The heavens wept in sorrow over the desolation of Melgrace. The once majestic city now lay in ruins, consumed by flames that the Red Prince had unleashed, reducing it to a haunting amalgamation of rubble and ash.

Above, ominous black clouds shrouded the city, casting it into a profound darkness. The remnants of buildings, houses, towers, and the once-proud guard headquarters were now the only silent witnesses to the devastation.

Amidst the wreckage, Xerxecian soldiers scoured the ruins, seeking any remaining traces of value, while others combed through the debris in search of survivors. The fortunate few discovered alive were escorted to the Governor’s Palace, where Prince Tamiron had taken refuge.

“Enough!” Tamiron’s voice echoed through the palace chambers as he grappled with an unseen force. He pounded the floor, only to be hurled towards the bookshelves by an invisible power. Growling in an indescribable tone, he opened his eyes, revealing irises ablaze with fiery intensity.

A soldier entered the room, witnessing the prince kneeling motionless on the floor. “General, we’ve gathered the remaining survivors outside the palace,” the soldier reported in a husky voice. The prince rose slowly, inhaling deeply as his eyes regained their incandescent glow. “What does the general wish to do with those who endured the ordeal?” the soldier inquired with eagerness.

With closed eyes, Tamiron took another deep breath before fixing his gaze on the devastated city beyond. Determination etched across his face, he left the room; the soldier trailing in his wake.

They traversed the ravaged corridor, where the remnants of decor were scattered in disarray and vivid evidence of the chaos they had unleashed upon their arrival. Exiting the palace, his eyes caught a fallen banner of the Trasidar Empire, tattered and ruined. Halting momentarily, he gazed at the desecrated emblem before continuing, callously stepping over the once-proud Trasidar banner.

Stepping into the grim aftermath, he was greeted by the heart-wrenching cries of survivors, pleading for their lives and the safety of the children left behind. His gaze swept over their faces, each one a canvas of fear and anger. The prince, however, confronted them with a countenance marked by uncertainty, grappling with the weight of indecision.

Amidst the desperate throng, a woman seized his attention. Her torn dress was stained with dirt, her hands bound behind her back, and her disheveled hair framed a face smeared with grime and streaked with dried tears. Notably, she exhibited a peculiar absence of protest — no pleas, no begging, no screams. Intrigued, he approached her, squatting down to meet her eye level.

Her hair stirred a memory within him, a connection that compelled him to hold her jaw, turning her face toward him for closer inspection. A flicker of recognition passed over him as he rose to his full height.

“Give me a knife,” he requested, extending his left hand. A soldier promptly placed a blade in his outstretched palm.

“Be careful, my Prince. She’s a feisty one. Wacked one of my men with a rock earlier,” cautioned a soldier, but his attention remained undiverted.

Turning the woman around, he grasped her arms and skillfully severed the binding rope. Returning the knife to the soldier, his gaze remained fixed on the woman, who gingerly rubbed her right wrist, massaging away the remnants of the cruel restraint.

He awaited her response, observing her deliberate avoidance of direct eye contact. Her breaths quickened, creating a palpable tension. Suddenly, like a thunderous eruption, she struck him across the face with an unexpected blow. The scene froze, and all eyes turned to the woman. The soldiers exchanged glances, and the other prisoners fell into a hushed silence. A collective astonishment gripped everyone present.

Turning his head back to the woman, he confronted the anger etched on her face, the hatred evident in her tear-streaked, filthy countenance.

“Such bravery,” he remarked, rising to his feet. “Only one person displayed such courage in front of me today. He gave me this,” he announced, retrieving something from his gauntlet—a folded piece of paper. Deliberately unfolding it before her, he continued, “That brave man entrusted this to me. I believe this is yours.” Handing the paper to the woman, he watched her reaction.

As she looked at the paper, she began to sob, descending into a slow cascade of tears, yet no audible words escaped her lips.

“Ah, yes. Marya,” he uttered, his voice softening. Marya glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the picture.

“The gods and animos can be cruel at times,” he reflected. “They bless people with gifts, while at different times, a curse. If only I could give you a voice. Perhaps you might have spoken something as beautiful as your husband did.” Yet, Marya no longer acknowledged him, clutching the portrait close to her chest.

