After the tumultuous events of the previous night and a well-deserved rest, Tamiron awoke the next day with a renewed strength coursing through his legs. Rising from his bed, he inhaled deeply, feeling as if an eternity had passed since he last slept soundly. Even during the nights he spent under enemy control, his consciousness remained vigilant, a silent sentinel while his body rested.
As he attempted to stand, the weight of weariness threatened to pull him back down. Yet, just as he teetered on the edge of a fall, a supporting presence intervened. An arm, subtly covered in fur, extended to catch him. Looking up, Tamiron found himself locked in Kaira’s gaze.
“You are still in recovery, Tamiron. You need your rest,” Kaira advised, gently guiding him back to sit on the bed. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed her presence, or maybe his senses were still readjusting to their normal state; it was hard for him to tell.
He chuckled, a lightness in his tone. “Well, recovery won’t happen if I’m confined here in my tent, to sitting and lying down, will it?”
Kaira responded with a smile, her fanged teeth peeking through. “The paraguses will beg to differ,” she quipped.
“Come now, Kaira. We both know I need to move. I need this,” he countered, observing her shifting gaze between him and the outside.
“This reminds me of the time we ventured to hunt down that alpha tiger in our early days,” Kaira suddenly reminisced.
His laughter rumbled in agreement. “Ah, yes. Weren’t you the one bedridden for having injuries afterward?”
Kaira’s laughter intertwined with his, as both now remembered the fond, shared memory. “I got a thorough a great scolding from my mother back then,” she admitted between chuckles.
“And an entire envoy arrived, not just to scold me, but to offer my father’s apologies to your mother. They even came with gifts,” he added, relishing in the camaraderie as their laughter gradually subsided.
“You are right, though. Come, you need some sun anyway,” Kaira finally relented, her warmth evident as she put his arms around her shoulders with one of her arms by his waist. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, recalling a similar scenario when he had spoken those words to her during her past injury. A smile played on his lips at the memory.
“Not that there is much sun in this dreadful camp, anyway,” she remarked, prompting a slight shake of his head in agreement.
“Where’s Everess?” he asked as they exited.
“She’s meditating outside the camp, for safety,” Kaira answered quickly.
Stepping outside, vigilant guards greeted them, and finally, he had a clearer view of their surroundings. The brilliant light outside momentarily blinded him as he inhaled deeply. The sight was familiar—a sprawling military encampment, vast in scale.
The morning routine of soldiers resonated around them, giving life to the camp. Looking up, he noted the persistent gloominess of the sky. As they strolled, his steps gradually gained independence, although still measured.
“Quite impressive, my Sister has going on here,” he murmured, gazing at nearby tents hosting not just a canteen but also a mobile smithy.
“Your sister is strong-willed, contrary to what you’ve told me in the past,” Kaira remarked, placing her arms behind her back as they walked. “I’m genuinely impressed. Since my arrival, I’ve been honing your soldiers. What kind of training are you subjecting them to, anyway? They seem a bit worse for wear,” she questioned, her curiosity evident.
“To be fair, I’ve been out of commission for quite some time,” he admitted.
“Almost the entire year,” Kaira added, emphasizing the duration of his absence.
Ah, yes, it was at the tail end of spring when everything began spiraling downward for him. The struggle to overcome those challenges persisted, but slowly, he was making progress.
“Come here, Prince Tamiron,” Kaira beckoned as they reached the edge of the hill, offering a panoramic view. “Behold, your Sister’s army.”
And there it unfolded—thousands upon thousands of troops. The sheer enormity of the army left him awestruck as his jaw dropped to the sheer size of it. With soldiers soaring through the sky, others on horseback, and distant glimpses of siege equipment. There was no denying it; his sister was fully prepared to confront him.
“I see you’ve decided to leave your nest, Tamiron,” remarked a voice from behind.
Turning in surprise, he found Aderon as he landed nearby. “Prince Aderon. I did know you were here,” he admitted, genuinely taken aback by his presence. Aderon stood alongside them, gazing outward at the formidable army.
“And you have every reason to believe that,” Aderon remarked, casting a pointed look at him. “Be thankful the wizard knocked you out instead of me ending you right then and there.”
“Easy, Aderon. He just got up,” Kaira intervened, positioning herself between them.
A smirk crept across Aderon’s face. “Higher powers want you alive, Prince Tamiron. Make sure you honor them.”
