In the neighboring kingdom of Eseroth, Clara looked out from her window; her father's soldiers were preparing for the invasion below her. Everyone was preparing, and dozens of blacksmithy stalls were moved from the city and set up all around the training field. She wanted to help but her father would never allow her.

Her father was the King of Eseroth. He was a very sharp speaker, and no matter how docile the meaning behind his words, his tongue tended to cut like a knife.

Her family had led the kingdom of Eseroth for decades. The present king, Marcus Arilia, was preceded by his father, Richard Arillia, and his father, Charles Arillia. Charles was granted the throne after a long, tedious war that led to territory separation, and that was when the Kingdom of Eseroth was born. Before, the kingdom was much smaller, and its three states were once separate kingdoms.

Clara often watched the soldiers practice. She always wanted to be a swordsman, but she couldn't risk her life for her own frivolity because he was the second heir to the throne. That was something her father always told her; those exact words echoed in her mind as she sneaked into the basement for private sword lessons every few days.

That day, she looked out at the fields. Her long, soft brown hair cascaded down her left shoulder and ended at her waist. She was lost in a random thought when she was startled by a knock on her bedchamber door.

"Your majesty," the voice said.

It was one of the maids, Angelina.

Clara answered, "You may enter."

Angela opened the door. She was carrying a tray in one hand as she pushed open the door with the other.

They locked eyes briefly, and she bowed and then placed the tray on the table.

"If you don't like this, there are other options. If you need anything, ring the bell."

She nodded, and the woman left.

Clara did not like how the bell system in the castle was used.

The system was installed by her grandfather. Behind the throne room, there was a giant wall of ropes. Each rope was labeled with the name of a room where a royal could be found. The ropes were funneled into each room, and on the end of each rope was a bell. If important family members needed to meet quickly or were alert, they would ring the bells to summon each other.

Her grandfather used it when there was a rumor of an infiltrator in the castle or a sighting of an approaching army. Unfortunately, her father thought it was much better used in the opposite manner. He placed the bells in the back of the throne room and the ends in the royal rooms so anyone royal could summon a servant at any moment.

The enemy was getting closer and closer, and when an enemy army was approaching, she always tried to avoid her father. He was even more aggressive when a battle approached. Unfortunately, she was on her way to the library when she saw his entourage approaching,

"Oh, Clara, my dear," he said, "I haven't seen you in forever. Join us."

She was very surprised by his out-of-character jovialness. She joined him as they walked to the back garden. She sat silently as he talked with his advisors.

The back garden boasted a gorgeous display of floral nature and excess. Huge green bushes and vibrant flowers of all colors dotted the landscape. Several gardeners were working on the grounds when they approached, and they immediately grabbed their tools and disappeared.

She looked at the water fountain and watched the water hypnotically ebb. She focused on drowning out her father's voice. The water gurgled lively, and she dipped her soft hand into the icy water. The cool temptress glazed her hand and soothed the summer heat that had rested upon her skin. She put her hand in again. The water slithered down the back of her hand, and droplets slowly passed her wrist. She closed her eyes for a moment.

She placed her other hand in, took her wet hands, and encompassed her face, transferring the water to her cheeks and forehead. She opened her eyes and looked back where her father was sitting. She didn't think they noticed her leaving. She returned to them, trying not to be rude, and sat back down.

She listened to them talk about the battle and watched her father's expressions. It was very odd, she thought to herself, the way he was reacting to their words. Any time someone brought up war or a battle or anything stressful in the past, her father typically had a viscerally violent expression that often led to violent actions. That day, he seemed calm and collected; he was accommodating towards his advisors and indulged their opinions. "I promised I would let you go through with your plan for this battle," he said. "I trust you; we have gone over this a lot. I am not sure how it will work realistically, but I trust your expertise," he said. Even the leader of his army was a bit shocked by his response. "Are you sure, Your Highness?"

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He nodded. She had never heard him use someone else's military strategy; she deduced that they made some sort of cause-and-effect arrangement where something happened that, therefore, her father agreed to, in turn, let the advisor implement a strategy on the battlefield.

She regretted running into him in the hall; she felt utterly stuck sitting there, thankful they began talking about something sensitive,

Her father looked at her. "Can you leave?" he demanded. She jumped up and went inside. Afraid her father would call for her again for some reason, she ran to the library. She often found solace in the library since she knew she would rarely see her father or anyone he was fond of lurking around.

