1214-05-30
"Grand Regent," a voice called, pulling me back to the present.
I refocused on the grand hall, its vast expanse framed by towering marble columns and intricate stone carvings. The floor gleamed under the glow of lanterns hanging from golden chains, their light casting a warm sheen across the gathered assembly. Generals in crisp uniforms stood shoulder to shoulder with nobles draped in fine silks, the air heavy with a mix of urgency and decorum.
"What do you think, Grand Regent?" a noble inquired, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
The speaker was Calder, a long-time friend and trusted confidant. His tan skin glowed under the lantern light, his deep brown hair neatly combed back. But it was his eyes—an intense blue, like the depths of the sea—that commanded attention. Young but wise beyond his years, Calder was a man with a promising future.
"The war in Ahk," he continued.
The words hung in the air, weighty and foreboding. The conflict had raged for months now. Ahk, our ally, was depending on us. If we didn't act, our vital trade routes could suffer irreparable damage.
I took a measured breath. "Let's wait to see what Tobe does," I said with confidence, my tone steady.
Calder frowned, his brows furrowing in concern. "Are you sure, Grand Regent?" he asked, his voice laced with unease.
"If Ahk loses to Wara, then it's their desert to lose," a noble declared.
"Wara doesn't have many soldiers," another countered.
"They worship the dragons, right?" someone interjected.
"No, that's Maranona," Calder corrected, his voice steady. "They claim the Mother of all Dragons is under their care."
"Enough!"
"If Tobe gets involved, we will as well. End of discussion."
I snapped my fingers, and the nobles began to filter out one by one, leaving Calder alone at the other end of the table. He smiled warmly at me, a familiar expression that brought a fleeting sense of comfort.
"I trust you've collected the taxes?" I asked, leaning forward.
"Of course, Grand Regent," Calder replied with a slight bow. "Let me fetch the records for you."
"No need," I interrupted, raising a hand. "Let us talk."
Chomin, a modest island in the eastern United Islands of Khiz, came to mind as we sat in quiet contemplation. Relatively small compared to Disla, Herto, and Valmar, Chomin was nonetheless prosperous. Its people lived comfortably within the city's sturdy stone walls, surrounded by gleaming marble paths and well-kept homes.
Neither of us spoke until a maid arrived, carrying platters of food. The dishes were ornate and fragrant, spiced with rare flavors imported from Shatar.
"What do we do about Prescar?" I finally asked my old friend, breaking the silence.
"I'm not sure, King Marwyn… No, Daren," he said, correcting himself with a wry smile as he took another bite.
Prescar, a vast continent to the southeast, had been a point of conflict for six grueling years. It held immense strategic value, offering critical trade routes to Shatar. But Rali had claimed it as their own and refused every offer of peace. The war dragged on, draining resources and thinning our forces.
"I hesitate to get involved in another conflict," I admitted. "Our war over Prescar has already stretched us thin."
"Ahk was no different when we first sought their aid," Calder reminded me. "They refused, saying they'd only step in if Shatar or Maranona chose a side. They want to avoid an all-out war, and I understand that."
We ate in silence after that, the quiet broken only by the faint clink of silverware against fine porcelain. I allowed myself a small smile as I watched Calder eat. It had been so long since we'd shared a meal, too long since I'd seen him outside of formal duties.
Bang.
The door slammed open, shattering the moment.
A soldier burst into the room, his face pale with urgency. "Barta was attacked by a dragon!" he yelled.
I stood immediately, abandoning the remnants of my meal. Calder was quick to follow as we rushed through the palace halls. Compared to Disla's grandeur, our palace was modest—constructed of smooth white stone and golden accents, its halls lined with banners bearing the flag of the United Islands of Khiz: a pitch-black field adorned with three golden flowers at its center.
"We're close. I'll go with you," Calder said, his tone steady despite the unease in his eyes.
"Bring as many guards as possible," I commanded, and the soldier who delivered the news sprinted off to carry out the order.
"The dragon could still be there," Calder muttered, his nervousness barely concealed.
The palace erupted into motion as guards hastily prepared for departure. We boarded the ship in uneven groups, the soldiers moving without the usual order or discipline. Worry hung heavy in the air, the men whispering among themselves.
"Fighting a dragon," one murmured.
"Do you think it's still there?" another asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Can we even beat a dragon?"
The seconds dragged on, stretching into what felt like hours as the ship rocked and swayed over the restless waters of the Central Sea. It was a tense journey..
