held no warmth, only surrender.

The road stretched into shadow, and the bells of Southrade tolled faintly in the distance. Her golden eyes drifted upward, catching glimpses of dim stars through the scattered clouds, weak and indifferent.

“I know already…” she whispered, her voice a fragile wisp.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, but the storm within her had passed. There were no sobs, no cries—only silence. Acceptance.

The horse carried her forward, steady and unknowing, as Alice closed her eyes.

“I’m going to die…” she whispered softly.

And for the first time, she felt at peace.

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. . .

“Your room is number 23. Have a good night, sir,” the receptionist murmured, her voice trembling as she pushed the key forward.

Axel dropped a silver coin onto the counter without a word and turned. Conversations in the inn’s common room faltered as he passed, the murmurs replaced with wary silence. People shrank away, their eyes avoiding the shadowed figure who moved like a predator. He ignored them.

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the world out. Axel slumped against the wood, a guttural groan escaping his lips as the weight of his curse flared up. Darkness smothered the room, broken only by a sliver of moonlight slipping through cracked shutters.

Axel’s breathing grew erratic, ragged gasps that tore through the stillness. Clutching his chest, his blackened nails sank deep into his flesh, blood beading from the wounds. He gritted his teeth as the familiar quake rippled through his body, his veins pulsing with a sick, unnatural glow.

The beast whispered, its voice clawing at the edges of his sanity. Let go. Let it out.

“Not now…” Axel growled, his voice more monster than man. His body spasmed, his control unraveling one thread at a time.

He staggered to the bed, collapsing onto the thin, damp sheets. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, he would kill Yokubo. Tomorrow, everything would change.

For now, all he could do was fight the curse for one more night.

“Sleep it off… just hold on…” he whispered, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark as the monster within stirred—waiting.

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The faint glow of lanterns flickered as Alice entered the outskirts of Southrade. The rain had eased to a drizzle, but the air was thick with the storm’s weight. The silence of the town was unnerving—no voices, no movement, only the distant creak of wood and the faint rustle of wind.

Then she smelled it.

The scent of death.

Alice’s ears flattened, her grip on the reins tightening. Her heart hammered as she dug her heels into the horse’s sides. It shot forward into a gallop, its hooves pounding against the slick cobblestones as the wind whipped through her hair. The trail was fresh. She knew it was him.

The streets blurred around her as her focus tunneled ahead, but the past clawed at her mind. Annabelle’s cries. That dreadful night. And what transpired after…

“Stop it…” she hissed under her breath, shaking her head violently. Not now. She pleaded desperately, but her silent begs landed on deaf ears, as not even her own mind obeyed her wishes, making her lens switch between reality and memories.

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The clang of metal echoed sharply in the silence as the cell door opened. The sound of heavy boots and the faint rustle of cloth filled the small space.

"Enter," a knight grunted before stepping aside to let someone through. The door slammed shut behind her, locking with a finality that reverberated in Alice’s bones.

Alice sat up, her breath catching as she recognized the figure standing there. "Annabelle…?"

Her heart leaped into her throat. Despite her aching body and the bruises that flared with every movement, Alice stumbled off the bed and rushed toward her sister, tears already brimming in her eyes. “Annabelle!”

Annabelle stood there with a small, trembling smile, clutching a wicker basket in her hands. "I-I brought you some fruit…” Her voice was soft, fragile—like glass on the verge of shattering.

But as Alice drew closer, she froze. Something was wrong.

Annabelle’s bruised legs trembled, with a light scent of blood and urine, her shoulders quivered despite the calm facade, and her smile—her beautiful smile—was weighed down by something unspeakable. A gentle stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, barely catching the light of the torches.

The basket slipped from Annabelle’s hands, spilling apples and pears across the filthy stone floor.

“Annabelle?” Alice’s voice cracked as she caught her sister, steadying her just before she collapsed. Annabelle fell to her knees, her hands clutching desperately at Alice’s torn shirt.

And then it happened.

The trembling turned into quiet sobs, then deep, shuddering cries that broke through the silence of the cell. Annabelle buried her face in Alice’s chest, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she poured every ounce of her grief and shame into the embrace.