She sat down near a large table and thats when she noticed somethign out of place. The shelf of books on the back wall across from the last shelf was crooked. She tilted her head and then walked over to it. Her vision was not distorted. The wall, in fact, was separated on one side a tiny bit.

Oh my goodness, she said to herself. It's a door.

There wasn't a handle or anything to illuminate its alternate function when it was sealed. She felt a pang of excitement. She looked about to make sure no one was around; she decided to lock the main door so no one would witness her or follow her. She opened it a few more inches so she could peek inside. The passage was stone on either side, a passage between chambers. Dead torches were hanging on the right side of the wall inside. She closed the door all except for an inch and began the journey into the depths of her home.

She assumed that it was a passage similar to the ones she knew about. The castle architect built many passages to give royals an escape route if there was a castle breach. There wasn't usually anything extraordinary about the passages in general. She was only interested in that passage because she had never known about it and was curious why she hadn't. She followed it until there was a dead end. She pushed on the wall, and it opened. She only opened it a crack and waited to see if anyone was on the other side. She didn't hear anything, so she pushed open the door entirely and realized she was in her father's study. She couldn't believe it; she had never been allowed into his room, where he kept all of his valuable possessions. She quickly walked to the desk, opened the top drawer, and started looking through the papers, and that's when she saw something interesting.

It was a piece of aged paper; it looked ancient, and all the script was written with dark purple ink.

Under the words she didn't recognize, there was a sketch. It looked like a metal stick that had three sides and was tapered to a point. Underneath it was the word

"tribac"

She muttered it under her breath

Clara knew her father talked about the item before. It was the weapon he claimed could save them.

She remembered the page from when she was a child.

She was sitting in the throne room, and her father was talking to his advisors. He pulled that exact page out. She remembered it so vividly because of the purple ink. It was beautiful, and she hadn't seen anything that color since.

She knew it had to be important, so she sat at his desk and quickly copied everything on the page to a blank piece of parchment. She even drew on the embellishments on the page and wrote down the color of the ink.

She walked over to the shelf across the room and noticed a bag; she opened it, and inside were clothes, a few weapons, and food.

"That's odd," she said; she touched the bread. "This is fresh."

Inside the bag, she saw a handful of untied and flattened scrolls within a blank book. She grabbed one, but before she could investigate further, she heard a noise and quickly slipped back into the hall and returned to the library.

She was curious where the page with the purple writing came from. She had never seen any pages with purple script; she wondered if the page was from a book. Maybe they had the book in that very library.

The sun set and the sounds of the enemy could be heard echoing through the fields. Robert sat on his horse next to the king in their fighting regalia. The man next to him was holding a huge pole with a long green banner that waved with the wind. The flag of their home. For a moment, it was all he could hear as the giration of the canvas slapping against itself.

The air before a battle was oddly chilling, no matter the time of day or the time of year. They plunged forth into the fray.

Clara was stationed in the barracks, where she helped the blacksmiths replenish weaponry. Since she wasn't allowed to fight, she did what she could to support the knights and citizens. Sparks flew from stone grinders, and the profound eerie glow of the hot orange metal illuminated the night's darkness. Sizzling flashes and flickering flames were the only prominent color amongst the dark black vacuum of the night.

The voice of the motivated and damned screamed out together as an accompaniment to the clanging of metal swords and spears.

The enemy army was storming the city. Huge claps of thunder stifled the battle cries as they tore open the front gate to the city. The citizens within the walls panicked as they faced impending doom. The head of the army within the city was very cool-headed and mobilized his units very quickly so they could meet the enemy at the gate to prevent further infiltration into the sanctum of the city.

The city had several layers: the first wall surrounded the border, the second wall surrounded the outer section, where the barracks and many of the soldiers were housed, the third wall circled around all of the houses and stores, and the last wall protected the grounds around the castle or inner sanctum. It was a large, engulfing entity that was purposely made hard to penetrate.

The way to the center was hard, the enemy was determined to terrorize as many layers as they could.

A loud horn continuously echoed throughout the kingdom to alert all soldiers to the danger. Most had mobilized and were ready to push back. Once the gate was broken, they were met with a sea of swords and arrows.

The rain poured heavily, contributing to the insane amount of sound polluting the air. The drops bounced off the metal armor and slid down the edges of the swords. The soldiers were not able to escape the icy water droplets, and the fight soon became a bath of blood and mud. The dreary gray sludge covered everything, soon masking faces and hands.