The Vengeful One strolled through the cobblestone streets of Ashwynd, her crimson cloak trailing lightly behind her. Her armor, polished but subdued, glinted faintly in the sunlight. The city was alive in a way it hadn't been before, the changes she had wrought clear in every bustling corner and joyful face.
Water flowed freely through the new spigots and fountains scattered throughout the city. Children laughed as they splashed one another at the communal fountain in the square, their parents watching with smiles, their faces free of the strain that once marked them. Vendors had set up makeshift stalls near newly installed public wells, their goods gleaming as brightly as their grins. A man filled a bucket with ease, chatting with his neighbor, their camaraderie infectious.
She passed a young woman in simple garb, carrying a clay jug now half-full of crystal-clear water. The woman stopped mid-step, her eyes widening as she realized who walked past her. "My Lady!" she exclaimed, hurriedly setting the jug down to bow. "Thank you for this! I— We— We didn't think it could ever be this easy!"
The Vengeful One paused, glancing down at the woman with her usual calm authority. A small smile touched her lips as she waved a gloved hand. "Rise. I only did what needed to be done. You and the people of Ashwynd deserve this."
The woman's eyes glistened with gratitude as she stood, clutching her jug tightly. "Bless you, my Lady. You've changed everything."
The Vengeful One inclined her head, continuing her leisurely stroll. Her crimson eyes scanned the streets, taking in every detail of the transformation. Gone were the sullen, tired faces of a populace weighed down by the burden of scarcity. In their place was vitality, a visible spark of life.
Her steps brought her to a bakery where the baker himself was cheerfully scrubbing his storefront with water from a newly installed spigot. He looked up, startled to see her, and then his broad face broke into a grin. "My Lady! This water—it's a miracle. We've never had it so easy. I can clean, cook, and brew without trekking halfway across the city. Thank you. Truly."
She raised a brow, feigning indifference even as satisfaction welled within her. "You're welcome, baker. Make good use of it. Ashwynd has much to offer, and I expect its best."
He bowed low, mumbling his gratitude as she moved on. The streets buzzed with activity, and every corner she turned revealed another sign of the city's rebirth. The once hesitant and cautious gazes of the people were now filled with respect and warmth, their reverence evident in every bow, every whispered "My Lady."
"Great Sage," she murmured as she passed a cluster of children giggling at a trickling fountain.
"Yes, my Lady?" came the calm, ever-present voice in her mind.
"Assess the difference the plumbing system has made. I want detailed reports. Health, morale, productivity—everything."
"Preliminary observations indicate a marked improvement in morale, with projected economic productivity rising by twenty-eight percent in the next quarter. Incidences of illness from poor sanitation have already decreased by forty percent, and public approval of your rule in Ashwynd now exceeds ninety-two percent."
She smirked, satisfaction threading through her thoughts. Ninety-two percent. Almost perfect.
As she neared the city's edge, where the workers who had completed the final installations packed up their tools, she slowed. One of the laborers, a burly man with calloused hands, caught her eye and waved awkwardly, unsure if it was appropriate.
"Good work," she called, her voice carrying authority but no malice. "You've helped make Ashwynd a model city. Be proud of that."
The man beamed, saluting her as she moved on. The Vengeful One's steps eventually brought her to a small rise overlooking the city. She paused there, gazing down at the transformed streets, the flowing water sparkling in the sunlight, and the people bustling with newfound energy.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips, more to herself than anyone else. This is what progress looks like. A city remade in my image—not just in strength, but in prosperity. Let's see anyone challenge this now.
She turned on her heel, her crimson cloak billowing lightly as she began her walk back toward the castle, numerous other plans churning in her mind. The Vengeful One strolled through the streets of Ashwynd, her crimson cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze. The laughter and bustle of her newly thriving city filled the air, but her attention was inward, her smirk widening with every step.
"Sage," she murmured, her voice dripping with mock humility. "Be honest. Has there ever been a ruler as masterful, as visionary, as—dare I say it—perfectly suited for this role as me?"
The voice of Great Sage chimed in, calm and measured as always. "Your accomplishments are indeed commendable, my Lady. However, you are not the first Dark Messiah to make significant strides toward world restoration. One predecessor comes to mind: Kaelor the Ascendant."
Her smirk faltered, curiosity flickering in her crimson eyes. "Kaelor, you say? Sounds... ambitious. What was his claim to fame?"
"Kaelor the Ascendant was a Dark Messiah of unparalleled charisma and cunning. Under his rule, he united three fractured kingdoms, abolished their long-standing blood feuds, and created an era of peace and prosperity lasting nearly two decades. His reforms laid the groundwork for economic revival and cultural flourishing across much of the known world."
