Depois que os guardas retornaram ao castelo, todos os olhos se voltaram para o trono, onde o rei visivelmente enfraquecido permaneceu sentado. A tensão no ar era palpável, com o som da armadura ecoando nas paredes de pedra, cada passo reverberando como um aviso sombrio.
Guarda 1: (ajoelhando-se diante do trono) "Vossa Majestade, trazos notícias de Bastion End. Aemon... ele se decidiu a vir."
O rei, respirando pesadamente, clamou os olhos cansados para o guarda.
Rei Alaric: (numa voz fraca, mas firme) "E por quê? Por que ele recusou uma convocação do trono? Qual foi o motivo?"
Guarda 2: (hesitante) "Ele disse que não quer ser arrastado pelas correntes do destino. Que a coroa é um fardo que ele não deseja carregar."
O rei, fechando os olhos por um momento, inclinado para a frente, seus dedos tamborilando no braço do trono. Ele se virou para seu conselheiro, que estava ao seu lado.
Rei Alaric: (com um suspiro profundo) "O destino é uma corrente que poucos podem evitar, mas muitas tentativas. Aemon, ao resistir, pode estar condenado a se afogar em suas próprias escolhas. O que podemos fazer quando o sangue real se recusa fazer sua parte?"
O conselheiro, um homem mais velho de sabedoria inquestionável, mudou-se do rei, com uma expressão cheia de preocupação e reflexão.
Lord Thorne: "Vossa Majestade, o destino de um reino não é moldado somente pela vontade de seus governantes, mas pelas situações que os cercam. Se Aemon rejeita seu direito, talvez devêssemos considerar se seu destino realmente está com o trono... ou se há outro caminho a ser tomado."
Rei Alaric: (pensativo) "E se esse outro caminho levar à ruína? Se sua recusa não for apenas uma escolha, mas um aviso de tempos mais sombrios? Responsabilidade não é algo que você escolhe; é um peso que você herda, quer você queira ou não."
Lord Thorne: "Responsabilidade, Vossa Majestade, é tanto uma maldição quanto uma vitória. Para aqueles que a aceitam, ela pode se tornar um escudo, mas para aqueles que a rejeitam, ela se transforma em uma lâmina que corta fundo. , encontre uma maneira de fazer Aemon ver que ele não está apenas escolhendo seu destino, mas o de todo o reino."
O rei assentiu, refletindo sobre as palavras do conselheiro. Seus olhos cansados examinaram o vasto salão vazio, como se procurasse uma resposta nos ecos do silêncio.
Rei Alaric: "Então devemos fazer-lo entender... mas sem violência. Um rei que governa pelo medo governa apenas sobre cinzas. Quero que Aemon veja o que realmente está em jogo. Faça os preparativos."
O conselheiro curvou-se em reverência antes de se afastar para executar as ordens do rei. Enquanto isso, Cedric, parado em um canto do salão, observava em silêncio, seu rosto pálido e o coração acelerado. Ele sabia que a situação estava escapando do seu controle, e a necessidade de agir o consumia.
Mais tarde, Cedric, determinado a remover a ameaça que Aemon representava, estendeu a mão para os assassinos da Casa Thornveil. Apesar da hesitação deles, uma generosa soma de ouro comprou sua lealdade para eliminar Aemon, disfarçando o assassinato como uma briga de bêbados em Bastion End.
Enquanto isso, na câmara do rei, ele e o conselheiro discutiam o futuro do reino, com a doença rapidamente cobrando seu preço.
Rei Alaric: "E se Aemon aceitar o chamado? O que será de Volcrist?"
Lord Thorne: "Se ele aceitar, o reino pode encontrar um novo começo, mas somente se Aemon estiver pronto para o fardo que ele carregará. E se ele recusar... Volcrist precisará de outro herdeiro, ou talvez... uma nova direção."
Rei Alaric: (pensativo) "Se ele recusar, pode ser porque o destino decidiu que este reino deve mudar. Não podemos lutar contra a maré para sempre. Volcrist encontrará seu caminho, com ou sem a linhagem de Corvinus."
