The battle for Droswick was a storm that raged from the first clash of steel to the final echo of retreating footsteps. Aurelia stood at the forefront, her sword gripped tightly in her hand, her heart steady despite the chaos unfolding around her. This was her moment, the one she had been preparing for. The moment when she would lead her people to victory—or die trying.
The dust of the battlefield swirled in the air, the cries of men and women blending with the clang of swords and the screams of the wounded. The soldiers loyal to her father, armed with the finest weapons and armor, came at them with ruthless precision. But the rebels—those who had nothing to lose and everything to gain—fought with a desperation that was unmatched.
Aurelia moved with purpose, cutting down any soldier who came too close. Her mind was sharp, her movements fluid. Every strike, every parry, was a testament to her determination to protect the people she had vowed to defend. She didn't need to think; the instincts of a leader had taken over. She was no longer just a princess in a gilded cage; she was the commander of a rebellion, the hope of the oppressed.
Beside her, Lorian fought like a man possessed. His sword flashed through the air with lethal precision, each strike bringing him closer to his own reckoning with Aldric's army. The mercenary had always been skilled, but in this moment, surrounded by the chaos of battle, Aurelia saw something more in him: a man who had come to care for something greater than just his own survival.
They fought back-to-back, their movements synchronized as if they had known each other for years. But despite their growing confidence, the tide of the battle was not in their favor. The king's soldiers were well-trained and well-equipped. They were professionals, and the rebels—though brave—were outnumbered.
Aurelia ducked beneath a swing of a soldier's sword, her body moving with fluid grace, and retaliated with a slash to his side. The man crumpled to the ground, but another took his place, and Aurelia's breath caught in her throat as she realized how quickly they were being overwhelmed.
"We need to push them back!" she shouted to Lorian, her voice rising above the din of the battle.
"I know!" he yelled back, his eyes locked on the soldiers closing in from the left. "But they keep coming!"
Aurelia's eyes flickered to the distant hills where the first signs of reinforcements were just beginning to appear—a glimmer of hope. If they could just hold out long enough, if they could just keep the soldiers engaged, the reinforcements would arrive, and the battle could turn in their favor.
But as if on cue, the battle shifted. A massive group of soldiers, cloaked in black, descended from the hill behind them—an unexpected force that seemed to come out of nowhere. They were too well organized, their movements too synchronized to be a coincidence. Aurelia's heart dropped as she realized the truth: they had been lured into a trap.
"Malice!" she spat, fury rising within her chest. She had trusted him, believed that the enchanter might offer them a chance at victory. But now, it seemed he had betrayed them, sending his own forces to ensure their downfall.
Lorian cursed under his breath. "They've got us surrounded."
Aurelia's mind raced. They needed to get out of the circle they were trapped in, or they would all perish here in the dirt of Droswick. But her eyes kept flickering to the hill where the reinforcements had appeared—too far to reach without taking heavy losses.
"We push through!" she shouted, the battle cry reaching the ears of the rebels. "We fight our way to the hill! Hold nothing back!"
With renewed determination, Aurelia led the charge, her sword flashing in the fading sunlight. The rebels, spurred on by her words and the sight of their leader charging into the fray, fought harder, fiercer, each of them knowing that this might be their final stand.
But the enemy closed in faster than they had anticipated. Aurelia's mind raced as she fought, pushing through the line of soldiers in front of her, hoping to break the encirclement. She glanced to Lorian, who was cutting down soldiers beside her. His face was grim, but his focus was unwavering.
They were so close now, just a few steps away from the first line of reinforcements. But then, as if the ground itself had turned against them, a figure appeared in front of Aurelia—tall, cloaked in dark robes, his face shadowed by a mask. The same mask that had haunted her thoughts.
Malice.
The enchanter stood between her and the reinforcements, his eyes glowing with a strange light. In his outstretched hand, an orb pulsed with dark energy, casting a sickly green hue over the battlefield. Aurelia's blood ran cold. This was no ordinary soldier. This was no mere betrayal. This was something far darker.
"Malice!" she cried, her voice raw with anger. "Why?"
The enchanter smiled, the expression hidden behind his mask but apparent in his eyes. "You never understood, did you, Princess? The power you seek isn't in mere swords and rebellion. It's in control—absolute control. Your father knows this. And now\... so do you."
Lorian stepped forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword with white-knuckled intensity. "You're working for him, aren't you? Aldric. You've been manipulating us all."
Malice's smile deepened. "You have no idea what you're up against. I offered you power, Aurelia. And you refused it. You had a chance to wield the magic, to control your fate, but now you will pay the price."
Aurelia's breath came in short bursts, her fury growing with every word. "I would rather die than become like him," she spat, raising her sword.
"You will die, then," Malice replied calmly, his voice cold as ice. With a snap of his fingers, the orb in his hand flared, sending a burst of energy toward her.
Everything slowed. Aurelia could see the dark magic approaching, a tangible force that threatened to consume her. She didn't think. She just acted. She dove to the side, rolling across the dirt to avoid the blast, but the shockwave still sent her flying. Her body collided with the ground hard, and for a moment, everything went black.
---
When Aurelia came to, the battlefield was still. The sounds of clashing steel had faded, replaced by the distant cries of the wounded. She could feel the weight of her body pressed against the cold earth, but it was the sharp, metallic taste in her mouth and the blood dripping from her side that brought her back to full awareness.
The battle had shifted in the worst way possible. Malice's dark magic had torn through their ranks like a blade through flesh, and now, the rebellion's forces were in disarray.
Aurelia's eyes darted across the field, searching for Lorian, for any sign of the rebels who had once fought beside her. And then she saw him—Lorian, standing amidst the fallen, his face etched with pain but resolute. He was alive, but barely.
"Aurelia," he called, his voice hoarse but filled with concern. He limped toward her, blood staining his shirt where a wound had opened across his side. "You're alive."
"I'm not done yet," Aurelia said weakly, her breath ragged as she struggled to her feet. The battle wasn't over. Not yet.
But they were losing. The king's soldiers were regrouping, and the rebellion had been crushed beneath the weight of Malice's betrayal. Aurelia looked around, her mind racing for a solution. She couldn't let this be the end.
"I'll keep fighting," she whispered to herself. "I won't let it end like this."
But as the dust settled over the battlefield, one thing was certain—Aurelia's war had only just begun.