She let out an impressed whistle, her steps slowing slightly as she absorbed the information. "I'll admit, Sage, that's a resume worth acknowledging. So what happened to this paragon of leadership? Old age? Treachery? Or perhaps some grand, tragic downfall?"
"Kaelor fell to his own greed, my Lady," Sage replied, its tone tinged with subtle caution. "While his initial motives were pure, the allure of power corrupted him. He began imposing draconian taxes to fund increasingly elaborate monuments to his greatness. When the people protested, he turned his once-loyal armies against them. His empire crumbled under rebellion and distrust, and he met his end at the hands of those he had sought to elevate."
The Vengeful One came to a full stop, her lips curling into a slow, amused grin. A low chuckle bubbled in her throat, growing into a rich, mocking laugh that echoed through the narrow streets.
"Greed? Me? Oh, Sage, that's priceless. The thought of my own greed killing me—it's almost... endearing in its absurdity."
"Greed has been the downfall of many rulers, my Lady," Sage replied, unperturbed by her laughter. "Kaelor serves as a cautionary tale, not a direct comparison. However, hubris, too, has claimed its fair share of the ambitious."
She resumed walking, still chuckling softly to herself. "Hubris, greed, ambition—call it what you like. Kaelor failed because he forgot what truly matters: control. I won't make that mistake, Sage. My people follow me because I lead with strength, vision, and, yes, a little theatrics. But everything I do is for the world we're rebuilding."
"Indeed, my Lady. Yet vigilance remains key. Even the strongest of leaders can falter if they lose sight of their purpose."
"Oh, Sage, don't worry your circuits about me. My purpose is crystal clear. Kaelor may have fallen to greed, but I'll make sure his legacy is just a footnote compared to mine."
Her smirk widened as she approached the gates of her castle. The thought of being compared to a ruler undone by something as mundane as greed was laughable. Her reign, after all, was destined to be one of unmatched strength and lasting legacy. Kaelor might have been ascendant, but she was absolute.
The Vengeful One sat at her desk in her private chambers, her crimson cloak draped over the back of her chair. A single candle flickered beside her, casting faint shadows across the parchment in her hands. Her crimson eyes danced over the words, her lips twitching into an amused smirk as she read Lucien's latest letter.
It was long—almost embarrassingly so—overflowing with declarations of his longing and recounting his days spent waiting for her return to Celestafell. Every line seemed to stretch with yearning, painting vivid pictures of him pacing their chambers, staring at her empty seat during meals, and even catching himself mumbling her name in moments of solitude.
She set the letter down, leaning back with a low chuckle. "Oh, Lucien, you dramatic fool," she murmured to herself, her smirk widening. "You miss me more than your freedom, I see."
Reaching for her quill, she dipped it into the inkwell, the sharp tip gliding smoothly over fresh parchment as she began her reply. If he was going to pour his heart out, she'd match his tone—and then some.
"Dearest Lucien," she began, her voice low as she read the words aloud to herself, shaping each line with the perfect balance of sincerity and jest.
"Your letter reached me during a quiet evening, and I must confess, reading your words stirred a longing within me that even I did not anticipate. Each line you've written feels like a tether, pulling me back to our chambers, where your presence is both my comfort and my torment in its absence."
She paused, biting back a laugh at how utterly over-the-top her own words sounded, but pressed on, leaning fully into the exaggerated tone.
"How I miss the way your brow furrows when you're deep in thought, the way your voice echoes through the halls when you call for me, and even the way you leave your tea unfinished when you grow distracted by your ever-spiraling musings. The days are long without you, and the nights... unbearable."
Her smirk grew, her crimson eyes glinting with mirth as she added another flourish to the next line.
"You should know that not a moment passes where I do not think of your face, your voice, your very presence. I count the days until I return to Celestafell, where I can finally see you again and tell you just how much I have missed you—though no words will ever suffice."
By the time she reached the closing, she was thoroughly enjoying herself, her quill darting across the parchment with flourish.
"Until that day comes, my dearest Lucien, know that you are always in my thoughts and that my heart beats only for the day we are reunited. Yours eternally,
Your Queen."
She leaned back, examining her handiwork with a satisfied grin. "Perfect," she mused aloud. "Enough sweetness to drown a dragon, but vague enough to keep him guessing."
Rolling the parchment with care, she sealed it with wax, pressing her insignia into the hot seal. She placed it on the edge of her desk for a messenger to retrieve at dawn, her smirk lingering as she imagined Lucien's reaction to her exaggerated prose. The entire world was a game and even the letters to her husband was as much a battlefield as any other—and she always played to win.