Sevidon stepped into his quarters, the weight of emptiness settling heavily upon his heart, an ache that refused to subside. The twentieth of Uareagar, the dread of this fateful day, haunted him. He was powerless against its relentless grip, unable to escape the memories that flooded his mind.

Glaivel’s presence only intensified the pain, as if the events of that day were playing out before him once more. It felt as though the passage of time had done little to dull the sharp edges of his grief.

Sinking onto his bed, he buried his face in his arms, his hands clenched into fists, tears welling in his eyes. The memory was vivid, as clear as if it had happened just yesterday. The cold rain pelted his forehead, a relentless drumming that matched the pounding of his heart. It was the last day he had felt her skin against his own, the last day he had held her in his arms—the woman he loved.

He could still feel the grip of her arm as they ran through the drenched forest of La’Sarien.

“We need to wait for my Brother!” she cried, the urgency in her voice as she pleaded with him to wait for her Brother. Her wet hair whipping in the wind, the sky unleashing its fury on that dreaded day of Uareagar.

But he was resolute, his mind set on escape. “I’m sorry, but we can’t! I heard the horns a while ago. We can’t risk being caught now! We’ve come too far to turn back!” he insisted, dragging her onward, ignoring her pleas.

Tears mingled with the rain as she struggled to hold herself together. “Sevidon, please, I beg you! My Brother, we have to wait for him!”

“We can’t!” His voice cracked with emotion, his grip tightening on her arms. “Azaria, you are a strong woman! They need you alive. I’ve spent all these years keeping them safe from my own people. You will lead them to peace,” he cried, his heart heavy with the weight of their impending fate.

“I need Azarel,” she pleaded, her voice choked with tears. “And I need you, Sevidon,” she added, her eyes filled with pain, a pain he had hoped never to see.

His lips trembled, his hands shook as he reached out to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her. He wanted to go with her, to start anew, but his responsibilities stood in the way. His very nature as a Sulinhawi stood in the way. He fought to keep his composure, to remain strong for Azaria.

Kneeling before her, he took her hands in his, gripping them tightly. “Listen to me, Azaria. We will be together, no matter what. I will follow you. But we have to leave now for that to happen. We need to get you and everyone else to safety first, do you understand?”

“And what if you can’t follow? What will you do?” Azaria looked deep into his eyes, her hand resting on her stomach. “I need you now more than ever,” she cried.

He was dumbfounded, his mind struggling to process her words. His gaze shifted from her face to her stomach and back again. “No, it can’t be,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Azaria smiled through her tears. “I’m with child, Sevidon.”

His world stopped as her words sank in, stunned into silence.

“Our child,” she continued, her smile radiant through her tears.

As realization slowly dawned on him, he stood there, speechless, his jaw hanged open in disbelief. He looked at Azaria, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions. Here was this woman, dreaded by his own race, a woman of the Race of Men, now bearing the future of their two people within her.

He gently took her face in his hands and kissed her, the weight of their shared destiny washing over him.

Azaria returned the kiss, her touch soft and reassuring. In that moment, he made a decision. He would risk it all. For her. For their child. He became teary-eyed and was about to speak when another horn echoed through the forest.

“We have to go now!” he exclaimed urgently, his mind racing.

But as they turned to leave, a voice shouted from behind them. Three Sulinhawi soldiers had followed them.

“We need to hurry!” he urged, pushing Azaria to run faster. Drawing his blade, he prepared to defend them, but before he could react, a mounted soldier charged at him.

“Sevidon!” Azaria shouted, stopping in her tracks, horror etched on her face.

Dazed, he struggled to get up, his head spinning. I have to get up, or it will be all over, he thought desperately as the soldiers closed in on him.

“Run, Azaria! Get away from here!” he shouted, trying to push her to safety. But before he could rise, a blow sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Traitor! You disgust me!” one of the soldiers spat, his face contorted with rage.

“You, our prince, of all people!” another shouted. But he paid them no mind. He had to get Azaria to safety.

One of the soldiers pointed towards her, and two of them prepared to go after her.

Gasping for breath, he summoned all his strength and rose to his feet. With a burst of adrenaline, he overpowered those who held him down and tackled the other two soldiers to the ground.

“Azaria, run as far as possible now! I’ll hold them off!” he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice.

Finally, she turned and ran, disappearing into the forest. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived. All the strength he had mustered slowly began to fade.

“Get her! Don’t let her escape!” one of the soldiers shouted, but a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“No, I’ll handle it,” Glaivel’s voice echoed, sending a surge of hope through him. His Brother was here, he would help him. He was in on all of this, after all.

But his hope turned to horror as Glaivel passed him by, drawing his bow. Their eyes met, but Glaivel’s gaze was cold as he took aim at the woman he loved.

“Glaivel, no! Don’t do it!” he pleaded as he struggled against the soldiers who held him down. “Let her go! She’s carrying my child, Glaivel!”

Glaivel flinched, but it was too late. Before he could do anything, the arrow was released, hurtling through the air with deadly speed.

“Azaria!” he screamed, a cry of anguish ripping from his throat.

