The summons came at dawn, a city-wide decree that left no room for refusal. The streets of Celestafell were thick with people, a dense mass of citizens packed into the main square. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as they gazed up at the grand scaffold erected overnight in the shadow of the castle walls. At its center, The Vengeful One stood tall and imposing, her black cloak draped over her obsidian armor, the crown on her head glinting like molten fire in the early morning light.
Before her stood five figures, their hands bound behind their backs, thick ropes looped around their necks. The crowd murmured uneasily as they recognized the faces of the condemned: the former logistics aides of the late lord, men and women who had once wielded immense power over the city's resources.
The first, Harlan, was a stout man with thinning gray hair and a sharp nose. His embroidered vestments were now dirtied and torn, a stark contrast to his once-pristine appearance. Beside him stood Calda, a middle-aged woman with severe features and piercing green eyes that darted nervously across the crowd. Marek, a lanky man in his thirties with a patchy beard, shifted uncomfortably, his lips quivering as though he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. Fenna, a petite woman with a shock of red hair, sneered defiantly despite the rope digging into her neck. And finally, Edric, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, scowled deeply, his disdain radiating even in shackles.
The crowd whispered among themselves, their voices rising and falling like the tide.
"That's Harlan! He controlled the grain stores under the old lord!"
"And Marek—he was in charge of troop rations, wasn't he?"
"What's going on? Why are they here?"
Serena stepped forward, her crimson eyes sweeping over the crowd, silencing them with a single look. The tension in the air was palpable, the quiet so profound that even the faint creak of the scaffold's wooden planks seemed deafening.
"People of Celestafell," she began, her voice clear and commanding, carrying effortlessly over the crowd. "You may be wondering why I have summoned you here today. Why these individuals—who once held positions of great authority—now stand before you, bound and judged. Allow me to explain."
She began to pace slowly in front of the condemned, her steps deliberate, her cloak billowing faintly with each movement. "For the past two months, the brave soldiers stationed at our outer wards—those who defend this city and ensure the safety of those expanding our walls—have been begging for supplies. Armor, weapons, rations to sustain them during long patrols. Materials to repair their crumbling barracks so they might have a place to rest after risking their lives."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the crowd. "And yet, despite their pleas, those supplies never arrived. Why? Because of these five." She gestured toward the condemned, her voice sharpening. "These so-called stewards of logistics—the ones entrusted to oversee the distribution of resources—chose to ignore the needs of the men and women who protect us. They hoarded supplies, redirected funds, and let the outer wards languish."
The crowd erupted into shocked whispers, heads turning to look at one another in disbelief.
"Is that true?"
"The soldiers begged for help, and they did nothing?"
"Why would they do that?"
Serena's lips curled into a cold smile as she allowed the murmurs to spread. Finally, she turned back to the five, her voice dripping with venom. "Perhaps they would like to explain themselves." She gestured toward Harlan, who stumbled forward slightly, sweat beading on his brow.
"We—we did nothing wrong!" he blurted, his voice trembling. "The soldiers' requests were frivolous! A waste of resources on grunts who don't even understand the value of what they're asking for!"
"Exactly!" Calda chimed in, her green eyes flashing with defiance. "You think armor and fresh food should go to mere soldiers? The funds were better spent elsewhere!"
Marek nodded rapidly, his voice shaking. "We prioritized wisely! It's not our fault they couldn't handle a little adversity!"
The crowd gasped, their whispers growing louder.
"They think soldiers are a waste? The ones protecting us?"
"How dare they! My brother works in the outer wards—he's been risking his life for months!"
"They're sabotaging the city!"
Serena raised her hand, and the crowd fell silent once more. She turned to face the five, her expression cold and unrelenting. "You hear that? That is the sound of a city that knows the value of its defenders. The sound of a people who will not tolerate treachery or greed interfering with their survival."
She began to address the crowd directly, her voice resonating with authority. "Let this be a lesson to all who dare hinder the rebirth of Celestafell. The soldiers in the outer wards protect us. They protect your homes, your children, your livelihoods. Anyone who seeks to sabotage their efforts, anyone who endangers the future of this city, will answer to me."
She stepped back to the center of the platform, her gaze sweeping over the crowd one final time. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she pulled the lever.
The trapdoors beneath the five opened with a loud crack, and the condemned plummeted. The ropes snapped taut, cutting off their final gasps as their bodies jerked once, then hung still. The crowd erupted into a mix of gasps and murmurs, the weight of what they had just witnessed settling over them like a heavy fog.
At the edge of the platform, Lucien stood, his jaw clenched, his expression a volatile mixture of anger and unease. He caught Serena's gaze as she turned, and for a brief moment, he saw it—the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in her cold smile.
She addressed the crowd once more, her voice unwavering. "This is what happens to those who stand in the way of progress. Remember this day, citizens of Celestafell. Together, we will rebuild this city—but only if we stand united. There is no room for selfishness or sabotage. None."
