“They’re coming, my prince.”

Explosions and shouting voices followed as the corridor outside the fortified ritual chamber carried the sounds of conflict to the armoured individuals within. The speaker was a woman attired for war, with elegant silvery plates layered over glinting chainmail. When she moved towards the figure at the centre of the room, her steps belied no sense of difficulty or awkwardness: The armour’s weight seemed to barely register, as if the burden presented no impediment to her motion.

“How long do I have, Cynthia?” The man who spoke bore a deep timbre to his voice, and projected with the confidence of one born to lead. To rule. His features were hidden behind the aurelian full-body armour he was adorned in, as much to protect him from his enemies as to guard him against the energies crackling at the centre of the chamber should something go wrong.

“Minutes at best, your highness.” Cynthia replied dutifully, her blue eyes searching the golden helmet of her liege with concern. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Do we have another choice? The bridge hasn’t been used in a while, but––”

“Respectfully your highness, it hasn’t been used in over a thousand years.”

“Yes.” The prince answered her with what anyone else might have believed to be infallible confidence. “A while.”

“Perhaps we might consider an alternative route?”

“There’s neither the time nor the luxury of that, Cynthia.” The frustration in his voice made it clear that he wasn’t thrilled about their circumstances either. “The Church won’t stop now, to say nothing of Romulus and his Praetorians.”

“Surely your father––?”

“I won’t drag my father into this mess, Cynthia. Bad enough I dragged you and the others into it.”

Her spine stiffened at his words, and her blue eyes narrowed behind errant silver bangs. “Our lives are tied to yours, my prince. What concerns you concerns us. That’s the oath each of us took.”

A round of affirmation echoed from the men and women assembled around the raised dais, lending their agreement to Cynthia’s statement. Chainmail clinked and armour creaked as the others around her shifted in anticipation of the conflict to come.

“I know, but I still––!”

“We appreciate your concern, your highness, but it’s quite unnecessary.”

The armoured prince snorted behind his helmet and muttered something about stubbornness and honour. Cynthia fought the urge to smile in response.

“How long, Ephrides?” The Prince asked, directing his attention to the well-dressed gentleman staring intently at the energy brewing on the dais.

“Nearly there, Titus, nearly there. My word, you’re impatient.”

Another explosion rocked the corridor outside, and the reinforced wooden doors shook as someone – or something – crashed into them.

The warriors around the room reacted with calm professionalism, taking up a spread-out crescent formation in front of the doors and unlatching sword hilts from their waists. In her mind’s eye she saw as magic flared within each of her peers and a font of light blazed forth from each weapon, creating magical blades of various shapes; each one formed from a different element of reality. Constructs of fire, water, air, and stone coalesced rapidly, held together by their wielders’ will.

Two of the Aetherblades crackled with highly condensed lightning, and a third shimmered with compacted telekinetic force, outlined in purple at its edges.

“Impatient, Ephrides? Heavens no, we have all the time in the world.” The Prince responded sarcastically. Another impact against the doors, more powerful this time, worked to emphasize his point.

“I can only do so much with such limited time, boy.” The goateed sorcerer said, unconcerned with the Prince’s retort. “Perhaps if you hadn’t forced me to build a reality bridge with less than a week’s notice––!”

“It wasn’t as if he had a choice, Sorcerer!” Cynthia interjected sharply, spinning on her heel as her irritation flared. “You forget yourself, and to whom it is you speak.”

“Oh yes.” Ephrides responded idly. “Do forgive me Lady Archon, I sometimes forget that this recalcitrant, spoiled, sarcastic, dunderheaded, irreverent little heretical brat––”

“You dare––?!”

“Enough!” The Prince said as Cynthia took a menacing step towards the older man, forestalling her indignation with a wave of his golden-armoured hand. “Let it be, Cynthia. See to the door, and let me worry about our cranky invoker.”