“So, I’ve been told,” he replied, returning the smirk. Their silent exchange held a weighty tension until Aderon playfully disrupted it.
“Have you asked him to be your husband yet?” Aderon teased.
His eyes widened but did not react further, as he could only imagine Kaira’s face right then and there.
“What?!” Kaira exclaimed, clearly caught off guard. She attempted to strike Aderon, but he effortlessly hovered just out of her reach, his smirk intact, before soaring away.
“What was that about?” he asked as he tried to act natural.
“Nothing,” Kaira hastily replied.
Taking a deep breath, he scrutinized the scene once more. “All this, just to take me out?” He looked to Kaira, as her face painted something different. Puzzled, he asked to clarify. “Isn’t that the purpose of this army?” Her expression remained enigmatic, as if she struggled to convey something.
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“Kaira, come on. Tell me,” He urged once more.
“I think we should head to the command tent now. Let’s go,” Kaira suggested, taking the lead.
“Yes, we should,” he agreed, stealing one last glance at the magnificent army before they proceeded towards the command tent.
After a short while, they arrived at the bustling command tent, where everyone was engrossed in their tasks. Some generals offered him nods of respect, while others merely spared a fleeting glance before returning to their duties.
The tent was well-lit, befitting its purpose. At the far end stood a makeshift throne, and before it, a table hosted a large map, right on top of others. Tamara and Emerys stood together, flanked by Ravaen and Sevidon on one side, and Aresa, along with several other generals, on the other.
Aresa’s eyes finally landed on him, and a genuine smile graced his face as he approached. Unexpectedly, Aresa gave him in a hug that he certainly did not expect. The embrace was swiftly followed by Aresa letting him go, clearing his throat, and quickly kneeling to show him respect. Something he felt he no longer deserved.
“My Prince,” Aresa greeted respectfully, even though he questioned whether such respect was warranted.
“You don’t have to do that,” he insisted as Aresa rose. “I’ve heard you led the attack in Melgrace. I’m proud to say that you are my pupil,” he added, gripping Aresa’s shoulders with sincerity.
“I’ve learned from the best, my Prince,” Aresa humbly acknowledged.
“Again, you don’t have to address me like that,” he repeated, his humility evident.
“Nonsense, you are still the prince, are you not?” Aresa turned to Tamara, who responded with a reassuring smile.
“Yes, I’ll make sure of it,” she affirmed.
Ravaen tapped him on the shoulder repeatedly as he approached the table, but his joy waned as he comprehended the content of the map—it was the map of the entire city of Tamara.
“Sister, why are you discussing plans about a siege of Tamara?” he questioned, the revelation leaving him stunned. Glances were exchanged, but those in the tent avoided meeting his eyes. Tamara’s smile had vanished.
“Everyone except those at this table, please leave the tent for now,” Emerys conveyed the command, breaking the silence. The others, excluding those specified, filed out, leaving a heavy quietude behind.
“What’s going on?” he finally asked.
“As you may have realized by now, we are currently in the south end of Barceneim, just at the outskirts of Francineil,” Aresa explained, presenting another map that detailed their current location.
From there, he observed the numerous armies strategically encircling the city of Tamara.
“What’s this?” he inquired, pointing to the marked concentrations on the map.
“Those are the loyalists’ armies surrounding the city on all fronts. After subduing the other rebelling vassal kingdoms, they swiftly closed in on Tamara, your Highness,” explained another general.
Sevidon expressed his disbelief, “It’s a miracle that they achieved this with minimal casualties, pushing right to the outskirts of Tamara itself.”
Aresa, scratching his head, added insight, “We suffered significant losses during the Battle of Melgrace. They seized the initiative then when most of the loyalist forces here went to Melgrace, creating the greatest distraction in imperial history.”
Curiosity compelled him to ask, “How many lives were lost?” curious for the number of tolls it took for them to get him back.
“Twenty-five percent of the total forces are gone,” Kaira grimly contributed.
The weight of the information settled heavily, and he empathized with the soldiers, who now regarded him with somber expressions. Many had lost friends, perhaps even family members.
Apprehension etched his face as he sought answers. “The information is appreciated, but my question remains unanswered. What is the purpose of all this? Are we openly rebelling against our father?”
Tamara, with a deep breath, met his gaze earnestly. “We are going to reclaim the capital, Brother.”
“Enough games, Tamara. Just get on with it,” he urged, frustration all over his expression as he gazed at everyone.
