The night weighed heavy, as though the very air had turned against the world, smothering every sound, every whisper, beneath its suffocating blanket. Darkmire loomed in the distance, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and coil toward the village. In a modest cottage on the edge of the woods, Logan Ethan sat with his family, unaware that death was drawing ever closer.
He was a simple man on the surface—a farmer, husband, and father—but beneath that lay a legacy he could never fully escape. He had once been heir to the throne of Khyronia, his blood a direct link to royal lineage, but that right had been stripped away. Lord Valak had seized the crown, casting Logan aside, and over time, Valak's rule had grown more corrupt, more ruthless. Logan had hidden himself, trying to live a quiet life, far from the politics of the court, but Valak had not forgotten him. In the dead of night, the past had come to claim him.
Luna Ethan, his daughter, sat by the fire with her younger brother, Arcanos, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the door. The air was still—too still—and the crackle of the fire seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.
Then came the faintest creak, barely audible, as the door swung open. Luna froze, her hand instinctively reaching for Arcanos. Her breath caught in her throat as dark figures filled the doorway, their eyes cold beneath the gleam of their helmets. The guards of Lord Valak.
"What...?" Luna began, her voice trembling, but before she could finish, the guards were upon them.
Logan stood from his chair, instinct kicking in, but it was already too late. The leader of the guards advanced with chilling calm, his sword drawn, the metal glinting in the faint firelight. There was no warning, no chance to fight back. The blade pierced Logan's chest with a sickening thud, the sound of steel meeting flesh reverberating through the small room.
Luna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her father staggered, his eyes wide with shock, blood blooming across his tunic. He dropped to his knees, his breath a ragged gasp, and fell to the floor, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. Arcanos let out a strangled cry, his body trembling as he clung to Luna, watching helplessly as their father lay dying before them.
"No!" Luna's voice broke through the thick silence, raw with anguish. She tried to move toward her father, but one of the guards seized her, forcing her back. She struggled in his grip, her heart hammering in her chest. "Why are you doing this? He's done nothing wrong!"
The guard's eyes flickered with something dark, something colder than the night air. "Your father was a threat to the throne," he said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "Lord Valak doesn't leave loose ends."
Her father—a threat? Luna's mind reeled. She knew her family had royal ties, but she had never truly understood the depth of it. That Valak would send his men in the dead of night, not to question, not to threaten, but to kill, spoke of something far deeper, something darker than she could have imagined.
As Luna and Arcanos were forced to watch, the guards turned their attention to their mother, who had rushed to Logan's side, tears streaming down her face as she cradled his lifeless body. Her sobs filled the room, but they did nothing to sway the heartless men before her. Without a word, another guard stepped forward, his sword flashing in the dim light, and in a swift, brutal motion, he cut her down where she knelt.
The room was thick with the scent of blood and death, the silence that followed a hollow, echoing thing. Luna's heart pounded in her chest, her mind barely able to process the horror before her. Her parents—gone, slaughtered in cold blood before her very eyes. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only the rising tide of terror filled her, threatening to drown her in despair.
"Please," Arcanos whimpered, his voice small and broken, "please, don't kill us."
The guards exchanged glances, but the leader merely shook his head. "You're not our concern," he said coldly. "Yet."
Luna's heart lurched at the word. *Yet*. The guards had no intention of killing them tonight, but the promise was clear—they were not safe. They were never safe. She tightened her grip on Arcanos, pulling him close as the guards began to withdraw, their bloody work done.
As the last of them stepped out into the night, Luna's eyes remained fixed on the bodies of her parents, the room still, save for the slow, creeping pool of blood. She felt frozen in place, as though the weight of the moment had trapped her in an unending nightmare.
But there was no time for grief. The guards had spared them for now, but Luna knew they would not be so lucky for long. Valak wanted no threats to his throne, no reminders of the royal blood that once held claim. And in their veins—hers and Arcanos'—that blood flowed. Royal blood. Cursed blood.
With shaking hands, Luna pulled her brother to his feet, her mind racing. They had to leave—now. The forest loomed beyond their home, a dark and twisted place that few dared to venture into. But it was their only chance.
"Come on," she whispered to Arcanos, her voice trembling but determined. "We have to go."
The night closed in around them as they fled into the shadows, leaving the shattered remains of their family behind. And in the silence of the forest, Luna couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Valak's guards had come for her father, but soon, they would come for them. The blood in their veins had marked them for death, and there would be no escape.
The night whispered with unseen danger, the shadows thick with secrets, as Luna and Arcanos disappeared into the depths of Darkmire, knowing that the world they had known was gone forever.