Cynthia smothered the urge to fling something at the spellcaster and inclined her head curtly to the Prince, turning on her heel to stride back to the door, taking up her own hilt in the process. A surge of aether flowed through her body to the weapon and she felt as much as saw her void-black blade erupt into life silently. Hers was a rare gift; control over space and gravitational force. Her weapon was a singularity; a light-drinking abyssal darkness outlined faintly in silver.

Another thud against the door roused her from her reverie, and Cynthia held her sword calmly out to the side in imitation of the rest of her companions. Each of them shared the same traits as her; pointed ears, sharp aristocratic features, and physical advantages that set them apart from others. They had been hand-selected as the Prince’s defenders when he’d been but a child. They’d watched him grow, and shielded and taught him in equal measure. They’d seen him evolve from a lazy boy, after years of ruthless training and tuition, into one of the most respected and promising warrior-princes in generations.

“It won’t end here.” She promised herself under her breath, armoured fingers tightening on the gilded hilt of her weapon. Her eyes glanced to those around her and she raised her voice. “It won’t end here! We’ll show these dogs what it means to trifle with the Gilded Aegis.”

A round of growled affirmations met her words as the doors shuddered under another impact, the screams and sounds of conflict long-since abated – a grim confirmation that any remaining resistance beyond the chamber had been firmly neutralised by the invaders. Behind her, Cynthia could feel as much as hear the build-up of the portal’s magic, and live or die she was determined that nothing would threaten its actualisation. The boy she’d protected, now the man she followed, was relying on her. On all of them.

The fortress would crumble before the Prince’s foes broke his Aegis.

“The pathway is stabilising!” Ephrides exclaimed in satisfaction. “Though…”

“What?” The Prince asked quickly. “What is it?”

“Ah… It seems we made something of a translation error, my prince.”

Cynthia’s ears pricked at the use of their liege’s title. That meant something bad was coming.

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“What sort of error, Ephrides?” The prince growled.

“This isn’t a bridge, so much as a… well, a door. A single-use door, at that.”

“Okay, and the problem?” The Prince prompted.

“It won’t handle more than one person at a time, and given the nature of the spell, it won’t allow more than one person per use. We cannot, it seems, go together. We would need to restructure the portal after each use to get everyone through.”

Cynthia’s immediate reaction upon hearing the words was a surge of dread, until another realisation replaced it accompanied with something immediate: Relief. A smile flitted onto her gold-painted lips and she abruptly laughed, drawing the eyes of her companions and a glance from the Prince as well.

“Something amusing, Cynthia?”

“Oh, just remembering what it was like when you used to play hide and seek with us when you were a child, your highness. You remember you used to particularly enjoy employing one-way teleportation across your family’s grounds.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I think you’re going to have to play another game of hide-and-seek, my prince.”

Another laugh left her lips, and this time it was taken up by others. Shoulders relaxed, spines straightened, and fingers firmed around hilts as the mirth danced from person to person. Even Ephrides chortled quietly.

“Cynthia, I’m not going to just leave all of you stranded here.”

“Of course you are, my lord.” She said with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “That’s your duty, just the same as ours is to stay right here, between these cultist dogs and you.”

Instead of responding to her, the Prince turned his helmet to regard Ephrides, tone very nearly imploring. “There has to be another way.”

“As much as I detest saying so, my dear boy, I fear I have to concur with your guardian. You will be making this trip alone.”

“Assuming it works.” The Prince replied hesitantly.

“It will work, your highness.” Cynthia cut in confidently, glancing back at the Prince meaningfully.

“It hasn’t been used in over a thousand years, Cynthia!”

“Yes. A while.” She responded slyly, a smile curving her lips up at the corners at having used his own flippancy against him. “Fear not, my prince. We’ll be here to commend you on your bravery when you return from the source-shard.”

Another impact shook the wooden doors, and this time a splintering sound filled the chamber as the wood deteriorated further. The formation they’d taken around the entrance, designed to allow for maximum individual freedom in combat, called for expanding rows of seven numbering three total, with four extras plus Cynthia at the very back at the foot of the dais. It was the most ideal way to wield their Aetherblades, allowing them unrestricted access to bring their wrath upon the enemy with blades and spells.

