Three days had passed since the Bloodhound's brutal conquest, and the town's once-silent streets now echoed with whispers of dread. The full moon ascended, its pale light slicing through the darkened skies, casting an eerie glow over the landscape.
The Old Order's emissaries arrived, their armor gleaming ominously in the moonlight. Trembling in their homes, the townsfolk watched as the knights dismounted, their faces hardened with cold resolve.
Sir Castor of Valoria, Knight-Commander of the Old Order and Marshal of the Council, led the contingent. His gray eyes, devoid of warmth, scanned the gathered guards, their cold, piercing gaze reflecting a lifetime of battle and command. His chiseled face, marked with faint scars and framed by short, salt-and-pepper hair, tall, his broad, muscular frame was encased in gleaming Valorian steel armor. His gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his stance exuding authority.
The guards, haunted by the bloodshed, faltered under his gaze. "She escaped, Commander. Adrian—" Their voices trembled with the weight of their failure. Castor's expression turned icy. "Show me his body."
The knights followed the trail of destruction Mela had wrought. Adrian's lifeless form lay exposed beneath the moon's cruel gaze. Sir Castor knelt beside him. "We will honor you, Adrian," he vowed. The knights prepared him for his final rest, their movements heavy with sorrow.
The march back to the fortress was relentless, the crimson pennant of vengeance fluttering defiantly against the cold wind. As they approached, the kingdom's mourning transformed into a roar of grief and anger. At the heart of the fortress, Adrian's pyre awaited, a somber altar surrounded by the pungent incense of sorrow.
Lady Elara, Highborn Elara of the Royal House of Valoria, pushed through the mourners. Whispers filled the air. "Is that Lady Elara of the Royal Family of Valoria?" one of them mourned, eyes wide with awe and disbelief. "I heard she's the Emperor's daughter, though there are rumors she's a bastard."
The townsfolk gasped at the sight of the fallen knight. "Is that Sir Adrian?!" cried one, their voice trembling. "I-It is! He was loved by all!" lamented another. "What a passionate young man! Cursed be that Bloodhound!"
Grief washed over the crowd, eyes brimmed with tears, and mothers pulled their children closer, shielding them from the horror of violence. A father clutched his son's shoulder, whispering tales of bravery that Adrian embodied. Each tear shed was a drop of resolve, a pledge to hold the Bloodhound accountable for the darkness that had invaded their lives.
Lady Elara's eyes blazed with unshed tears as she stepped forward. She approached Sir Castor. "He is gone," Castor said softly, but his words ignited a storm within her. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she clenched her fists, her body trembling with fury. "I will see her dead!" she declared, her voice a fierce promise that echoed through the somber gathering.
The bounty on Mela's head surged to ten thousand gold, igniting a frenzy throughout the kingdom. The Bloodhound became a nightmare that loomed large in every corner of Valoria. As Elara's sorrow devolved into madness, her behavior grew erratic. She began destroying Adrian's personal belongings, her actions mirroring her unraveling mind. The once-proud Highborn was now a figure of wild outbursts and dangerous decisions, her descent into insanity felt by all around her.
In the days that followed, the kingdom's pursuit of Mela intensified. The royal guard, driven by fear and greed, escalated their hunt. Mela, now a shadowy figure, was pursued not only by the Old Order but by every corner of Valoria. The stakes were raised, setting the stage for an inevitable clash.
Political intrigue deepened as the hunt for Mela exposed broader tensions within the empire. Kingdoms beyond Valoria looked on with a mix of disdain and anticipation, aware of the kingdom's arrogance and corruption. The simmering tension between realms prepared the ground for explosive outcomes. As Mela's enemies gathered their forces, the hunt grew more desperate and dangerous.