The room was empty. I searched the corridors, shouting her name again. Then I saw Rhye my dearest friend, running toward me, tears streaking her cheeks. She threw her arms around me.
"Korj," she cried, "have you seen my Mother? I can't find her!"
I shook my head. "No… I haven't. Some of the queens....they went outside the walls earlier, I think, for the morning rites." I forced a breath. "They might still be there."
Her eyes widened with dread.
The wails of mothers and children grew louder beyond the walls—shouts, clashing steel, and the faint, terrible smell of smoke.
And in that moment, I knew the peace of Crystansia had shattered.
I dragged Rhye into my chamber and slammed the door behind us.
Her voice shook. "Korj… where is Queen Tabika and Bomi?"
"I—I don't know." My throat was dry, my hands trembling. "I can't find them. No one has seen them since the bells rang."
Rhye's eyes were wide. "Will you be okay?"
My face burned, my chest rising and falling too fast. But I forced a shaky smile. "Yes," I whispered. "I'll be fine, we'll be fine."
Outside, the world trembled. The air carried the deep, rhythmic sound of war drums rolling like thunder over the plains.
At the far edge of Crystansia, two armies faced each other beneath a blue and cloudy sky.
The King Wsalf rode forward on his white stallion, his golden armor glowing faintly in the dying light. His cloak fluttered behind him. Across the plain stood the First Son of the Qua Zi Empire, tall, sharp-eyed, armored in black and crimson. His soldiers stretched endlessly behind him, their banners fluttering like torn wings, the shape of a phoenix was printed on each banner held. It was their emblem.
The King's voice boomed across the silence. "What is the meaning of this, Prince of Qua Zi? Our kingdoms were to be joined by peace, by our children's union! Why draw your blade against me?"
The prince tilted his head slightly, a smile ghosting across his face. "You are not fit to rule, old king," he said softly. "After we are done here, your kingdom will belong to us. The Emperor of Qua Zi, conqueror of lands, master of slaves, the blood descendant of the Phoenix, bender of fate wants this land, he must have it. Turn yourself in King and surrender your army or be slaughtered like a cattle!"
His tone was calm, but it cut like steel.
The King reined his horse sharply and turned back. The soldiers of Crystansia parted before him as he rode through, their armor clattering like rain on metal. He vanished into the heart of his army.
Then a man behind him raised a great trumpet, carved from the horn of a slain beast, and blew into it.
The sound tore through the sky, low and dreadful, echoing over the land like the roar of a dying god.
A single heartbeat of silence.
Then the plains erupted.
War began.
Arrows screamed through the air, blotting out the sun. Spears crashed, shields splintered, horses shrieked as fire swallowed the field. The ground shook under the weight of marching feet. The soil became red, armor, and blood all blending into one endless storm.
Back in the castle, panic spread like wildfire. Servants ran, clutching jewels and children alike. The walls shook with distant thunder.
"Prince Shinra!" a knight cried, bursting into the hall. "You must fight for your kingdom! The Princes above the age of 15 are all outside. We need all th hands!"
The prince froze. Fear clouded his face. "No… I can't," he muttered.
"My son won't go anywhere!" Queen Rasheen, the first Queen's sister and Prince Shinra's mother fearfully said.
"The Kingdom is being attacked!" the knight said with his eyes widening.
"How dare you speak to your Queen in such a manner?!" she yelled pointing at him
"There won't be a queen if the Crystansia falls!" the knight being fraustrated yelled back.
The other princes and princesses stared, silently watching. Their shame pressed against him until his jaw clenched and he rose.
"Bring me my armor," Shinra said finally.
Within moments, the young princes of Crystansia stood ready– fierce, eyes blazing. Among them stood Ryoka who was determined to prove herself They tied the royal banners around their arms, the symbol of their father's house, and strode toward the secret gates.
Their polished armor caught the light of the fires rising in the distance. They followed a narrow secret gate out of the castle.The people who saw them pass wept, for they knew many would not return.
Far from the castle, Commander Demba arrived at the war base, breathless and dust-covered. He fell to one knee before the King.
"My King," he panted, "the Qua Zi Empire brought Two hundred and eighty thousand men."
The King's hand tightened on the parchment he held. "And how many do we have?"
"about Four thousand left."
The scroll slipped from his fingers. It rolled across the table and stopped against his boot. The King pressed both hands against the wood, his shoulders trembling.
"Take as many of my wives from the high chambers and as many of my children as you can," he said quietly. "Lead them away from here. Save who you can."
An old advisor stepped forward. "Your Majesty… does this mean we have lost?"
The King lifted his head slowly, his eyes dim but resolute. "Only the gods can help us now."
Demba mounted his horse and rode with his men toward the castle. The path ahead glowed orange with fire. The screams reached them long before they saw the horror.
Women were dragged into alleys by soldiers of Qua Zi, their cries muffled by hands and smoke.
Children were cut down where they stood, their small bodies thrown into burning homes.
The air reeked of blood and ash men slaughtered and butchered like cattles.
Still, they rode on, cutting through enemy ranks, ignoring the pain, the chaos, the dead, all for one purpose: to reach the castle, and save what remained of Crystansia.
And somewhere, within those trembling walls, Korj clung to Rhye as she tried to leave to fight with the others.
***
Back at the camp.
"Aria?" King Wsalf asked.
"They didn't reply to the message, my King." the master of words replied.
"Did you send to House Tylion? House Bovia? No response at all?" King Wsalf frustrated fell back to his chair and placed his hand on his head taking off his crown and placing it on the table.
The war tent was dim, the sound of distant drums echoing through the valley. The commander leaned over the map spread across the table, tracing the lines with a trembling hand.
"If we take the ridge by dawn, we can cut off their eastern flank," he said, his voice low but firm.
The master of war slammed his fist on the table. "It's hopeless! Their numbers are beyond reckoning. We'll be crushed before the sun rises."
The tent fell silent. Even the fire seemed to waver.
Then the flap opened, and a Prince representing the others stepped in. His presence changed the air. The youngest, 17, bowed his head before the king. "Father, let us fight beside you."
The king's gaze lingered on them, heavy with pride and sorrow. Before he could speak, the commander straightened, his voice ringing through the room. "Hopeless or not, we were born under this banner. If we fall, we fall with our blades drawn and our honor intact. Let the world remember we stood!"
The soldiers outside roared as the horns were sounded.
The next morning, Crystansia's army of less than a thousand marched to the field, the field was vast and cold.
The enemy's army stretched beyond the horizon—shields upon shields, a sea of black armor under a blood-red sky. The king's men, outnumbered a hundred to one, formed their line. Archers at the front. Swordsmen behind. The princes and knights on their horses, soldiers, lords and master of war, Aeith, stood in gleaming armor, their eyes fixed ahead.
When the first horn blew, the archers raised their bows. Arrows darkened the sky and fell like rain upon the advancing horde. The sound of impact was deafening—shields cracked, men fell screaming, the ground drank blood.