The late afternoon sun had once been kind.
That was how Roric remembered it now—not as it was, but as it had been. Warm, buttery light spilling across rolling grass, turning dust motes into drifting gold. A day that had not yet learned how to hurt.
They had been sitting in a meadow just beyond the city walls then, where the grass bent softly under the wind and the air smelled faintly of flowers crushed underfoot. Raizelle lay on her back beside him, white hair fanned across the earth like spun silk, her hands folded over her chest. The sky above them was impossibly blue.
Roric had been watching her scar.
It cut diagonally across her ribs, a pale, angry line half-hidden beneath loose fabric. Too clean. Too precise. The kind of wound that did not come from beasts or accidents.
"I'm still wondering who," he asked quietly, "was capable of hurting someone as strong as you?"
She turned her head toward him.
Raizelle was beautiful in a way that defied effort. Not ornamental, not fragile. Her beauty lay in sharp lines and calm confidence, in the way her blue eyes held the world without flinching. White hair framed her face, catching the light so brightly it almost glowed. She looked like someone carved from winter sunlight.
At his question, she smiled—a soft, sad thing.
"You really want to know?" she asked.
Roric nodded.
She sat up slowly and reached for the pendant at her neck. A silver medallion, worn smooth by time, bearing a golden anchor with outstretched wings. The upper curve of the anchor formed a star. Her fingers curled around it with unconscious familiarity.
"In Nordhelm," she began, voice even, "there is an order that stands above all others. The Azure Rose Knights."
Roric frowned. He had heard the name before. Everyone had. Stories traveled faster than armies.
"They serve only one master," Raizelle continued. "The Queen."
She plucked a blade of grass and began to draw in the dirt between them. First, a rose—petals carefully formed, thorned stem curling downward.
"They are not like your Enforcers," she said.
"They do not serve law. They serve blood. Royal blood."
Roric watched her hand move.
"Their loyalty is not sworn," she went on. "It is branded."
She drew a line through the rose. Then another, shaping a sword piercing straight through its heart.
"This," she said, tapping the symbol, "is the mark of the Dishonored. It was a group of knights that was sent aftr me when I decided to come here."
Roric's jaw tightened. "That's monstrous."
Raizelle laughed—light, genuine. It startled him.
"They aren't evil, my love," she said gently. "They are simply fulfilling their purpose."
She turned to face him fully now, blue eyes steady.
"The brand binds the soul itself. An Azure Rose Knight cannot take orders from anyone but the Queen—or those she authorizes. Even dishonor does not free them. You see, its not their fault."
Roric felt something cold settle in his chest. "How do they become Dishonored?"
Raizelle's smile faded, just a little.
"A knight becames Dishonored not through failure alone, but through disobedience. To betray the Queen's command, to act without her sanction, or to place personal judgment above royal will was the gravest of sins. Some fell by striking where they were told not to, others by hesitating when ordered to kill, or by sparing those deemed necessary sacrifices."
She paused.
"Once judged, the rose upon their flesh was pierced by the brand of a sword—an irreversible mark that stripped them of rank and name. Shunned by society yet bound still to the throne, the dishonored were not freed; they were reduced to expendable tools, sent to perform the filthiest tasks in silence, their loyalty enforced by pain, oath, and the knowledge that death was the only true release."
"That's evil," he said flatly.
She shook her head. "No. Evil requires choice."
She looked out across the meadow, eyes distant.
"They are tools. And tools are only as cruel as the hand that wields them."
After a moment, she smiled again—this time fond, almost nostalgic.
"I had friends among them," she said.
Roric's head snapped up. "Friends?"
"Yes." Her smile widened. "Two of them, actually."
She laughed softly to herself.
"Jax was the quiet one. Rational. Always thinking three moves ahead."
She traced a small circle in the dirt.
"Torvin was the opposite. A hothead. Loud. Reckless."
Roric felt an unexpected pang in his chest.
"You speak of them fondly," he said, unable to keep it from his voice.
Raizelle glanced at him, amused. "Are you jealous?"
"…Maybe," he admitted.
Her expression softened.
"They put themselves in danger," she said, voice dropping. "So I could escape."
She looked down at the pendant, thumb brushing its surface.
"I was their captain," she said quietly. "Ours was one of the most distinguished companies the Order had."
"They must have looked up to you."
"Hmmm." She smiled at him then—truly smiled.
Warm.
Open.
Her blue eyes shone as she leaned closer, pressing her forehead to his.
"That life is over," she said. "You are my one and only love."
The world had been simple then.
Warm. Bright.
Alive.
Snow exploded around Roric as he tore through the forest.
The memory shattered as his axe met Jax's reinforced arm, steel screaming as sparks burst into the night. They separated in a blur of motion, boots skidding across frozen ground.
Jax moved exactly as Raizelle had described—efficient, controlled, economical. His grey cloak billowed as he slid back. He looked down to see cracks on his reinforcemed arm.
Roric pointed his axe straight at him, breath steaming.
"I won't let you get your hands on Jamie," he growled.
Jax tilted his head.
"Jamie," he repeated, tasting the name.
Then he looked up at the sky.
"…Ah, so thats the girls name. Jamie..."
There was something almost gentle in his voice.
"I'm glad."
The words hit Roric like a blade to the gut.
Something twisted inside him—rage, grief all fusing into one.
"You dare speak her name?" Roric roared.
He lunged.
The forest shook as his fist slammed forward, Flow detonating in a concussive wave. Trees cracked. Snow avalanched from branches.
Jax barely avoided it, cloak snapping as he vaulted backward.
Roric pursued, eyes burning.
The same people she had spoken of with love had crept into their home.
The same Order.
The same brand.
They had murdered her in cold blood.
And now—
Now they stood between him and his daughter.
Roric swung again.
And the night answered.