Cedric se encontrou com os assassinos da Casa Thornveil em uma sala escura e isolada, longe dos olhos curiosos do castelo. O ar estava denso de tensão, e o silêncio pesava, como uma ameaça oculta. Três figuras encapuzadas, vestidas de preto, observavam Cedric com olhos penetrantes, avaliando cada movimento, cada palavra.
Cedric: (com uma voz firme) "Aemon precisa ser tratado. Ele é uma ameaça que não podemos deixar crescer."
Assassino Líder: (num tom frio) "Sabemos o que você quer, Lorde Cedric. Mas eliminar um príncipe em potencial não é um trabalho qualquer. As consequências podem ser... desastrosas."
Cedric: (chegando mais perto, olhando nos olhos do líder) "Consequências são para aqueles que falham em suas missões. Você foi escolhido porque é o melhor. Discrição é tão vital quanto o ato em si."
Assassino 2: (com hesitação) "Ouvimos falar das habilidades do jovem. Ele não é um alvo comum. Além disso, a Casa Thornveil tem suas próprias preocupações. Matar um herdeiro real pode colocar um alvo em nossas costas. O que você está pedindo não é uma tarefa simples."
Cedric: (com um tom calculista) "Você será bem recompensado. Ouro suficiente para comprar a lealdade de qualquer lorde que ouse questioná-la. Quanto aos riscos... deixe-os comigo. A morte de Aemon será vista como uma briga de bêbados, uma tragédia nas ruas de Bastion End. Ninguém jamais saberá a verdadeira mão por trás do golpe."
Assassino Líder: (cruzando os braços, perdido em pensamentos) "Mesmo assim, há incertezas. Se isso der errado, a Casa Thornveil será caçada até o último homem. E se o príncipe sobreviver...?"
Cedric: (interrompendo-o com um olhar frio) "Ele não sobreviverá. É por isso que você está aqui. Não quero erros. Nem rastros. Apenas silêncio eterno."
Assassino 3: ( em uma voz sombria) "A morte de Aemon pode abalar o reino de maneiras que nenhum de nós pode prever. O ouro que você oferece é tentador, mas o preço que pagaremos se falharmos será maior."
Cedric: (num tom mais áspero, sua paciência se esgotando) "Vocês são assassinos ou apenas ladrões assustados? A oportunidade de ouro está bem na sua frente. O risco sempre faz parte do jogo, mas é isso que separa os fortes dos fracos. Faça o que foi pedido, e você protegerá suas casas por gerações. Recuse, e você perderá mais do que pode imaginar."
The silence hung heavily in the air as the assassins exchanged glances. Finally, the leader nodded slowly, but his eyes remained sharp with a mix of calculation and caution.
Assassin Leader: "Very well, Lord Cedric. We'll take the job. Aemon will be dealt with, and his death will be nothing more than a tragic accident. But remember, this agreement cannot be undone. If we fail, House Thornveil will turn to ashes. The gold you offer better be as abundant as you promise, for it will not only buy Aemon's blood but the silence we need to survive."
Cedric: (with a dark smile) "Consider it done. The gold will be delivered. Do what is necessary and remember: silence is the key."
The assassins gave a slight bow before slipping back into the shadows, leaving Cedric alone in the room, their footsteps quickly fading. He knew he had set something dangerous in motion, but for him, the ends justified the means. Now, everything depended on the precise execution of the plan.
Ambush in Bastion End
Night had fallen over Bastion End, the darkest and most dangerous district of the city. The streets, poorly lit by worn-out oil lamps, exuded an air of decay and danger. The narrow, winding alleys formed a labyrinth where death lurked around every corner. A cold wind blew, lifting dust and the stench of garbage, and the distant sound of laughter and screams echoed, mingling with the darkness.
Aemon and Greta walked through the alleys, carrying supplies for the bar. The shadows followed them closely, their steps muffled by the filth of the streets. They were used to the dangers of Bastion End, but that night, something felt different, more threatening.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, three figures emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden by dark hoods. The cold gleam in their eyes revealed their intentions before any words were spoken. Aemon stopped, his instincts alerting him to the imminent danger.
Assassin 1: (in a low, threatening voice) "You've chosen the wrong side, Aemon."
Aemon narrowed his eyes, his heart pounding. He knew what was about to happen, and his body braced for the fight. Greta, beside him, took a step back, the tension visible on her face.