Alice held her tightly, her own tears streaming silently down her face as understanding sank like a blade into her heart. No words needed to be said—she knew. The hollow look in Annabelle’s eyes, the way her body curled inward as though trying to protect itself, the tears she could no longer stop…

Alice’s arms tightened around her sister, one hand gently cradling the back of her head as she whispered, “I’m here… I’m here…” over and over, like a mantra.

Annabelle’s cries echoed softly in the darkness, a sound that cut deeper than any sword.

For the first time that night, Alice had no more strength to be brave. Her tears mingled with her sister’s, both of them clinging to one another as though trying to piece together what little they had left.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving, while the fruits Annabelle had brought lay scattered and forgotten on the floor—small, broken offerings that couldn’t undo the cruelty of this world.

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Alice stood in the dimly lit inn lobby, her sweat-slick brow betraying the weight of her task. She leaned over the wooden counter, Yokubo’s black shield emblem glinting faintly in the firelight.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm within. “Tall. Black robe. Horns.”

The receptionist froze, their trembling hands fumbling with a stained rag. The color drained from their face, their voice barely more than a croak.

“Room… Room 23.”

Alice gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

Turning on her heel, she strode down the dim hallway, the lanterns’ flickering light dancing on her armor. Each step echoed, a drumbeat against the oppressive silence. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Her heart pounded louder, her body heavy with the weight of inevitability.

Her hand hovered near her sword’s hilt, her fingers twitching with instinct. The worn door loomed at the end of the hall—23 etched crudely into its surface. The corridor seemed to narrow the closer she came, the air thick and suffocating, as if the walls themselves recoiled from what lay beyond.

Stopping just short, she hesitated. The metal handle felt cold beneath her trembling fingertips. Her breath caught, her pulse hammering violently against her ribs.

This is it.

Alice inhaled deeply, forcing herself to steady her resolve. She tightened her grip, her knuckles whitening.

The door creaked softly as she pushed it open…

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- Four and a half years ago -

The courtyard was vast, lined with soldiers who stood lazily, their armor dulled and mismatched as if it were merely for show. The afternoon sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the ground as the commander’s voice cut through the disinterested murmurs.

“This here is Alice,” he droned, his tone as dry and lifeless as old parchment. “Under the orders of Lord Yokubo, she will be joining our ranks as an esquire. I expect you all to show her the ropes and accept her as one of our own.”

The words carried the weight of an empty command, hollow and devoid of belief. He didn’t look at Alice as he spoke, as though embarrassed to even be addressing her. Instead, his gaze skimmed over the crowd of soldiers who barely pretended to listen.

The newly presented Alice—just fourteen years old—stood still as stone beside him, her frail frame stiff against the wall of judgment that pressed down on her. The collar around her neck gleamed dully in the sunlight, marking her like cattle. Her wolf-like ears twitched faintly as whispers and scoffs slithered through the crowd like snakes.

Disgust seeped into their faces. Slowly, they turned their backs to her, walking away with sneering remarks flung over their shoulders like venom-laced arrows.

“Now we’re hiring whores for battle? What’s next, toddlers?”

“I heard her sister fucked Lord Yokubo to get her this position. Probably his new favorite plaything.”

“She’s pathetic. Bet she’ll die in her first battle. Save us all the trouble.”

Their laughter rippled through the air, cruel and deafening. Alice remained motionless, though every word landed like a blade against her heart. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides as she stood there, a lone figure amidst a crowd that wanted her gone.

The commander gave her a dismissive glance before marching off, leaving her alone in the center of that poisoned field.

The weight of the moment sank in. This would be her life now—fighting not just enemies but every pair of hateful eyes surrounding her. She exhaled a shaky breath, her body rigid as she watched them disappear.

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That night, Alice learned the full truth.

She sat in the cold confines of their shared cell-like room, staring into the flickering light of a single candle. Annabelle sat across from her, her head bowed, her thin shoulders trembling slightly as fresh bruises marred her arms and neck. Her usually radiant smile was gone, replaced by a pale, hollow look that screamed of exhaustion.

“You did what?” Alice’s voice cracked, the words barely able to escape her throat.

Annabelle forced herself to look up, tears pooling in her lifeless eyes, the candlelight making them glisten like shattered glass. “I… I made a deal,” she whispered, her voice fragile, as though one wrong word would shatter her entirely. “I asked Lord Yokubo to give you this chance. To let you become a knight.”

Alice’s heart seized. “And the price…?”