“Your husband was a brave man. A man of exceptional courage. I respect people that have them.” he said as he gazed upon Marya. Admiring the bravery she displayed against his men as well. “So I will grant you the same mercy I bestowed upon him,” he uttered slowly. Marya lost in contemplation, continued to gaze at the cherished portrait she held close.

Gently cradling her head with his hands, he spoke solemnly, “It was an honor to encounter your husband. A brave man, deserving of a swift and painless departure. I shall extend the same fate to you. As a pledge I made to your husband, you both will be united. Forever."

Unexpectedly, she threw herself at him, tears streaming down her face, and pointed at the portrait. He glanced at it once more and noticed her indication of a child. His eyes immediately met hers.

Holding her shoulders, he looked at the portrait of the child. His chest felt a pinch. He couldn’t understand what it meant. He then turned to Marya who still begged him. He spoke in an eerie tone, “No harm will befall the child.”

Marya, taken aback, momentarily ceased her sobbing, attempting to compose herself. A faint smile crossed her lips as she gently caressed the portraits of her husband and child.

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He gently cradled her head, observing her tearful expression as she beheld her family’s portrait one final time. With a deep breath, he swiftly ended Marya’s life, ensuring she did not fall to the ground. Raindrops mixed with the heavens’ tears as thunder roared in anger overhead.

Carrying Marya’s lifeless body in his arms, the family’s portrait still in hand, the prince closed his eyes for a moment. “Grant them a swift death. I have endured enough suffering for one day,” he declared, as the survivors began to wail.

The soldiers only looked at each other when one asked. “And the children, sire?”

He looked at the remaining children that were there. All of them bear the innocence a child should have. Yet, they were shown the brutality of the world to this day.

“Release them,” striding away from the tragic scene.

The soldier nodded in understanding. A collective growl emanated from the soldiers, resembling beasts ready to pounce. “Finish them!” shouted the soldier, and the prisoners met their tragic end, while children were taken away by different soldiers.

Rain fell relentlessly as muted cries of the remaining prisoners filled the air. Unperturbed, he focused on Marya, gently laying her in her final resting place alongside Marq’s lifeless form. Ensuring their heads facing each other, he took one last look at the portrait—a poignant depiction of a father, a mother, and a son.

A solitary tear escaped as he gazed at the sketch of the smiling child, bearing the handwritten phrase, “I love you and Matty. My sweet love, Marya.” With a deep breath, he placed it tenderly between the two lifeless bodies.

“Ensure they are laid to rest, and mark the graves as I instructed,” he commanded the soldiers before preparing to depart. Pausing, he looked up, letting the heavens’ cries touch his face. Conflicted emotions swirled within him—regret lingered, yet he couldn’t act upon it; a sense of loss persisted, but he couldn’t display it. An unsettling awareness of something amiss tugged at him, and then, he remembered the family portrait and the boy.

“Spread the word about the child to others,” he instructed. When questioned by a Xerxecian about the child’s fate, he replied, “Ensure the child’s freedom.” With that, he walked away, leaving the rain and the echoes of sorrow behind.

A full day had passed when a Xerxecian appeared on the main bridge, cradling something in its grasp—a boy named Matty. His face bore the weight of devastating emotions—hopelessness, grief, and profound loneliness—wrapped in the cloth his mother had bestowed upon him.

He found himself in a bewildering situation, oblivious to the identity of the entity holding him and uncertain about the events unfolding around him. Amidst the turmoil, a haunting image of the moment when something took his mother flashed in his mind, leading him to sob uncontrollably. The memory of his mother’s last smile haunted him, and the recollection of his father leaving for work, forever etched in his soul, intensified his sorrow. This single day had obliterated his life and shattered the dreams of a once-happy family.

A harsh yet reassuring tone cut through his tears as the Xerxecian addressed him, promising not to inflict harm. It vowed to shield him from any danger, resonating with an unexpected calmness. Though still trembling, he gradually ceased his sobbing, inexplicably feeling a sense of safety in the creature’s presence.

“Stop crying, little one. I won’t hurt you.” The Xerxecian said to him in a harsh but calm tone. Then it looked at him. “I will make sure nothing hurts you.”

