The journey had been long, and after days of riding through dense forests and narrow trails, the carriage finally came to a halt at the outskirts of Red Town. The small settlement, nestled by a sluggish river that curved like a snake through the valley, was quieter than Princess Liria had anticipated. The town was small, and its buildings had the simple, rugged charm of a place accustomed to hardship. The villagers were silent, their faces hardened by years of toil and survival.
Red Town had earned its name from the bloody history that still haunted its streets. Centuries ago, during The Great War, the orcs had descended upon this place with unrelenting savagery, slaughtering most of the civilian population. The river had once flowed red with their blood, and despite the years that had passed, the memory of the massacre still lingered in the air. The town's people spoke little of it, yet their eyes betrayed the weight of their collective grief.
Inside the house of Varek's friend, they were offered food—bread, cheese, and a pot of stew simmering over a fire. Princess Liria could barely eat, her thoughts consumed by the uncertainty of her family's fate. Prince Belin, ever the warrior, ate with a quiet urgency, his face hardening whenever his sister glanced his way. Tia, ever faithful, smiled gently at the princess, though her eyes were heavy with worry. The two guards, having seen worse days, ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
After the meal, the group settled into the cramped but warm croft. The guards kept watching by the door, and the siblings shared a moment of peace before sleep overtook them. Princess Liria lay awake for hours, listening to the faint sounds of the owls outside—whispers of the past that seemed to linger in the cool night air.
The following morning, after a quick breakfast, Princess Liria decided she needed to stretch her legs and clear her mind. She donned a plain white cloak that would help her blend in with the villagers and walked toward the market square. Tia, ever watchful, wanted to accompany her, but Liria insisted she would be fine on her own. The guards remained behind, keeping to their post, while the prince stayed in the house, silently sharpening his sword.
As she walked into the market, Liria was struck by the simple beauty of it—the wooden stalls, the vibrant colors of fruits and vegetables, and the chatter of the local vendors. She smiled faintly as she picked out a few items for the journey, her hands lingering over the apples, their skins glistening in the sunlight. She could almost forget, for a moment, the storm of fear and uncertainty that clung to her heart.
But the peaceful illusion was shattered in an instant.
A man, clad in black, moved through the crowd with unnatural speed. His presence was like a shadow, dark and elusive. Liria's heart skipped a beat as her instincts screamed that something was wrong. Before she could react, the man lunged toward her, a glinting blade flashing in the sunlight.
Her breath caught in her throat, and instinctively, she pulled back, twisting her body to avoid the strike. The assassin's blade grazed her arm, a searing pain shooting through her skin. She gasped, but there was no time to think. The assassin's eyes locked onto her with terrifying focus. He moved with deadly precision, the blade poised to strike again.
Liria's heart pounded in her chest as she spun on her heel, her cloak billowing behind her. She ran, weaving through the market, her breath ragged in her throat. The assassin was close, but she had the advantage of speed. She knew the market's winding paths, the alleys that led toward the town's edge. She darted past stalls, pushing through the crowd, her mind racing.
The guards. I need to find the guards.
The sound of footsteps behind her grew louder, faster. She could feel his presence, his breath on her neck, as if the very air was thick with his malice. Her feet pounded against the cobblestone streets, her legs burning with effort. She looked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the assassin's face—cold, cruel, unfeeling.
Desperation surged in her veins. She rounded a corner and spotted the small croft where they were staying, the familiar shapes of her guards standing by the door.
"Help! Please!" she shouted, her voice trembling with fear and urgency.
The guards' heads snapped toward her, their hands instantly reaching for their weapons. But the assassin was not far behind, his eyes wild with anger. One of the guards shouted a command, and the two of them rushed to Liria's side just as the assassin closed in.
The first guard, a tall man named Banrik, blocked the assassin's path with a heavy sword, striking the man's blade aside. The second guard, Varek, rushed to Liria's side, pulling her behind him, his face set with grim determination.
The assassin hissed, his eyes flashing with fury. He lunged again, but Banrik was faster this time. Their swords clashed with a loud, sharp sound, and sparks flew into the air. Liria, her heart still racing, watched the fight unfold before her, a sickening knot forming in her stomach.
The assassin was skilled—too skilled. Banrik parried the blow, but the assassin's next strike was brutal, and it landed. Banrik cried out in pain as his fingers were sliced clean off, three of them falling to the ground with a sickening thud. He staggered back, his sword wavering in his hand.
"Banrik!" Liria cried, her voice hoarse with panic.
Varek wasted no time. He swung his blade with deadly precision, catching the assassin off guard. The assassin barely had time to react before Varek's sword sliced across his stomach, drawing blood. The man staggered back, his face twisted in pain and rage. But before he could recover, the guards pressed their advantage, forcing him to retreat.
The assassin backed away, glaring at them with a fury that could melt steel. He turned, disappearing into the shadows, leaving the market in eerie silence.
Liria's legs gave out beneath her, and Varek caught her just before she hit the ground. "It's alright, Princess," he said, his voice calm but tense. "We'll get you to safety."
Banrik, clutching his injured hand, gritted his teeth. "We need to leave. Now."
Liria nodded, her face pale. "Where is Tia?" she asked, panic creeping into her voice.
"She's inside, with the prince," Varek said quickly. "We'll regroup and leave immediately."
As the group made their way back to the house, the weight of the attack settled heavily on Liria's shoulders. She hadn't expected to be attacked so soon, so relentlessly. The world felt like it was closing in on them, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was still ahead.
With the sound of distant hooves and the faint echo of footsteps behind them, they hurriedly gathered their belongings. Banrik's injury would slow them down, but it didn't matter. They needed to keep moving.
As they fled Red Town, Liria glanced back at the market square. The streets were empty now, the air heavy with tension. She could feel the weight of the assassin's gaze even now, and she knew that this was just the beginning.
"Next stop," she whispered, her voice steady despite the fear creeping through her chest. "We need to get to Midland. It is the safest we can go to for now"
And so, with one final glance at the town that had once been a refuge, they rode off into the unknown, the road ahead uncertain, but their resolve unwavering.