Annabelle didn’t respond immediately. She couldn’t meet her sister’s gaze. But her silence spoke louder than words.

The bruises. The limping. The late nights spent sobbing softly into her hands when she thought Alice was asleep. The blood stains hidden beneath her clothing.

Yokubo’s monstrous appetite wasn’t limited to his cruelty on the battlefield—his private chambers were a place of horrors, and Annabelle had made herself his personal entertainment.

All for Alice.

“I’ll endure it,” Annabelle said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll endure everything he does to me… if it means you’ll survive. If it means you’ll grow strong enough to end this nightmare.”

Alice fell to her knees, her tears spilling before she could stop them. Her small hands gripped her sister’s torn sleeves, her chest heaving as anguish erupted inside her. “You can’t do this! You—Annabelle, you can’t keep doing this!”

Annabelle reached out, her trembling fingers brushing against Alice’s hair, forcing a small, broken smile onto her lips. “I have to, Alice. I won’t let him lay a finger on you. I promised.”

Alice clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Her vision blurred with tears, her heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. She wanted to scream, to rage, to fight back against the chains binding their lives.

But instead, she swore.

“I’ll kill him,” Alice whispered, the words a fiery hiss. She looked up at Annabelle, her tear-streaked face filled with a raw, unrelenting resolve. “I’ll train. I’ll fight. And one day… I’ll kill him.”

Annabelle smiled faintly, though her tears fell freely now, too. “Then I’ll endure… until that day comes.”

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From that day forward, Alice threw herself into training with the fury of someone who had nothing left to lose. Every cut, every bruise, every failure became fuel for the fire she had ignited that night. She would endure the mockery, the beatings, the hatred.

She would grow strong enough to kill Yokubo.

For her sister. For herself.

For their freedom.

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The door creaked softly as Alice slipped inside, the darkness of the room swallowing her whole. A pale shaft of moonlight cut across the floor, just enough to reveal Axel lying motionless on the bed. His chest rose and fell in steady, quiet rhythm, each breath echoing the calm she could not feel.

Her steps faltered. This is it.

Sweat slicked her palms as she gripped the hilt of her sword, slowly unsheathing it. The faint glow of her enchantment cast soft light onto her trembling hands. She moved closer, the air thick and heavy, her heartbeat roaring louder than the sound of her steps.

Standing over him now, her shadow stretched long, the glowing blade raised high above her head. But as her eyes fixed on Axel—his face pale, almost peaceful in the moonlight—her body refused to obey.

The monster from the stories wasn’t here. This was Josh—the man who had traveled beside her, shared his silence, his food, his quiet camaraderie. The only person who had ever treated her like an equal, even if he wasn’t truthful about who he was.

Her chest constricted painfully, the weight of her promise bearing down on her like iron chains. This is for Annabelle, she reminded herself. Her arms trembled, her tears blurring the edges of her vision.

“No turning back…” she whispered, her voice fragile, cracking.

Her grip tightened. Her body screamed at her to stop, to run—but her will forced her forward.

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- 3 years ago -

“Congrats on becoming a fully-fledged knight, little rookie.”

The knight’s voice was casual, dismissive, as he opened the cell door. His presence lingered for only a moment before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the dimly lit hall, leaving the heavy door ajar.

Alice stepped inside, her polished armor clicking faintly with each step. The room was darker than she remembered, the faint glow of a torch down the corridor barely reaching the cell’s corner. The smell hit her first—a sharp, nauseating stench of vomit, filth, and despair. Her nose wrinkled instinctively, but her focus quickly shifted.

Annabelle lay curled on the rusted bed frame, her fragile figure barely noticeable beneath the threadbare blanket. She looked smaller somehow, as though the weight of everything she endured was shrinking her. Yet the moment she noticed Alice standing there, her face lit up.

“Hey there, sis…” Alice greeted softly, kneeling down beside her. She took Annabelle’s frail hands in her own, flinching internally at the sight of how thin they had become. The muscle had wasted away, leaving nothing but fragile bones and pale skin. It pierced her heart like a blade, but she didn’t let it show. Her smile remained intact—warm, soft, unwavering—for Annabelle’s sake.

Annabelle’s lips curled upward in a tired but genuine smile. She reached up, her hand trembling slightly as it stroked Alice’s head. “Congrats on becoming a knight… I knew you could do it.”