Aemon: (with a firm but tense voice) "So, this is how it ends? Cowards attacking from the shadows?"
The assassins didn't respond with words but with action. They quickly closed in, surrounding Aemon with lethal precision. There were no swords or daggers, only clenched fists and calculated kicks, meant to cause pain without leaving a trace.
The first blow struck Aemon in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He staggered back but quickly recovered, blocking the next attack with his arm. The second assassin attempted a sidekick, but Aemon managed to dodge with a swift movement, responding with a punch to the attacker's face.
The fight was uneven — three against one, and Aemon knew his chances were slim. Still, he fought with everything he had, each move a desperate attempt to survive. Greta screamed, trying to help, but was quickly shoved aside by one of the assassins, who turned his attention back to Aemon.
Assassin 2: (with disdain) "You should've accepted your fate, Aemon. Now you'll pay the price."
Aemon fought ferociously, but the numerical disadvantage began to take its toll. A punch landed on his face, blurring his vision. He stepped back, tasting the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. Fear began to creep into his heart, mixed with a growing sense of despair.
He knew he was paying the price for his negligence, for ignoring the call of his destiny. Greta's words, always insisting he should accept his responsibility, echoed in his mind, now clearer than ever.
In a moment of weakness, one of the assassins caught him off guard, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the cold stone wall. Aemon choked, feeling the pain radiate through his body. He saw Greta, collapsed on the ground, trying to get up but powerless against the violence unfolding.
Assassin 3: (approaching for the final blow) "This is your end, prince."
Aemon, seeing death approach, had a flash of clarity. He thought of his mother, of the love she had for him, of the future she wanted for him — a future he was about to lose. With the last bit of strength he had, he dodged the assassin's blow and, in a quick and desperate move, drew the dagger he kept hidden and drove it into the attacker's heart.
The assassin gasped, his eyes widening in surprise and pain. Aemon, still clinging to life by a thread, pushed the lifeless body of the man away, feeling his own strength fading.
Aemon knew he was mortally wounded, but he also knew he had managed to turn the tables, if only for a brief moment. He looked at Greta, who was slowly approaching, tears streaming down her face.
Aemon: (with a weak but determined voice) "Greta... go... get out of here."
Greta tried to protest, but Aemon shook his head, blood dripping from his lips. He knew his time was running out, but he also knew he had bought her a chance to escape.
Aemon: (whispering) "Remember... always fight... to the end."
And with those words, Aemon finally succumbed to the darkness that enveloped him, his body collapsing heavily onto the cold stone floor. The battle had ended, but the real fight had only just begun.
Ambush at Bastion End - Part 2
The first assassin's body hit the ground with a dull thud, Aemon's blade still buried in his heart. Aemon's breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning from the effort, but he knew the fight was far from over. The two remaining assassins exchanged quick glances, drawing their swords in a fluid, lethal motion. The sound of metal sliding from their scabbards echoed against the stone walls, a clear warning that the battle was about to escalate.
Assassin Leader: "You managed to kill one of us, but now you'll face the true art of death, prince."
Though exhausted, Aemon raised his sword in a defensive stance, his grip steady though his arms trembled slightly. He had fought enemies before, but never such relentless threats. Still, something inside him ignited — a primal instinct to survive, a fierce will to live.
Aemon: "If you want my life, you'll have to fight for it... and it won't be easy."
The assassins advanced in unison, their blades cutting through the air in a deadly dance. Aemon dodged the first strike, his heart pounding, but his mind was clear. He countered, his sword clashing with the second assassin's, sparks flying from the impact.
Assassin 2: "You fight well, but not well enough!"
Aemon ignored the taunt, focusing on deflecting and striking with precision. He moved with surprising agility, his sword swinging and delivering swift blows that kept the assassins on the defensive. Each time one of them lunged forward, Aemon answered with a fierce counterattack, his blade slicing through the air with purpose.
The duel continued, the sound of clashing steel echoing through the alley like thunder. Aemon was clearly outnumbered, but his swordsmanship was superior, and for a brief moment, he seemed to gain the upper hand. He managed to dodge a lethal strike and quickly spun, his sword hitting the second assassin on the side of the head, stunning him.