With a surge of desperation, he broke free from the soldiers’ grasp and ran towards her, his heart pounding in his chest. Time seemed to slow as Azaria turned towards him, the arrow piercing her heart.

“Azaria, no, no, no!” he cried out, his voice breaking.

She fell to the ground, reaching out to him. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he cradled her head.

“No, please, Azaria, no,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. But Azaria was in pain, terrible pain, as she struggled to breathe.

He ran his trembling hands over her face, his heart breaking as he watched the light fade from her eyes.

“Why?” she uttered through tears, but he had no answer.

He held her hand for one last time before she lost consciousness. “Azaria,” he called out, but her eyes remained open, lifeless, as she took her final gasp for air. Her grip loosened on his hand, and he screamed to the heavens as he held Azaria’s body close to his heart.

She was gone.

Of all the hurt he had ever experienced in his long life, this was the most agonizing. Of all the times he felt powerless, this was the most crushing. This was the moment all his strength was rendered meaningless. Agony filled his heart as if he had been the one struck by the arrow. He held Azaria tighter, his hands shaking as he clasped her cold ones. He held her as he moved both of their hands towards her belly, knowing that he had not only lost the woman who gave his long life meaning, the woman he loved more than himself, but also the very fruit of that meaning and love. Their child, whom he hoped would one day unite their two very different peoples. Their child, conceived out of their unity and love.

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In that moment, he lost his sense of purpose. That was the day he died. That dreadful day of Uareagar.

He languished in the dark, damp cells of Eiventolf, mourning the death of his beloved and their unborn child. He stared blankly at the wall, his mind consumed by grief and despair. He no longer cared for his well-being — he was as good as dead the moment his Brother took Azaria’s life.

Days passed without notice as he remained alone in the palace cellars, shrouded in darkness. He hardly touched the food they brought him, and he did nothing but brood in solitude.

One day, they dragged him to the throne room to be presented in front of his Father, the Grand Sulinhawi King. They threw him to his Father’s feet, but he didn’t meet his Father’s gaze, keeping his head bowed in silence.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Anything to redeem you of the sins you have committed against your kingdom, your people, your King, your Father?” the King asked, but he remained motionless.

“Sevidon! You are being asked by the Grand Sulinhawi King, show respect!” one of the councilors, adorned in silken robes of green and white, with a circlet of gold upon their head, shouted at him before kicking him in the gut.

“Attempting to help those people? What has gotten into you, Sevidon? Tell me only the truth,” the King pressed, his voice stern.

Everyone turned to him when he finally lifted his head to meet his Father’s gaze. Then, he spat at the King, prompting a gasp from the room. The guards reacted swiftly, kicking him to the ground.

“That forsaken being you’ve just killed was a child of this world as well. You look at them as if they are beneath you, but they are not—” he began, raising his voice before being abruptly silenced by a blow from the guard, causing him to crumple in agony.

“Sevidon, you are right. They are children of this world. But the race of men is a weak race. A destructive one. We are the sole protectors of the beauty and bounty of this world, given to us by the Gods and Animos. Anyone who dares stain that beauty will be met by our fury, my fury,” the King said, his tone laced with pity.

“But they can learn! They know where they belong, yet you killed them like they’re mere animals for slaughter!” his voice echoed through the throne room.

“That is enough, Sevidon!” the King bellowed. “The race of men is destructive. Their hearts can easily be swayed by darkness, by the void! They are greedy and they want to destroy all of this world’s natural beauty!”

“They do not destroy; they adapt to their surroundings! They conform with the natural order and even improve it for our advantage!” he argued.

“Carving a huge hole into the earth is adapting?” the King interrupted. “They destroyed the unity of the great rivers! We Sulinhawis tried to reason with them, but they did not listen! They only want to feed their greed as they attempted to cut down our homes, our forests, only to build their houses, cities, and monuments of greed! They have crossed with our path in the past, making our duty here in this world very hard to fulfill! As the Grand Sulinhawi King and keeper and preserver of the order, I have made my choice, and it has been finally realized after all these long years!”

“You bastard! You and your twisted view of the race of men!” he shouted, then spat again, but he was backhanded by a guard once more. He struggled to get up, panting from exhaustion and the beating.

“And you fell in love with that woman,” the King said with disdain. “Tell me, why her?”

He only smiled at his Father as blood ran down from his lips. “Because despite this pitiful war that has been going on for Millennias, despite both of us being born into this war, she shared my vision of peace. She had hope that one day we could coexist in peace,” he explained, his voice tinged with sadness. “I thought at first that she was foolish. But her idea grew in me. Something I never intended. It has meaning. She wanted it to end with both of us, hand in hand, living side by side. I fell in love with her idea and, in turn, I fell in love with her undying hope for peace. Something that you could never think of, despite our thousand years of knowledge and wisdom.” Then he bowed his head and laughed bitterly.

The guards were about to hit him again when the King raised his hand to stop them.

“And you killed the future of their race when your son — my own Brother — killed the woman that I loved,” he added, panting.

The King gasped along with the room as he continued, “The woman that carried not only my child but your grandchild as well,” he said, looking directly into his Father’s eyes. “In her womb, she carried the answer to our unity! But he shot her with an arrow! You killed her!” he shouted, overpowering one guard as he drew a sword from one of them.