“No, Prince Tamiron. We are going to help reclaim the Imperial Capital from the man who ordered your assassination,” Kaira asserted, standing resolutely by his side.
“Arch Chancellor Menoich Anarchu.” Ravaen suddenly said. He looked at him. “He needs to go,” Ravaen declared with crossed arms.
“Arch Chancellor? What is going on?” he queried, his confusion evident as he looked at the faces around him. “Where’s Father? Why would he let this happen?”
“Brother,” Tamara’s voice reached him from behind. As she firmly held his shoulders, she turned him to face her. Her eyes betrayed the struggle to contain tears. A heavy silence enveloped them, amplifying the dread that settled upon him. “Father’s dead.”
His heart sanked.
His lips trembled upon hearing his sister’s revelation. He could hear his heartbeat as he looked around. The world seemed to spin around him, with Tamara as its somber center.
“How could this happen?” he murmured, shaken by the news. Tamara held him firmly, her touch attempting to restrain any potential outburst.
“Father had a heart attack when you rebelled. The Imperial Council installed Menoich as the Arch Chancellor and immediately summoned Everess and others to deal with you. I arrived at the Capital just over two months ago and attempted to regain control when they falsely accused me of his murder. They found my dagger buried in his chest,” Tamara explained, her words sinking into his disbelief.
He couldn’t fathom that it all began because of him. All he could think about was that it all started because of him. He gently pushed Tamara away as he tried to leave the tent, looking to get some fresh air and make sense of things.
Outside, the guards observed him as they were confused, while onlookers sought to decipher what troubled him. The loud ringing in his ears drowned out the ambient sounds as thoughts of his father’s demise consumed him.
He released a roar that echoed like thunder from the heavens, venting his frustration over the belief that his father’s demise was linked to his actions. Collapsing to his knees, he contemplated the alternate possibilities.
What if he had stayed in Tamara or remained in Melgrace? The weight of what a delay might have achieved for them, for his father, pressed upon him.
His mind filled with memories of Menoich’s peculiar behavior before his departure, manipulating his father into having him wear a different armor and even use a different stone. The pieces fell into place, leaving no room for doubt—it was Menoich.
Slowly rising from the ground, he returned to the tent, the onlookers parting to make way for him.
“Shadows,” he uttered, and in an instant, six black-clad figures materialized, encircling him with their iron masks.
Surprise flickered across the faces of those who followed him inside. They did not fear them as they noticed that Tamara was unfazed by them.
“It is good to see you well, my Prince,” one of them acknowledged.
“Anathar, I assume you’ve already delivered my armor and stone to my sister?” he directed his question to the captain.
“Yes, as you instructed when events took a turn for the worse,” Anathar confirmed.
“Then you are aware now of the next steps,” he stated.
“With you back on our side, achieving our goals will be considerably more straightforward, my Prince,” Anathar affirmed as he rose to his feet.
“Good,” he acknowledged as the black-clad figures vanished, along with Anathar.
“Any news from the Capital? From the traitor?” he inquired.
“Tamara and the Palace is in complete lockdown. We are trying to make contact as we speak with our shadows there,” Anathar reported.
He then turned to his sister, he found her already anticipating his needs.
“Emerys, fetch my brother’s armor and stone,” Tamara commanded, prompting Emerys to promptly comply.
He revisited the map, scrutinizing it once more while the others observed closely.
“As you may already be aware, openly besieging Tamara is not an optimal strategy. However, we can secure the city walls, including the inner wall, without encountering significant obstacles.”
Perplexed, Ravaen inquired, “How do you propose accomplishing that? Our forces will inevitably diminish once we approach the walls.”
He scoffed, disdain evident in his expression as he focused on the center of the map, where the Cors’Viridetauros Palace stood.
“Menoich has no idea what incurring my wrath looked like.” he asserted, casting silence over the assembly.
His eyes fixated on the map with newfound intensity, fervor, and ferocity. He already let it out once more, and he was certain he could do it again. Anger surged within him, no longer turned inward but channeled toward a target—the orchestrator of the chaos, the puppeteer veiled behind the curtain, the master manipulator pulling the strings. Every ounce of his fury and wrath now had a singular focus: Menoich.
All his anger and wrath will now be directed upon him.
His gaze remained fixed on the palace. Determined, he vowed to reclaim the capital and, with it, Menoich’s head.
End of Chapter XXXIV