The word knight echoed in Alice’s mind, souring the warmth of her sister’s touch.

Her gaze fell for a brief moment to the black shield emblazoned on her chest—the emblem of the very people who destroyed their lives. The past year had been brutal, a grueling gauntlet of training that left her broken and bruised time and time again. And now, at fourteen, she had finally earned the title of knight.

But there was no pride in it. The armor that now fit snugly against her felt less like an accomplishment and more like a shackle. She was part of them now. The murderers, the monsters, the ones who tore everything from them.

But when she looked back at Annabelle—her sister who had endured so much just so she could stand here now—none of that mattered. Annabelle didn’t see the emblem or the armor. She only saw Alice: her little sister, the one who would fight for them both.

Alice said nothing. Their bond didn’t need words.

Without warning, Alice pulled her sister into a hug, careful of her weakened body as she wrapped her arms around her. The scent of the cell faded, replaced by Annabelle’s faint warmth, fragile though it was.

Annabelle let out a shaky breath and held onto Alice, her frail hands pressing lightly against her back. “You’re going to show them what you’re made of,” she whispered, her voice light but encouraging.

Alice pulled back just enough to meet her sister’s gaze. “I’m going to free us, sister,” she promised, her voice steady, her determination unshakable. “I’m going to train hard every single day. I’ll get us out of here, no matter what it takes.”

Annabelle smiled, though her lips quivered faintly. She wanted to beg Alice to stay just a little longer, to sit with her in the suffocating quiet of the cell and let her feel, if only for a moment, that she wasn’t alone. But instead, she nodded.

“You show them what you’re made of,” she echoed, her voice soft but resolute.

Alice gave a final nod, her expression brightened by her sister’s encouragement, and stood. She turned for the door, her hand brushing the hilt of the sword at her hip—her only companionship that withstood alongside her through the trials of her knighthood. As she reached the doorway, Annabelle’s voice stopped her.

“Wait… Alice.”

Alice turned back, surprised to see Annabelle reaching beneath the threadbare blanket. From beneath it, Annabelle pulled a longsword—plain in design, but polished and well cared for. The blade caught the faint light, its edges sharp but gentle, unthreatening, almost humble in its simplicity. The hilt was wrapped in leather that had been reinforced with cloth patches, stitched together with careful, clumsy hands.

Annabelle offered the sword out to her sister. “It’s not much,” she admitted, her voice fragile, “but… I saved for it. I wanted you to have something that’s yours—truly yours—to fight with. Not something they forced on you.”

Alice took the blade carefully, her eyes wide as she studied it. It wasn’t ornate like the knights’ swords, nor did it gleam with expensive craftsmanship. But it was perfect.

Her thumb brushed the cloth wrapping on the hilt. She could see where Annabelle’s hands had worked tirelessly to prepare it. She could see her sister in it—the effort, the care, the love stitched into every fiber.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away as she smiled down at her sister. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Annabelle smiled, finally allowing herself to rest back against the bed. “I’m glad you think so.”

Alice stepped back through the doorway, the sword held close to her chest as though it might vanish if she let go. She glanced back one last time, her gaze meeting Annabelle’s.

“I’ll make you proud,” she promised.

Annabelle gave a small nod, her smile faint but certain. “You already do, Alice. You already do.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Alice alone with her new blade, her new title, and a vow etched into her heart:

I will become strong enough to free us, to free us both…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The weight of that sword—their promise—seared into Alice’s hands as she stood over Axel. Her knuckles burned, her arms quaked, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I’ll make you proud.

Her mind screamed at her to move, but her heart wavered. The memories of their journey flashed—his silence, his fleeting kindness, the moments where “Josh” was someone she could almost call a friend.

Her teeth clenched, and her tears fell freely now.

He’s a monster, she reminded herself. But he was also the first to see me.

“No turning back…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

With every ounce of her grief, her anger, her despair, Alice lifted the sword high. Her body tensed, her muscles screaming as her resolve fractured but did not shatter.

“This is for Annabelle… for our freedom!”

She swung.

“Hhaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

Axel’s eyes snapped open—golden and glowing, piercing through the darkness.

The blade connected.

BOOM!

An explosion erupted, the shockwave tearing through the room. The bed splintered, the walls cracked, and dust and smoke swallowed everything.

The battle had begun.