Assassin Leader: "Damn you! You'll pay for this!"
The leader of the assassins launched a brutal assault, but Aemon, with an agile move, blocked and countered, pushing the man back. The battle was fierce and exhausting, and though Aemon gave everything he had, he could feel the fatigue creeping into his muscles, the weight of the fight beginning to take its toll.
Finally, with a battle cry, Aemon delivered a precise strike that hit the second assassin in the temple, causing him to collapse to the ground, unconscious. Only one enemy remained, but Aemon knew his strength was fading fast. The assassin leader, realizing Aemon was weakening, smiled cruelly.
Assassin Leader: "You defend well, prince, but in the end, everyone falls. And now, you'll be just another body in the alley."
Aemon, gasping for breath, tried to lift his sword once more, but his arms were heavy, his movements sluggish. He felt his body betraying his will, the exhaustion finally setting in. The assassin advanced, his sword poised for the final blow.
Aemon (thinking): "So many times I was warned... and I ignored them. And now, here I am, about to pay the price."
Just as the assassin leader moved for a killing strike, something unexpected happened. Greta, who had been on the sidelines, watching in horror, rushed toward Aemon, her heart racing as she saw the imminent danger. Without thinking, she threw herself in front of Aemon, her body acting as a shield between him and the assassin's blade.
Greta: "No! Aemon, no!"
The sound of the blade piercing flesh and bone echoed through the alley, and time seemed to freeze for a moment. Aemon, horrified, saw Greta take the blow to her chest, blood staining her clothes as she collapsed into his arms. The assassin leader, shocked by the unexpected intervention, hesitated, giving Aemon the second he needed.
With what little strength remained, Aemon gripped his sword and, in a swift and desperate move, drove the blade into the assassin's abdomen. The man let out a pained gasp before dropping to his knees. Aemon pushed him away, the assassin's body falling lifelessly to the ground.
Silence returned to the alley, broken only by Aemon's labored breathing and Greta's soft groans as she lay in his arms. The fight was over, but the victory had come at a terrible cost.
As Aemon held Greta close, the weight of loss began to suffocate him. Her blood stained his hands, mixing with the tears that silently streamed down his face. The world seemed to close in around him, leaving only the faint sound of Greta's weakening breath.
Aemon: "Greta... I never wanted this to happen. I should've protected you."
With great effort, Greta opened her eyes, trying to smile despite the pain consuming her. Her hand trembled as she reached up to touch Aemon's face, wiping away a tear.
Greta: "Aemon... I always knew you were more than you seemed. More than this reluctant prince. I saw in you the potential to be a great leader, someone who could change the fate of this kingdom."
Aemon bowed his head, feeling guilt gnawing at him from within. He never imagined that his negligence of his own destiny would lead to such a sacrifice.
Aemon: "I don't deserve your sacrifice, Greta. I was selfish, running from my responsibilities... and now, you pay the price."
Greta squeezed his hand with what little strength she had left, her eyes locked on his, filled with an almost ethereal calm.
Greta: "Don't blame yourself, Aemon. You have to understand... I chose this. I chose to save you because I believe in who you can become. It's not about who you were, but who you still can be. Don't let my sacrifice be in vain... accept who you're meant to be."
Her words pierced his soul, opening a wound that Aemon knew would never fully heal. He held Greta closer, as if his desire alone could keep her alive.
Aemon: "I promise, Greta. I promise I'll honor your sacrifice. I will change... I will fight for this kingdom, for everyone who believed in me. I won't run anymore."
Greta smiled again, but this time, her eyes began to lose focus, life slowly slipping from her body. She whispered her final words, barely audible, but they would echo in Aemon's mind forever.
Greta: "I knew... you'd find your way... Aemon..."
And then, silence took over. Greta's hand fell gently, lifeless, and Aemon remained there, holding her, feeling the emptiness spreading through his chest. He knew that from this moment on, nothing would ever be the same. The pain of Greta's loss would become his fuel, the force that would drive him to accept his destiny.
The night in Bastion End remained cold and silent, a witness to a sacrifice that would change the course of history. Aemon, with silent tears streaming down his face, swore at that moment that he would become the leader Greta believed he could be. And that, somehow, he would find redemption for all his failures.