In the grand hall of the Tymacamian Empire, the throne room was filled with a cold, tense atmosphere. The King Vasillis a tall, imposing figure with sharp features and eyes that held the weight of countless decisions, sat upon his throne. The rich tapestries lining the walls did little to soften the severity of the room, where decisions of great consequence were often made.
Before him stood two of his most trusted advisors and a small group of elite trackers, their faces a mixture of concern and apprehension. The king's gaze was fixed on the leader of the trackers, a seasoned warrior with a stern face etched by years of service.
"Where is she?" the king demanded, his voice echoing through the hall, carrying with it the gravity of his authority.
The leader of the trackers, a man named Cassian, stepped forward and bowed deeply before responding. "Your Majesty, we have followed the trail as far as we could. It seems Princess Seraphina's wyvern flew deep into the northern regions, but we lost track of her in the Obelian wilderness. The last sign we found indicated that her wyvern had died upon landing."
A murmur of concern rippled through the assembled advisors. The king's face remained impassive, but a flicker of worry passed through his eyes, quickly replaced by steely resolve.
"Obelia," the king repeated, his voice low but filled with the weight of the name. "That cursed land,. And you are certain her wyvern has perished?"
Cassian nodded, his voice steady. "Yes, Your Majesty. We found the remains of the beast, lifeless and cold. It's likely she is stranded there, unable to return without aid."
The king was silent for a moment, his thoughts clearly focused on the peril his daughter faced. His advisors shifted nervously, knowing the consequences of such news. Finally, the king spoke, his voice as firm as the ice that gripped the empire outside.
"As soon as the ice melts and the snows recede, you are to take your best men and search for her," the king ordered. "I want every inch of Obelia scoured. Leave no stone unturned, no town or city unchecked. My daughter must be found and brought back safely."
Cassian bowed deeply once more, his voice resolute. "As you command, Your Majesty. We will find the princess and bring her back."
"You have your orders. Go, and prepare for the journey. Time is not on our side," the king commanded, his tone leaving no room for further discussion.
The trackers and advisors quickly filed out of the room, leaving the king alone with his thoughts. He stared at the flickering flames in the hearth, the only warmth in the otherwise cold hall, and silently vowed that no matter the cost, Seraphina would be found. The melting of the ice would signal the beginning of their search, and he would not rest until she was safely returned to his side.
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The wind howled through the desolate wilderness as Seraphina rode her snow horse through the frozen wasteland of Obelia. The weight of her mission, the harsh cold, and the loss of her wyvern pressed heavily on her, but she remained resolute. She had seen far worse than the biting frost. The thought of Rotengen, the place she hoped to find refuge, fueled her will to press on.
The princess rode atop a snow horse, its powerful legs cutting through the deep snow with ease. The horse, a hardy creature bred for the harsh climates of Obelia, was a gift from a village she passed through after her wyvern had perished. Its thick white coat blended with the snowy landscape, and its breath came out in visible puffs as it galloped forward.
She guided her horse through a narrow pass, jagged cliffs looming on either side, she sensed it—the change in the air, the feeling of being watched. Her hand instinctively hovered near the hilt of her sword.
"Well, what do we have here?" a raspy voice sneered from the shadows.
Seraphina's snow horse stopped abruptly, sensing danger as figures emerged from behind the rocks, their faces twisted in malicious grins. Six men, ragged and filthy, their clothes patched with dirt and grime, surrounded her. They were armed with rusty swords and daggers, eyes gleaming with dark intent.
"A pretty thing like you, out here all alone," one of the bandits taunted, licking his cracked lips as he eyed her up and down. "Bet you'd make a fine prize, eh boys?"
The others snickered, drawing closer. One of them, a scarred man with a crooked smile, reached out as if to touch her leg. "Come down, sweetheart. I can make thang rain heheh."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed, calculating. Her hand closed around the hilt of her sword, but she did not move yet. She watched them, the way they laughed, the way they swaggered with the confidence of men who had never faced true danger. They didn't know what they were dealing with.
"Leave," she said, her voice like ice. "Or die."
Her words hung in the air for a moment, and then the bandits burst out laughing. One of them, a burly man with missing teeth, spat on the ground and sneered. "Tough talk for a little girl. You should learn to respect your betters."
The leader, his voice low and mocking, stepped forward. "There's no one out here to save you, little girl. Just us. And when we're done with you—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Seraphina moved. Her sword was out in a flash, the gleam of steel cutting through the dull, overcast light. The first man's laughter died in his throat, replaced by a wet gurgle as her blade sliced across his neck. Blood sprayed across the snow, staining the white ground red.
The other bandits froze, shock and fear flickering in their eyes. Seraphina didn't give them time to react. She lunged at the next one, her movements fluid and deadly, the precision of a trained knight. Her sword pierced his chest, cutting through bone and flesh with ease. His scream was brief, cut off as he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.
The leader roared in anger and lunged at her, swinging a heavy axe. Seraphina sidestepped, her blade flashing again as she slashed across his arm, severing it at the elbow. He howled in agony, dropping to his knees as blood poured from the stump.
"You… you bitch!" he screamed, clutching at the wound. His face was twisted in pain and fury.
Seraphina's face remained cold, expressionless. "You were warned," she said softly, her voice devoid of mercy.
She moved swiftly, cutting down the remaining bandits with brutal efficiency. One tried to flee, stumbling over the snow in panic, but she caught him in two swift strides, her sword cleaving through his spine. He fell face-first into the snow, twitching briefly before going still.
The last of the bandits, the one with the scarred face, dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. "Please… I…..spare me!," he stammered, his hands raised in a pathetic gesture of surrender.
Seraphina walked up to him slowly, her bloodied sword dragging through the snow. She looked down at him, her gaze hard and unyielding. "You should have listened."
With one clean stroke, she severed his head from his body. It rolled through the snow, leaving a crimson trail in its wake as his body slumped forward.
The cold wind howled through the pass, mingling with the stench of blood. Seraphina stood amidst the carnage, her snow horse patiently waiting nearby, unfazed by the violence. She wiped the blood from her blade and sheathed it, her expression never changing, her mind already focused on the road ahead.
Mounting her horse once more, she urged the animal forward, leaving the bodies of the bandits to freeze and rot in the desolate wasteland. The dark stain of their blood would remain in the snow, a warning to any who thought to cross her path.
Rotengen awaited, and nothing—not even the bitter cold or the wretched scum of the earth—would stop her from reaching her destination.