After no more than five or six hours—we finally approached the island. From the top deck, I could see Barta in the distance, shrouded in an unnatural ice.
Enormous spikes of ice towered around the village, encasing it in a frozen barricade. Barta, unlike more developed southwestern settlements such as Chomin, had not been rebuilt to modern standards. Its small, humble dock extended into the sea, and its wooden homes stood scattered along the coastline. It was a simple fishing village, perfectly positioned for trade but far removed from grandeur.
Yet now, it was unrecognizable.
The village was encased in ice, a shimmering sheet that blanketed the area like freshly fallen snow—despite it being spring.
We anchored offshore, unable to dock safely due to the ice. Small lifeboats were lowered into the freezing waters, and we rowed to land in silence. The cold bit at our skin as we made landfall, the chill seeping deep into my bones—a stark contrast to the milder air of Disla.
What greeted us was otherworldly.
The village looked frozen in time, locked within a wintery prison. Statues of ice dotted the landscape, so lifelike in their detail that I hesitated, my mind grasping for an explanation. They were human in form, their faces frozen mid-expression, captured as if in the final moments before—
My breath caught.
Are these… people? I thought, my eyes widening as the realization struck.
"Check for survivors!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the stillness.
The soldiers scattered, their boots crunching against the frozen ground as they moved between the icy forms and snow-laden homes. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint sounds of movement as they searched.
The soldiers spread out across the icy city, moving in pairs, searching every direction—towards the beach, through the market. I watched from the boat, waiting for the signal that it was safe to follow.
The island felt like a frozen wasteland, as if winter had claimed it entirely. The cold bit at my skin, seeping into my bones. The snow was so deep it nearly reached my knees, a blanket of white that covered everything in an unnatural stillness. As we moved toward the center of the city, I noticed that the market square was less buried, as though the snow had been swept away from the heart of the island, leaving only the outer parts covered.
Then I heard it—a cry.
A sound that cut through the silence, distant yet unmistakable.
Someone was alive. A child, a person—anyone.
I pushed forward through the snow, slipping a few times as I made my way toward the source of the cry. The market was eerily still, its stalls lined with ice statues. The expressions on their frozen faces were filled with terror, others locked in frozen postures, as though struck down before they even had a chance to fight back. An attack so sudden, so efficient, it was as if they hadn't even seen their assailant. It was an assassination, swift and ruthless.
Some statues had begun to melt, the snow and ice slowly giving way to the warmth of the sun. Exposed skin—hands, backs, faces—was pale and blood-colored, a strange and haunting contrast to their frozen forms. I reached out and touched one, its skin as cold as the ice itself.
They are dead.
But there was something different about one statue. It wasn't like the others. Its body lay in a fetal position. Scratch marks marred the skin as if the dragon had tried to tear away whatever she was holding. The cry grew louder, more frantic.
I knelt beside the statue, carefully moving it. The frozen features of the face were almost entirely unfrozen, revealing a woman. Her hair was long, unkempt, and brown. Her green eyes—now lifeless—had once shone like the sun. Her skin was as pale as the snow beneath her, the blood loss almost too much to bear.
And then I saw it.
A baby, wrapped tightly in a blanket, clutching a small cube of bread, frozen but still alive.
My heart seized, and a smile broke across my face despite the horror.
"The water from your mother became your sustenance."
The baby's tiny hands clung to the bread, the only thing keeping it alive in this frozen nightmare.
I kneel down. I gently lift the child. I cradled her in my arms. Her tiny body trembled. A white blanket, the name Amanda embroidered in blue thread.
A part of me wants to say it aloud, to call her by the name written there, but the word sticks in my throat. Instead, I whisper, Ana.
Maybe, just maybe, she can forget this moment. The pain, the fear, the sounds of chaos still echoing in my mind. I hope she'll never remember what she's been through, that this moment will fade from her memory as we move forward.
The child quiets in my arms, her sobs fading into silence as she looks up at me, eyes wide and searching. Something about the way she stares at me brings a sudden weight to my chest. It's almost as if she knows, understands that I've made a choice. A choice to bring her into a new life. To give her a future.
I start walking toward the ice-ridden shore. The wind cuts through the air, sharp and unforgiving, but I ignore it. The child is warm in my arms, and that's all that matters now. The world around us might be cold, but I can shield her from it.
She snuggles closer to me, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappears. It's just the two of us against everything.
But then I hear the sound of footsteps, heavy, purposeful. I glance over my shoulder, knowing what's coming. The guards are following. Their steps crunch on the frozen ground, confirming my suspicion.
No one else survived.