"Mr. Smith, could you do us a favor and accompany Emrys to our room?" Lance whispered, his voice carrying a note of politeness.

Isabella's eyes widened in surprise; she hadn't expected anyone to appear at their door at such an unexpected hour. Her curiosity awakened as she wondered why someone would venture into the forbidden forest. A bead of sweat dripped from her brow, landing on the cracked wooden floor with a soft pitter-patter.

Lance shifted his gaze towards Isabella, anticipating her reaction before she even made a move. As she rose from her chair, the wood beneath her emitted a slight creak. With graceful poise, she lifted the bottom part of her voluminous dress, taking measured steps slowly and elegantly

"Dad? Who's at the door? Is it my gift?" Emrys questioned eagerly. Lance quickly hushed him, diverting his attention away from the noise emanating from the door.

Mr. Smith, clad in his smart brown vest and matching brown bow tie, gently lifted young Emrys from his chair. With a reassuring smile, he quietly ushered him into Lance's room.

“Now, Emrys let's play a game.”. Mr. Smith told Emrys quietly in the room.

“Sure! I want a game!” Emrys, full of energy, burst aloud, jumping up and down, only stopping under Mr. Smith’s request for solitude and silence.

“I call it the… quiet game, it's where we stay quiet until your parents come into this room.”. Mr. Smith murmured to Emrys, scratching his long beard.

“Let's begin now…”

Emrys grinned and even chuckled softly in the dimly lit room, despite the absence of a candle. Mr. Smith affectionately patted his small head, then glanced through the small crack in the door to observe what was unfolding outside.

“I’ll open the door, honey.”. Lance told Isabella as he approached the door and motioned Isabella to take a few steps back from the door.

With a nervous demeanor, Lance's hand trembled slightly as he grasped the golden knob of their door. His heart raced, echoing in the quiet room as he turned the knob inch by inch, the metallic clicks adding to the suspense. Each turn seemed to amplify the tension in the air. Finally, with a swift motion, he pushed the door open, revealing the unexpected visitor on the other side.

Two imposing figures stood outside, their blue soldier attire accentuating their tall and robust frames, casting an intimidating shadow against the wooden cabin. Their uniforms were meticulously adorned with insignias that spoke of their allegiance to the Titlantia army, each detail intricately woven into the fabric. A glance at their shields revealed a design that sent a shiver down Lance's spine—a large circular dragon encased in ice, symbolic of power and danger. Within the icy grip of the dragon, a sword sliced through, unveiling a hidden tree, a testament to nature's resilience amidst adversity.

Their shields, crafted with exquisite craftsmanship, bore the weight of their history and battles fought, the emblematic dragon's scales etched into the sturdy surface. Shades of blue and white merged seamlessly, creating a gradient that mirrored the icy breath of the dragon they represented. The soldiers' equipment gleamed with a subtle shine in the otherwise pitch-black night.

Lance took a deep breath, mustering every ounce of respect and reverence within him. With a commanding yet reverent tone, he proclaimed, "All hail the king!" His left hand rested firmly across his waist, a gesture of honor and loyalty, while his right hand extended forward, symbolizing his homage to the king. The words echoed with a solemnity that resonated through the room, embodying the weight of centuries-old traditions and the spirit of allegiance to the monarch.

“What brings you men here tonight- at this time?” Lance said with a subtle smile on his face, a tear of sweat dripping down defying all exterior emotions showed at the outskirts of his face.

“By royal decree- you and your family are said to be executed.”. The soldier on the right said, sinisterly smiling.

“Executed!? But sir, We’ve done nothing wrong!” Lance said, his eyes widening in fear of his execution, his breath getting faster as he shook.

“We simply don’t care. Now, please oblige yourself to the throne.” The soldier explained, taking out ropes to tie them up.

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Lance swiftly stepped aside, clearing a path for Isabella as she dashed toward the soldiers. In her hands, she wielded the family's antique musket, a relic passed down through generations. Her eyes narrowed with determination as she aimed at the soldiers, her movements fluid and purposeful.

With impeccable precision, Isabella fired a shot that pierced through the air with a resounding crack. The bullet found its mark, striking the right soldier directly in the left eye. A moment of stunned silence followed before the soldier's agonized cry shattered the stillness. Blood began to trickle from the wound, staining his uniform and causing him excruciating pain.