The crowd slowly began to disperse, some whispering to one another, others silent, their expressions a mixture of shock and grim understanding. Above them, Serena stood tall, the embodiment of justice—merciless, decisive, and utterly unshakable.
The carriage rattled softly as it rolled along the cobbled streets back to the castle. The silence inside was heavy, the faint creak of wood and the occasional clatter of the wheels the only sounds between them. Lucien sat across from Serena, his fists clenched on his lap, his jaw tight. Her calm, regal posture only seemed to stoke his anger further.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low but laced with frustration. "You didn't have to kill them. You could have demoted them, exiled them, even imprisoned them—but this? Public executions? It was excessive."
Serena's crimson eyes flicked up to meet his, cold and unyielding. "Excessive?" she repeated, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "Do you know what's excessive, Lucien? Two months of soldiers begging for supplies they desperately needed to protect this city and being ignored."
Lucien leaned forward, his anger bubbling over. "They made a mistake! Yes, they were wrong, but you didn't have to—"
"A mistake?" Serena snapped, leaning forward herself, her voice rising just enough to silence him. "I personally wrote to them, Lucien. Letters. Clear, direct orders to prioritize those resupply requests. And for two months, they chose to spit in my face. They knew what was at stake. They knew what was needed. And they chose to ignore it."
He faltered, her words striking with the weight of undeniable truth. But he wasn't ready to concede. "And that's worth their lives? Publicly hanging them in front of everyone?"
"Yes, it is," Serena said coldly, her tone like a steel blade. "Because their negligence wasn't just an insult to me—it endangered the lives of the soldiers protecting those walls. How many more deaths should I tolerate to spare the feelings of five traitors? If I let them live, I send a message to the rest of the city that my authority is optional. That they can defy me without consequence."
Lucien's mouth opened to argue, but she didn't give him the chance. "They didn't fail because of oversight or incompetence, Lucien. They failed because they chose to. And I choose to make an example of them. If that feels excessive to you, then you're welcome to stay in your little world of soft ideals. I, however, will do what's necessary to rebuild this city."
The carriage jolted slightly as it hit a loose stone, and Lucien sank back into his seat, glaring at her with a mixture of anger and something else—perhaps grudging respect for her conviction, even if he couldn't admit it. The rest of the ride passed in silence, Serena's gaze unwavering as she stared out the window, already moving on to the next task in her mind.
The throne room was quieter than usual that morning, the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows casting fragmented colors across the polished stone floor. Serena sat on her throne, her attention focused on a report spread across her lap. The faint creak of the heavy doors drew her gaze upward, and she arched a brow as Lian entered, a large burlap sack slung over her shoulder.
Lian stopped a respectful distance from the throne, bowing slightly. "My Lady, I hope I'm not interrupting."
Serena set the report aside, leaning back in her seat. "That depends. What brings you here, Lian?"
The soldier adjusted the sack, her armor clinking faintly as she stepped forward. "These, my Lady." She lowered the sack to the floor with a heavy thud, then began pulling out handfuls of folded papers. "Letters. From the soldiers in the outer wards."
Serena tilted her head, intrigued. "Letters? What about?"
"Gratitude," Lian said simply, her tone steady but carrying a hint of emotion. "They wanted to thank you. For what you've done. For listening to them when no one else would. For holding those responsible accountable."
A flicker of surprise passed through Serena's crimson eyes, but she quickly masked it with a faint, amused smile. "Gratitude, hmm? I wasn't expecting such… sentimentality."
Lian reached into the sack and pulled out one of the letters, unfolding it carefully. "They wrote about how the new supplies have already made a difference. The new armor fits better, the food is fresher, and morale is higher than it's been in years. Some of them said it's the first time they've felt truly supported in their duty."
Serena leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the letters. "And what about you, Lian? Do you share their gratitude? Or is this just a delivery?"
Lian hesitated for a moment, then met Serena's gaze. "I do, my Lady. What you did… it wasn't easy to witness. But it sent a message, one that every soldier understands. You care about us. You value us. And that means more than I can put into words."
For a moment, Serena said nothing, her expression unreadable as she processed Lian's words. Finally, she nodded, her tone softer than usual. "They serve me well. They deserve to know that their sacrifices aren't overlooked." She gestured toward the sack. "Leave them here. I'll read them. All of them."
Lian blinked, surprised. "All of them, my Lady? There are dozens—"
"Then I'll start now," Serena interrupted, a small, rare smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "And perhaps, when I've finished, I'll write a few letters of my own. After all, gratitude goes both ways."
Lian bowed deeply, a faint smile of her own appearing. "Thank you, my Lady. I'll leave you to it." She turned and exited the throne room, her steps lighter than when she had entered.
As the doors closed behind her, Serena reached for the nearest letter, her fingers brushing against the coarse paper. For the first time in what felt like an age, she allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. Whatever else the city thought of her, the soldiers in the outer wards—her soldiers—believed in her. And that was a start.