Amid the bustling activity of the camp, I stood alone, my features carefully composed. No one around me noticed the pain that had gripped my chest, the sensation of my heart being squeezed in a vice. The struggle to control the surge of power that threatened to spiral out of control remained hidden beneath the surface.
I had mastered the art of concealing my emotions, of masking the turmoil within. The façade of leadership and control was unyielding, a shield that hid the vulnerability that lay beneath. I had learned that showing weakness, even in the midst of chaos, was a luxury I couldn't afford.
As the minutes passed, the pain gradually subsided, replaced by a lingering ache that only I could feel. My outward appearance remained unchanged – composed, focused, unflappable. It was a skill honed through years of training and experience, a necessary survival mechanism in a world where strength was paramount, in a world where betrayal was a common occurrence. Especially those loved ones.
I carried on with my duties, my interactions with the soldiers and the generals unchanged. No one saw the storm that had raged within me, the battle I had fought to regain control. And as the day continued, I realized that the ability to mask my emotions was both a blessing and a burden – a shield that protected me from prying eyes, but also a barrier that kept me isolated, even from those closest to me. I was glad of the ability I honed through all the misery.
In the midst of the chaos and the weight of leadership, I remained a steadfast pillar of control. But beneath that façade, the ache lingered, a reminder that even the strongest armor couldn't shield me from the internal struggles I faced. And so, I carried on, the princess of shadow and darkness, concealing both my power and my vulnerability behind a mask of command.
As night descended upon the camp, a hush settled over the surroundings. I stood alone in the darkness, the weight of the day's decisions still heavy upon me. The night brought with it a certain comfort, a solace that the chaos of the battlefield rarely offered. The cool breeze rustled the leaves, and the stars above seemed to flicker in silent understanding.
The message I had relayed to the flanks had been passed on, the generals tasked with ensuring that both left and right remained ready to strike at a moment's notice. The plan was in motion, the gears of fate turning with an inexorable momentum. And yet, the turmoil within me had not subsided.
Sleep eluded me, the storm of thoughts and emotions refusing to abate. It was in moments like these that I sought solace in meditation. I found a secluded spot, away from the camp's activity, in my tent and settled down. The night's embrace seemed to envelope me, a cocoon of stillness that beckoned me to go within.
Cross-legged, I closed my eyes, focusing on the rhythm of my breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The darkness behind my eyelids was a canvas for my mind to wander, to explore the depths of my thoughts. I allowed myself to peel back the layers, to confront the emotions that had been carefully suppressed.
Derek's image surfaced in my mind – his strength, his determination, his cheekiness, his smile. The weight of my concern for him hung heavy, the worry I had masked so well throughout the day now demanding acknowledgement. The ache in my chest resurfaced once again.
I delved deeper into my meditation, allowing the emotions to flow freely. The darkness and shadows that defined my power seemed to mirror the complexities of my own heart.
As I delved deeper into my meditation, a haunting vision from the depths of my memories began to unfold. It was a flashback to the same traumatic moment from my childhood, a scene etched into my mind like a scar that refused to fade.
I was just six years old, innocent and unaware of the horrors that could unfold. In the vision, I stood in the dimly lit chamber of the Baltic palace.
Before me, I witnessed a nightmarish tableau – my elder sister, the one I had once looked up to, wielding a sword with cold eyes. Beside her, our mother lay lifeless on the ground, her heart removed, and in her hands, my sister held that crimson organ.
The scene was a vivid display of betrayal and brutality. I watched as my sister's eyes, once so familiar, were now devoid of warmth, locked in a chilling gaze. Her actions were merciless, her motivations shrouded in darkness.
The vision then shifted, like a cruel twist of fate, to the battlefield. I saw Derek, my elder brother, the one I had relied on for protection and guidance, standing before me. But this time, it was my sister who wielded the sword, her face a mask of cruelty and malice. Derek's end came swiftly, and I was helpless to intervene, bound by invisible chains that held me in place.
The nightmare played out in my mind, a horrifying montage of betrayal and loss.
I knew this was a nightmare.
Why?
Because I killed her.
I killed my dear sister with my own hands during the bloody tragedy of Royals.
The anguish of witnessing those I loved turned into instruments of violence and darkness, the guilt of murdering my sister tore at my soul. The helplessness I felt in those moments was overwhelming, a feeling of powerlessness that had haunted me for years.
As the vision faded, I opened my eyes, the darkness of the night replaced by the stillness of my surroundings. The memories lingered, a reminder of the traumas that had shaped me, and the nightmares that forever haunted my thoughts. In the stillness of the night, I carried the weight of those memories with me, a burden that no amount of meditation could fully dispel.
The night enveloped the camp, shrouding everything in darkness. My steps were silent as I made my way to the table where the map of the northern border lay.
I studied the map once more, my eyes tracing the familiar lines and symbols. It was a battlefield I knew well, one that had seen its share of bloodshed and conflict. But tonight, my focus was not on the past battles, but on the one that loomed on the horizon at the crack of dawn.
My fingers touched the parchment lightly, searching for any hidden advantage, any route for escape, or a strategic move that could tip the scales in Derek's favor when he faced the enemy general.
As I examined it, my mind raced, considering different scenarios and tactics. The weight of leadership, the responsibility and my bond with Derek pressed down on me. I couldn't care less about the deaths of the soldiers, they are just mere pawns in this web that lay on a Chess board to be discarded at given orders.
Their lives was not of my concern, Derek was the only bond I had left, the only string that kept my humanity from fading. I couldn't afford to overlook any detail, any opportunity that might give us an edge in the coming battle.
The night was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the camp. But in this moment, as I studied the map, it was as if the entire world held its breath, waiting for the dawn and the clash of armies that would soon follow.