The throne room had become a graveyard.
Papers lay scattered across the marble floor, smeared with ink, dirt, and blood-streaked footprints. The air was thick with iron.
At the center, Tirian stood. His sword was leveled at the figure slumped against the dais.
General Torvax. His mentor. Torvax knelt, barely upright, one shoulder hanging unnaturally, his tunic torn and soaked through with blood. Bruises darkened his face, swelling around one eye, his lip split.
Yet, his gaze remained steady. The same gaze that had once guided Tirian through his first battles.
Tirian stood still, his breathing echoed through the hall—heavy, uneven, a desperation in his eyes.
His blade trembled, pointing directly towards his comrade. How could you…? The thought tore through him.
"How?" Tirian's voice broke free, sharp and raw. "Why would you betray me?"
Torvax lifted his head slowly. Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth as a faint, weary smile formed. "Because…" he rasped, voice dry, distant. "It was the only revenge I had left." breathing a ragged breath before continuing "…against the gods."
Tirian's grip tightened. "Revenge?" His voice dropped, incredulous. "What does that have to do with this?"
Torvax's eyes sharpened faintly. "Everything." He coughed, wincing as pain rippled through his body. "The gods are the reason this kingdom suffered," he said. "And you… you chose to follow them. To obey them."
His voice hardened. "That made you no different than a puppet."
Tirian's jaw clenched. "I rebuilt this kingdom," he shot back. "I paid for my father's mistakes. You know that better than anyone."
Torvax let out a weak, humorless breath. "No," he said quietly. "You endured them... But you never defied them." His gaze burned now, even through the exhaustion. "When their blessings left… my family starved."
His voice didn't rise. "My wife. My daughter. My father. My sister." his jaw tightened, "All gone."
"Because your line chose to kneel," Torvax continued, bitterness creeping in. "To gods who never cared for us to begin with."
Tirian's chest tightened. No... I only tried to fix this… I brought peace… "I did what I had to do," he said, his voice strained. "Everything I've done, it was to protect this kingdom."
Torvax shook his head weakly. "And still," he whispered, "you let the innocent suffer." His gaze steadied again. "You're just like all the weak kings before you."
Tirian stilled.
"Not strong enough to go against them." A faint, broken smile returned. "But that will change."
Tirian's grip tightened further. "What are you talking about?"
"A new king will rise," Torvax murmured. "One strong enough to defy the gods… without needing them."
Tirian let out a hollow laugh. "someone strong enough to defy a god, is that it?" he scoffed. "Don't tell me you're putting your faith in Kharis."
Torvax's smile widened slightly. "Not Kharis." readjusting his broken arm to ease the pain. "He's only a pawn."
Tirian's eyes narrowed. "Then who?"
Torvax leaned forward slightly, despite the pain that seized his body. "A royal bloodline still remains of the fallen kingdom you claimed to defeat," he said. "One with power… one with purpose." His voice dropped. "The uncle of Varakor's last king."
Tirian froze. "…What?"
"He lived," Torvax said. "While you burned his kingdom to ash." The words struck unexpectedly.
"When you razed Varakor, he was living his own life," Torvax continued. "Hidden. but now... he'll be back" A faint, grim satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "… he knows how."
Silence crashed over the room. Tirian's mind raced. Varakor's bloodline? "I ended that kingdom," he said, his voice low, unsteady. "I buried it."
Torvax met his gaze. "But not everyone."
Something inside Tirian snapped, there was no time to think, to ask more questions, just the sight of red and suddenly, the blade flashed— And tore across Torvax's throat.
A wet, broken sound escaped him as blood spilled forward.
At first Torvax looked almost surprised. But Tirian only drove the blade forward again. Straight through his heart. Torvax's body jerked, then went still.
His actions, showing even himself, made Tirian unable to move. His sword remained buried for a moment longer before his grip loosened.
The weight of it suddenly unbearable. He stepped back slowly at what he had just done, staring. At the man who had trained him, guided him. Memories surfaced in a flood, lessons, battles, happy conversations, all of it crashing down at once.
Tirian stumbled backwards slightly. His breath came rough and uneven. "I wanted you beside me…" he whispered. His voice cracked. "Was I not enough?"
A hollow silence answered him. "Was I not strong enough… to protect your loyalty…?"
His hand rose, covering his mouth as he forced back something that threatened to break through. "I'm sorry…" he breathed. His gaze lifted—unfocused—toward the throne. "…I'm sorry... I... I just..."
The doors behind him creaked open.
Tirian's head snapped up, fury cutting clean through the suffocating haze in his mind. "Who dares…?" His voice came out rough, frayed from shouting. "I said no one enters!"
He turned sharply toward the doors. "Didn't I say—" His voice faltered for half a second, splintering under the strain—then surged into a roar that shook the chamber. "EVERYBODY LEAVE!"
His sword rose on instinct, swift and lethal, the tip stopping just beneath the intruder's chin.
Orielle froze where she stood. Her breath caught instantly, her lips trembling as the metallic stench of blood filled her lungs, thick and suffocating. Her eyes wide, unblinking, locked onto the blade hovering inches from her skin.