“It’s almost ready, your highness.” The sorcerer interjected, now actively roving his hands over the energy’s aura, moulding it into the rough shape of an archway. “Even a single arrow or spear could throw it all out of alignment. You need to go as soon as it’s open.”

“I… Ephrides, I can’t just…!” The Prince gesticulated in frustration, motioning both to the wizard and the soldiers of his Aegis.

“This is bigger than us, Titus.” The older man chided sternly. “Bigger than you, even. You have a duty not just to your bloodline, but to all people everywhere. The truth has to be heard. You need to make sure of it.”

“How am I supposed to do that here if this is a bloody one-way portal? I’m not a Sorcerer! I can’t create a bridge back!”

“You’ll find a way, my boy, and even if you don’t… Well, you do have a bloodline to preserve.”

“The old fool has a point, my lord.” Cynthia called from the bottom of the dais. “Do you have a name picked for your son, yet? It’s always good to know in advance, so when you meet a woman who can tolerate you, she knows you’ve put thought into your legacy.”

Another round of quiet laughter followed her words.

The Prince’s armoured head turned to Cynthia as the mirth settled, and she smiled up at the featureless surface of his winged helmet. She knew he could see through it like glass, regardless of how solid its visor looked on the outside.

“A name?” The Prince asked softly.

“Yes, a name.” She replied.

“Something strong!” One of the other men called.

“Something elegant!” A woman shouted.

“Something glorious!” A pair chorused.

“Something regal, as befits a future King.” Ephrides interjected with an uncharacteristic smile.

Silence followed from the Prince for a moment, a silence that Cynthia knew was suppressing his frustration, his rage, his pain. Suppressing the realisation he could not save them, no matter how desperately the kind heart within demanded he do so. She saw his shoulders straighten, his chin lift. She saw, in her mind’s eye, the King he could have been. Her heart wept that the world would be deprived of such a ruler, and in that moment, she cursed the gods for fools for weaving his fate so cruelly.

“Regis.” He said into the silence, the bittersweet atmosphere broken only by the further splintering of the doors as their enemies sought access. “I will name him Regis, in honour of the grace and might of the greatest companions a man could have ever asked for. He will know your names, and the tale of the Gilded Aegis. I swear this. He will be raised on stories of your valour, of your courage, and of your loyalty.”

“Regis.” Cynthia repeated, hearing the name repeated on the lips of her companions. She smiled.

It was a good name.

“Your Majesty, the portal.” Ephrides said quietly, indicating the finally completed archway.

“I am not a King, Ephrides.” Titus responded, momentarily taken aback.

“You were our King the day you were born, boy. Now go, and raise the next one.”

“I…”

“Go!” Cynthia said.

“Go!”

“Go!”

“Go!”

On and on the cry went, from soldier to soldier, as they raised their blades in salute. ‘Go!’ they proclaimed in one voice, with love and joy and sadness in every voice for the boy they had guarded, the man they had followed, and the uncrowned King they loved.

“Thank you.” He said at the last, before turning and stepping into the portal.

The magic flashed.

The door gave way in an explosion of splinters.

The Aegis exploded into action the moment the first purple-and-gold attired warriors streamed in, their Aetherblades carving flesh as the the horde of Praetorians and Church zealots bayed for their blood and denounced them as heretics. Above the din, Ephrides called out to Cynthia. “Delay them! I will harness what little energy remains and ensure that none may follow him where he went!”

“How?” She demanded, eyes dancing between him and the battle.

“Let’s just say that it won’t matter to any of us if it works.”

Cynthia smiled grimly at the Sorcerer’s words and tightened her grip on her sword. “For Regis!” She cried. “For Regis, our King-yet-uncrowned!”

“For Regis!” Her companions roared.

One by one they fought.

One by one they died.

Until the entire fortress and its surrounding lands were consumed in destructive light.

In the end, Cynthia’s promise held true: the fortress crumbled long before the Prince’s foes broke his Aegis.