The royals of Punditesos had fallen.

The kingdom burned.

The chaos and wails in Punditesos were nothing like the world had ever seen before.

The night was a nightmare—one that clawed its way into reality, leaving nothing but ruin.

Smoke choked the sky, swallowing the moonlight, and flames licked at the crumbling castle walls. Once impenetrable, the fortress now bled from a thousand wounds—torn open by invaders who showed no mercy. The air reeked of burning flesh and splintered wood, the metallic sting of blood thick on the tongue.

The wails of the dying echoed through the night—knights cut down where they stood, royal maids butchered in the corridors, and those who remained alive were nothing more than shadows, huddled behind doors that no longer promised safety.

And now, even the heart of the castle—the final refuge—was a death trap.

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In a distant wing of the shattered stronghold, she moved through the shadows.

The warrior queen of Punditesos.

Her once-proud armour was slashed and stained crimson, and blood poured freely from the gaping wound in her stomach. Each step sent a searing wave of agony through her body, but she pressed on, jaw clenched, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She didn’t have the luxury of stopping. Not now.

Not when her son—the only heir to the throne—lay waiting.

Born just seven nights ago and already the last hope of a dying kingdom.

The walls groaned, shaking with the force of an explosion somewhere in the distance. Dust rained down from the ceiling, but the queen didn’t flinch. She staggered forward, her hand pressed to her abdomen, warm blood slick between her fingers.

Her vision blurred, but her mind was clear—get to him, save him, no matter the cost.

She finally reached the familiar chamber door, shoving it open with what little strength she had left.

Inside, the air was deathly still, save for the faint crackle of dying embers in the hearth. The room felt hollow, as though the castle itself was exhaling its final breath.

A maid—Melissa—stood frozen by the crib, her face as pale as bone.

"My queen!" Melissa's voice cracked, eyes flickering from the blood pooling beneath the queen's feet to the wild look in her gaze.

Another maid, younger, skittered out from behind the heavy curtain. "My lady—"

The queen didn’t stop to answer. She staggered past them, every movement fueled by a single thought: her son.

And there he was.

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A small bundle in the corner, swaddled tightly, his tiny chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep—so unaware of the hell that raged outside.

Her heart fractured at the sight.

Her vision swam again, her knees threatening to buckle, but she forced herself to stay upright. She couldn’t fall. Not yet.

With trembling hands, she lifted the infant, clutching him to her chest for a brief, fleeting moment. His small hand curled instinctively, a fragile fist resting against her bloodstained armour.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t stir.

He simply existed—a quiet flame amidst the inferno.

The queen's breathing grew shallower. Her time was running out.

Without hesitation, she thrust the child into Melissa's arms.

"Take him," she rasped, voice hoarse from pain and fury. "Take him and run."

Melissa's eyes widened in horror. "My lady, no—"

"Listen to me!" the queen snapped, her words cracking like a whip. "You must find Ysara."

The name fell like a stone.

Melissa flinched. "The Witch?"

"Yes," the queen growled, blood seeping between her teeth. "She will protect him."

The younger maid gasped. "But... but what about Princess Rebecca?"

Silence.

The queen's gaze hardened. She didn’t answer.

Instead, she moved—slow, weak, but with purpose—toward her vanity. From beneath its mirror, she drew a small, folded parchment—its edges smudged with hurried ink.

She pressed it into Melissa's shaking hand.

"He will be Victore," she whispered.

Melissa's heart shattered. "We can all escape—"

"No!" The queen's roar was ragged, desperate. "I will only slow you down."

A crash echoed from the corridor. The enemy was coming. The castle was crumbling.

"Run," the queen commanded, her voice breaking. "Through the concealed door. Do not stop."

Melissa clutched the prince to her chest, her lips quivering. "But—"

The queen's hand shot out, cold and bloodied, grasping Melissa's wrist.

"Promise me," she breathed. "Promise me you will take him... to Ysara."

Tears spilled down Melissa's cheeks. "I promise, my lady."

The queen’s lips trembled into a faint smile. Relief.

And then—her strength gave out.

She sagged against the stone wall, her body sliding to the floor, her blood painting the cold stone beneath her.

Her vision dimmed, but her final sight was of her son—held tight, safe, alive.

"Go," the other maid whispered urgently to Melissa, shoving her toward the hidden passage as the door behind them splintered—the invaders were here.

Melissa clutched the prince, her heart thundering.

With one last look at the queen—the fallen, bleeding, yet unbroken queen—she stepped through the concealed door and disappeared into the night.

The chamber door shattered moments later.

And with the queen's final, shuddering breath…

The last light of Punditesos flickered out.