Dawn.
Unknown.
Punditesos.
V
The baby's wail pierced the humid night air, sharp as a blade, making Melissa shudder as she clutched him closer to her chest.
She hadn't realized he was awake, his tiny cries a reminder of the fragile life in her arms. The terror in her heart thumped louder than his cries; she felt as though each beat might be her last. But she pushed onward.
She had no choice.
"Shhh…we're almost to Ysara," Melissa whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted to the trees around her, watching for shadows, ears straining for the sound of footsteps.
Her kingdom lay in near silence, but this quiet was deadly—every Punditesorian loyal to the crown had been slaughtered, and the kingdom's defenses lay in ruins.
Behind her, she heard the distant clamor of knights. They were relentless, tracking her through the forest, sent by those who'd usurped the kingdom to kill the infant prince and ensure that every remnant of the royal line was extinguished.
She couldn't let them succeed. The queen's last command rang in her mind like a prayer.
She ran faster, stumbling over roots and uneven ground, each step jolting pain through her limbs.
Rain began to fall, pouring over them in thick sheets that blurred her vision but blessedly masked the baby's cries.
The downpour cloaked them from her pursuers…until a swift, hissing sound broke through the rain.
The sharp tip of an arrow buried itself in Melissa's shoulder, sending her crashing to the ground. She cried out, the pain tearing through her as she cradled the baby to keep him from the impact.
Blood flowed down her arm as she gritted her teeth, pushing herself up again, willing her legs to keep moving.
Ysara's dwelling was close. She could feel it, even as her strength faded.
She reached the forest's edge and fell to her knees, gasping, vision blurring. A dark figure materialized before her, and Melissa's heart fluttered with relief.
"Ysara…" she choked, raising the baby with trembling hands.
The nomadic witch regarded her with sharp, assessing eyes, her mouth a hard line of displeasure.
"What do we have here?" Ysara asked, arching a brow as she observed the dying maid and the infant she offered.
For a moment, Melissa thought she saw a flash of something other than indifference in the witch's gaze.
"His name is…Victore," Melissa breathed, her voice a mere whisper as her strength finally gave out. She slumped to the ground, her eyes closing in relief.
Ysara's brow furrowed as she took the baby from Melissa's shaking arms. She felt his warmth through the cloth, his small form peaceful despite the chaos around them. She sighed, casting a glance down at Melissa's lifeless form.
"Hmm…too bad you're dead. You would've kept this child yourself. I don't want it," Ysara muttered, though her fingers betrayed her as they lingered on the baby's soft cheek. She lifted the cloth to look at his tiny, rain-dappled face. Victore was quiet now, his large eyes peering up at her as though he understood.
A faint smile touched Ysara's lips. "I guess I have a Victore now."
With a flick of her fingers, Melissa's body crumbled into a cloud of fine dust that scattered in the wind. But before Ysara could turn away, the distant shouts of the knights reached her ears. She glanced up, her expression hardening as she saw the shadowy figures rushing toward her through the rain.
"Over there!" a voice bellowed, the knight's sword catching the faint light as he pointed her way.
Ysara's eyes narrowed. She could obliterate them with a flick of her wrist, unleash the full force of her magic and send them fleeing. But her mind worked quickly. If she killed them, their master would know the child had survived. If she could fool them into thinking the baby was dead…
Clutching Victore to her side, she drew a deep breath, her eyes darkening with concentration. Then, with a long, low whistle, a disorienting melody filled the air, echoing through the forest like a mournful song. The knights staggered, eyes unfocused, faces twisting in confusion as Ysara's magic clouded their thoughts and blurred their vision.
With a whispered spell, Ysara dissolved into the rain, becoming one with the storm as she swept Victore away, leaving nothing but shadows and whispers in her wake.
Back at the castle, the knights returned to their master with grim tales. They claimed to have killed the maid, presenting a bloodied cloth as proof. They spun a tale of drowning the infant prince in the river, letting his body be claimed by the currents. Their leader, the usurper of the throne, listened with a pleased smile, nodding in satisfaction.
The kingdom was his.
But as he raised his goblet in victory, far from his reach, in a hidden corner of a distant realm, Ysara cradled a sleeping Victore, her fingers tracing the faint glow of magic hidden beneath his skin—a power she knew was there but would guard like her own dark secret.
The future of Punditesos lay nestled in her arms, untouched, unseen, and bound for a destiny even she could not foresee.