The remaining soldier, taken aback by the sudden turn of events, hesitated for a brief moment before regaining his composure and reaching for his weapon, ready to retaliate.

However, he was soon stopped by another man, but this man wasn’t wearing any armor or had any weapons.

“Move aside.” He said in a condescending tone.

A sharp pain went through Lance and Isabella’s spines. They we wished that this person wasn’t ‘one of them’ they feared o

The man standing before them exuded an air of serenity, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the tense situation. His eyes remained closed most of the time as if he were lost in deep thought or meditation, and a serene smile played on his lips, hinting at hidden wisdom and inner peace.

His attire added to his enigmatic presence. He wore a flowing white coat that draped elegantly around his frame, accentuating his tall and slender figure. A black tie adorned his crisp white shirt, creating a stark contrast that drew attention to his refined sense of style. Upon his head sat a fedora, adding a touch of old-world charm to his appearance.

As the tension eased slightly, the man removed his fedora with a graceful flourish, revealing a head of neatly slicked-back hair that complemented his sophisticated ensemble. The subtle gleam in his eyes hinted at a keen intellect and a depth of experience that belied his tranquil demeanor. The man looked fairly young however his ‘aura’ was something to fear.

“Yes sir!” The soldier on the left said, respecting the figure walking in the cabin.

“Oh? My apologies, let me introduce myself. My name is Alfred, Master of the essence of water and fire from the Titlantia monarchy.”. He smiled.

“Now, if you could stop with the violent tendencies, could we please take you for your execution?”. With a gentle smile, he opened his closed eyes. “Or do you want it here?”.

As Lance and Isabella dropped to their knees, their bodies trembled with fear and desperation. They pressed their foreheads against the cold wooden floor, their voices choked with tears as they begged for mercy before the imposing throne. Alfred, with a serene smile that seemed almost out of place amidst the tension, watched them silently.

"Forgive us," Lance stammered, his hands quivering uncontrollably as he struggled to find the right words to plead for their lives.

Isabella's voice quivered with terror as she pleaded, "We didn't mean any harm, please spare us. We'll do anything you ask, just please don't kill us."

The silence that followed was suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity of uncertainty as they awaited the king's judgment.

“Get up,” Alfred commanded Lance.

Lance rose to his feet, obeying Alfred’s order. His eyes widening in horror as Alfred's demeanor shifted abruptly. Without warning, flames erupted from Alfred's outstretched arms, engulfing Lance's body in searing heat. Lance let out a guttural scream as the flames tore through his flesh, leaving his mouth stained with blood from the intensity of the agony.

Isabella recoiled in terror, stumbling backward as she witnessed the horrifying spectacle before her. The air crackled with the scent of burning flesh, and the room seemed to pulse with ominous energy as Alfred's powers unleashed a wave of fear and dread.

Lance would fall to the floor, soon losing his consciousness.

The fire was still in Alfred’s hands, his smile grew larger as tears ran through Isabella’s eyes.

As Isabella's words trembled through the air, her voice quivering with fear, she clasped her hands together and began to pray fervently to the lords of the world. The desperation in her tone was palpable, a plea for mercy and a glimmer of hope in the face of impending doom.

"Please... We've done nothing wrong," Isabella pleaded, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at Alfred's menacing form. The room seemed to darken, shadows dancing ominously around them as if responding to the sinister aura emanating from Alfred.

The air grew heavy with tension, and Isabella's prayers echoed in the silence, a fragile barrier against the impending threat. The faint flicker of candlelight cast eerie shadows on the walls, adding to the atmosphere of dread that hung thick in the air.

Alfred's malevolent smile widened as he snapped his fingers with a chilling nonchalance. In an instant, tongues of flame surged forward, engulfing Isabella's open mouth and searing her face with merciless intensity. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, mingling with the acrid scent of charred wood and terror.

Isabella's agonized screams were abruptly silenced as the flames consumed her, leaving behind only the haunting echoes of her final moments. Her lifeless form slumped to the ground, a tragic testament to the cruelty of Alfred's power and the darkness that lurked within him.

“True devastation only lies within one's hands.”. Alfred said, looking at the burning bodies.