He was still shaking despite its assurance.

“You remind me of my own youngling back home, little one. I will protect you for now. Do not worry.” The Xerxecian added.

He slowly stopped sobbing as he felt safe with it for some reason. He cannot explain it, but this one is different.

“I remember my own youngling scared of a skarax that wandered away from its flock. What he doesn’t know is that skarax only eats bones, and not flesh or meat. After I told him that, the boy stopped crying and after that, he wasn’t afraid of it no more.”

The Xerxecian extended its enormous claw-like hands, creating a makeshift umbrella to shield the boy from the relentless rain. Fascinated, the boy held onto the creature’s scaly and tough-skinned fingers, intrigued by their texture.

“You are a curious one. That is good. You will grow up knowing a bunch of things. Just make sure you stay out of the empire. I don’t want to meet you on the battlefield when you grow up,” the Xerxecian advised the boy.

As they reached the end of the bridge, the Xerxecian gently placed the boy on the ground. “Go on, little one,” it urged, pointing westwards. “Walk this road. You should encounter travelers, or with luck, reach a town or a city. Go on.”

In the distance, the sound of a galloping horse echoed, but the boy disregarded it, fixating on the towering physique of the Xerxecian. The creature reciprocated the gaze until, suddenly, an arrow struck its arm. The Xerxecian screamed, clutching its wounded shoulder. Its heavily armored tail swiftly covered the injured area, deflecting additional arrows that whistled through the air.

Turning around, the boy spotted a man with a bow, poised to eliminate the Xerxecian. “Stop!” he cried out, extending his little arms as if shielding the creature. The man and the Xerxecian locked eyes.

“Are you mad, boy? They just destroyed your home,” the man remarked as the rain continued to pour.

“Get out of the way, boy! You might get hurt!” the Xerxecian shouted.

“Says the being who is responsible for the thousands dead in that city!” the man retorted.

The Xerxecian growled, but the boy defiantly stood between them.

“Please stop, he took me here away from the others! Please leave him alone!” he cried out.

The man only stared at him for a moment, “Is what the boy said true, Xerxecian?” the man asked the Xerxecian.

It nodded. “The Prince ordered his release when found,” it answered.

They locked eyes for a moment, standing in a tense standoff. The man suddenly pulled his bowstring with another arrow. “Don’t even think about getting your sword, Armedigor.”

The boy rushed towards the Xerxecian, covering it and doing his best to protect it. The man was bewildered as he observed the unexpected scene.

“You, what did you do to this boy to make him care so much?” the man inquired.

“Perhaps the boy understands us better than all of you,” the Xerxecian replied, gently pushing the boy away. However, the boy persisted in coming back to defend the creature.

The man scoffed. “Who would’ve thought that Armedigors have hearts?” he mocked.

“You know little to nothing about us, Trasidian,” the Xerxecian asserted.

“I’ll spare your life for his,” the man declared as he began putting away his bow and arrow. “Go on then, go back to the city and report his release. I’ll take care of the boy.”

The boy glanced at the man and then back at the Xerxecian. The creature nodded, saying, “Go with him. This man will take you to a safe place.”

“Come here, little one. The Armedigor is right,” the man called out.

He walked towards the man, glancing back at his caretaker. Upon reaching the man, he turned around, and the Xerxecian began its journey back to the city.

The man swiftly helped the boy onto his horse.

“What’s your name?!” he suddenly shouted.

The Xerxecian didn’t turn fully. “Ar’lek!” it shouted back.

“Thank you!” he shouted in gratitude.

The Xerxecian turned, exchanging a glance before continuing its path back toward the city. The man assisted him onto his horse.

“Where are your parents?”

He remained silent, glancing at the man and noticing the scout emblem and the city’s emblem. Overwhelmed, he began to cry, reaching out to the man holding a bow.

“You must be a strong boy for surviving this,” the man remarked as they prepared to ride.

The man embraced the boy and reassured him. “You were brave. I bet your father and mother are as well. Don’t worry now. I’m here. Tell me about them after you get some rest,” the man comforted.

Their journey to a safer place commenced, leaving the echoes of destruction behind them.

End of chapter XIV