Panic spread through the room as he approached his Father and held the sword to his neck. “You might as well have me killed because of that. For what you have done, and what Glaivel has done, you killed the very reason for my existence in this tiresome world,” he said as his hand began to shake, and he finally lost his grip on the sword, dropping to the floor and weeping.

“You dare bed with an insignificant insect, and it bore fruit? You swine!” the King shouted at his son, delivering a powerful slap that echoed throughout the room, prompting a gasp from everyone. “Your Brother was good enough to not let such an abomination exist in this world.”

A long silence lingered in the throne room that day, maybe the longest it had ever seen. Then the King walked back to his throne and sat. “Today, we have received news that my son, Sulinhawi Prince Sevidon Numenesse, has died in the La’Sarien Forest during their encounter with the fugitives of the race of men. I, the King of the Grand Sulinhawis, hereby banish this nameless man from our Kingdom.”

Everyone was shocked by what his Father had just said, including Glaivel. “He is hereby stripped of everything he has, and he will not set foot in these lands for the entirety of his life!”

The council murmured loudly as he held his peace.

“Throw him out of the Kingdom. Banished from home he will be. Dead people have no place in the realm of the living,” the King commanded.

He was dragged out of the throne room, almost unconscious. He felt the ground make contact with his feet, convinced that he was truly dead.

He remembered it all. He couldn’t help but remember it on the day she died. He could never forget her face in those last moments.

“Sire, Prince Glaivel is here for you,” a guard from the outside said.

“What does he want?” he asked as Glaivel let himself in. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, but your forgiveness,” Glaivel said as the guard left promptly.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you will not get it?” He said as he stood, anger boiling inside him. “You left her dying there in the dirt like some mere animal. You honestly—”

“She was my friend as well!” Glaivel suddenly shouted. “I couldn’t possibly bear the thought of leaving her like that. I already made peace between them — I think. But that is the least that I could do,” Glaivel added.

“You think sparing them from Father’s torture is mercy? How naive you are, Glaivel!” He shouted, grabbing him by the collar.

“No, I gave them a proper burial, a proper tomb even that only I would know,” Glaivel said, catching him off guard. His grip loosened as he didn’t expect this.

He tried to look for where their bodies were taken back then, but he ultimately failed. All this time, his Brother had given them what they at least deserved.

“Several days after your banishment, I had my men prepare a tomb for them to rest. I made sure no one knew of its location,” Glaivel said as he handed over a piece of paper to him. He looked at it, then back at Glaivel.

“How did Azarel die?” he asked as he took the paper. Glaivel was about to leave after handing over the paper before he answered.

“I shot him with three arrows and slit his throat,” Glaivel answered.

“Why?” he asked.

“I was afraid that the soldiers would tell Father what they saw. I would lose whatever respect Father had for me if that were to happen,” Glaivel said, then looked at him. “You were his favorite, after all. I didn’t want to fall from his grace any further.”

“You’re a coward, then,” he said to him as Glaivel avoided his eyes.

“I know. And I will live the rest of my life knowing that both of our friends’ blood is on my hands,” Glaivel said as he looked at him again. “I hope this will lead to the mending of our ties, Brother,” then he beamed a smile.

“Do you honestly think that giving them a proper burial will change anything?” He asked, holding the paper his Brother gave him.

“No, I don’t,” Glaivel answered.

“Then why?”

“Because this is the least that I could do for my godchild,” said Glaivel as he left.

Stunned by what Glaivel said, he opened the paper containing the map of the tomb where Azarel and Azaria were buried. His hands trembled as tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. With shaking hands, he slowly crumpled the paper, the sound echoing in the silent room.

For what felt like an eternity, he kneeled there, his heart torn apart by grief and longing. His mind was a in turmoil of emotions, memories flooding back with overwhelming force. He remembered the warmth of Azaria's touch, the sound of her laughter, the light in her eyes. And their child, their precious child, who never had the chance to draw breath.

Every beat of his heart echoed with their absence, a relentless reminder of the gaping void they had left behind. He clutched the crumpled paper to his chest, as if holding onto it could somehow bring them back.

The weight of his grief threatened to crush him, but he welcomed it. For in that pain, he found a connection to the ones he had lost. It was a bittersweet reminder of the love they had shared, the love that still burned bright within him.

After what felt like an eternity, his sobs began to subside, leaving him drained and hollow. He remained on his knees, staring at the crumpled paper in his hands, the weight of his loss pressing down on him.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of determination sparked to life within him. He would find their resting place. He would go to them, and he would tell them how much he loved them - how much he loved her then, until now. No matter the cost, no matter the obstacles in his path, he would find a way.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he rose to his feet. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, but his gaze was filled with a newfound resolve. Clutching the crumpled paper tightly in his hand, he turned towards the door.

The journey ahead would be long and fraught with danger, but he would face it head-on. For Azaria, for their child, for himself. And as he stepped out into the cold, unforgiving world beyond, he knew that he carried their love with him, a beacon of light in the darkness.

End of Chapter XIX