Tirian's grip tightened on the sword—but his focus shattered the moment he truly saw her. Orielle. The fear in her eyes hit harder than any blade ever could. Slowly lowered his weapon. Orielle…? Why is she here? She shouldn't see this… not like this…
Blood... It stretched across the stone, Torvax, his body lay still, unmoving. Tirian stood above it. At the center of it all.
The image burned into her mind, suddenly the vision resurfaced... The prophecy in Veridelle.
Blood.
The throne.
Fear.
It was the same.
It was exactly the same.
Orielle's stomach lurched violently. A sharp wave of nausea surged up her throat, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle it. Her other hand clutched at her head as a dull, pounding ache began to form behind her eyes, growing stronger with every second.
"Leave…" Tirian muttered under his breath, the word barely holding together. Then louder—strained, breaking—"LEAVE!"
He turned away from her. The sword slipped from his grasp. It struck the stone floor with a sharp, ringing clang that echoed through the chamber.
His shoulders began to shake. His chest rose and fell in uneven, desperate breaths as he started back towards the dias, as if he couldn't bear the sight of her standing there—seeing him like this. Seeing what he had done.
Blood smeared across his hands. He stared at them as if they didn't belong to him.
His breathing faltered—then broke entirely. This is… His throat began to close. I can't… A lump, hard and tight in his chest. I can't breathe…
Air refused to come. His chest tightened painfully, his lungs burning as panic surged through him, fast and merciless. Please… no… Why am I here…? Why is this—why—
His thoughts unraveled, collapsing into nothing but fragments. His hands shot up, gripping his neck, scratching away at the chocking feeling threatening him.
Across the room, Orielle's vision blurred as tears filled her eyes, her breath shallow, uneven, barely steadying her. She ran towards the doors ready to run.
But the memory from the vision she saw playing out exactly as it was, froze her at the door.
The same unbearable weight pressing down on her chest. She stumbled back, her legs nearly giving out beneath her as panic threatened to take hold.. Her hand caught the frame, gripping it tightly, her fingers trembling against the wood.
"No," she whispered, the word fragile, barely there. Her head shook, small at first, then more firmly. "No!"
Her grip tightened on the doorframe, her entire body trembling as she fought to steady herself, to stay grounded, to stay.
"I… I can't," she breathed, her voice thin, barely audible in the vast, hollow chamber.
Behind her, Tirian didn't turn. He was in no state to hear anything other than his own tormented thoughts .
Sharp, relentless ringing filled his ears, loud, suffocating, swallowing everything around him.
Voices, screams overlapping. Voices of the men he had cut down in war. The ones who had begged. The ones who had cursed him. The ones who had died because the gods ordered it.
The roar inside his head grew louder, drowning him, consuming him whole.
The war came rushing back in fractured flashes—burning banners of Eldoria, cities collapsing into ash, the faces—
All staring at him.
All blaming him.
"It was for peace…" Tirian whispered to himself, his voice shaking, barely holding together. "Peace… it was for peace… I had to… I had no choice…"
His breath caught sharply, his chest tightening as if something inside him refused to let the words pass.
The thought shattered. All except one. "Peace…"
The word lingered, empty, and almost mocking. A broken laugh escaped him, short and hollow, scraping painfully from his throat.
"Peace…?" he repeated under his breath, as if testing the word—and finding nothing behind it.
What peace? That damned prophecy. It had guided every step he took—every decision, every sacrifice, every life he ended.
I followed every word… The thought twisted painfully in his chest. "I did everything they asked…" he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of it.
He had killed his father.
His brothers.
Watched their blood spill by his own hand. And for what? A crown forced upon his head. A throne built on corpses. His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling violently—his knuckles splitting under the pressure.
"I killed for them," he choked. "Destroyed their enemies… gave them everything…"
His breath hitched again, uneven, breaking. "Why isn't it enough?" A sob forced its way out, raw and unrestrained. "Then why me?" he whispered, his voice barely more than air. "Why did I have to kill them…? Why my hands…?"
Something inside him cracked. His hands shot up to his head, pressing hard against his temples as if he could crush the memories, force them out—
But they only came faster. His eldest brother's smile.
His second brother's voice, calling out to him—bright, excited. Torvax.
Now all of them watching him in silence. You did this. It was you. You wanted to be king didn't you? You were greedy. You love the sight of blood! All you know is violence!
The voices weren't real. But it cut deep nonetheless. His breath stuttered violently. Panic surged through him all over again, sharper this time, more focused. Will they take her too? The thought struck deep, tearing through what little control he had left. Will she die because of me?
"No…" he murmured, his voice raw, desperate. "No… please…" His body shook uncontrollably now, the weight of it crushing down on him.
"Will she hate me…?" he whispered, barely audible. "After seeing me… like this…?"
Tears spilled freely down his face, hot against his skin. He bit down hard against his arm, tasting iron instantly, desperate to silence the sobs clawing their way out of his chest—
And then—
Arms wrapped around him from behind. Tirian froze. The scent reached soon after cutting through the steel of blood.
Lavender, Warm flour. A faint trace of something sweet. Pulling him back. Orielle.
His breath caught sharply, his entire body going still as her trembling frame pressed against his back. Her cheek rested between his shoulder blades, her arms tightening around him as if she were trying to hold together something that was already breaking apart.
"O… Orielle…?" he managed, his voice rough, fragile, hanging on the edge of collapse.