The tunnel twisted and turned, a winding labyrinth carved deep beneath the castle. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and smoke, and the only light came from the dim torches flickering along the stone walls.
The civilians ran in frantic terror, their footsteps echoing off the narrow walls. Panic spread like wildfire as screams and sobs mixed into a chaotic symphony of fear.
But Lucia did not stop.
She carried both Ymir and Axel in her arms, her muscles burning with exhaustion, yet she refused to falter. The weight of the children was nothing compared to the weight of her will to survive.
Ahead, the knight leading them—his armor scratched and bloodied—held his torch high.
"Stay together! Keep moving!" he commanded, though his voice was drowned out by the terrified cries of the civilians.
Then, behind them—
A bloodcurdling shriek tore through the tunnel.
Lucia didn't need to turn around to know what it meant.
The bandits had caught up.
Steel clashed against flesh. A dying scream echoed through the cavern.
"RUN!" the knight roared.
The civilians erupted into a full-blown stampede, tripping over one another as they pushed and shoved their way forward. One of the knight stood his ground, turning back to face the attackers.
Lucia kept running, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't stop. She didn't look back.
Because she knew—
If she did, she would see the knight who led them slaughtered where he stood.
Above, in the Ruins of Eldia
Inside the ruined castle, Magnar Eldrist Fritz walked through the crimson-stained halls, his boots splashing through pools of blood.
Bodies littered the ground—knights and raiders alike. The once-pristine white stone walls of the palace were painted red with fresh death.
His grip tightened around the flaming greatsword at his side. His grin widened.
"This kingdom was weaker than I expected," one of his warriors muttered, kicking over the corpse of a fallen knight.
Magnar chuckled. "Of course it was."
His piercing gaze swept over the ruined halls, admiring his work. The once-mighty Eldian Kingdom—a land that had stood for centuries—had fallen within mere hours.
Because war wasn't about strength.
It was about control.
He turned his head slightly. "Tulf."
A shadowed figure beside him stepped forward and bowed. "Yes, my lord?"
Magnar's grin sharpened. "Find the king. Bring him to me."
Tulf smirked, bowing once more. "Of course, our future highness." He motioned for a group of raiders to follow him before disappearing into the corridors.
Magnar turned back toward the throne room, stepping over fallen knights as if they were mere obstacles. His men followed close behind, looting whatever valuables they could carry.
One of them scoffed. "Eldia fell too easily."
Magnar let out a low laugh. "These knights have never known war. They've spent their lives in peace, untrained, unprepared." His fingers traced the hilt of his sword, the flames licking along its edge.
"And their deaths are mercy."
His voice was laced with amusement.
Because in the end—
There was no mercy in war.
The King's Escape
The air was heavy with the scent of blood and burning wood as King Arthur Solhart III descended the hidden stairway, his golden cloak dragging along the dusty stone steps. His breath was uneven, his once-mighty presence now reduced to a desperate fugitive fleeing his own kingdom.
Behind him, four of his most loyal knights guided him through the narrow passage. Their armor clanked softly with each cautious step.
"Where are we going?" the king demanded, though his voice lacked its former authority.
One of the knights, a female warrior with short auburn hair and a deep scar across her cheek, turned her head slightly but did not slow her pace.
"We are escaping, my lord. The castle is lost. We cannot win against the raiders."
The king's fists clenched. The weight of those words stabbed through his pride like a dagger.
"Escape?" he muttered bitterly. "And abandon my people?"
The knight didn't hesitate. "If you die here, Eldia dies with you."
Silence followed.
They reached the bottom of the stairway, emerging into a damp tunnel beneath the castle's foundation. A distant breeze carried the scent of salt and seawater, signaling that freedom was near.
"Beyond this tunnel, horses are waiting," another knight said. "We will ride to the docks. The boats are prepared on the desert shore of Paradise Island."
King Arthur's jaw tightened as they pressed forward. He knew the truth.
This was not an escape. This was an exile.
And his kingdom was no more.
The Civilians' Nightmare
The underground passage stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of stone and darkness. The only source of light came from the dim torches held by the knights who led the escape.
Hundreds of villagers stumbled forward, their cries of fear echoing in the narrow halls.
But behind them—death was closing in.
At first, it was distant screams—then the unmistakable sound of steel cutting through flesh.
The elderly, too slow to keep up, fell first.
No mercy was given.
Blades slashed through weakened bodies, cutting down those who lagged behind. The dying cries of the fallen sent a wave of panic through the crowd, making the villagers trample over one another in desperation.
The tunnel became a bloodbath.
Lucia held onto Axel and Ymir, her arms burning from exhaustion but refusing to let go. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the screams behind her.
She couldn't stop.
Not now.
Not when death was just inches behind them.
She pushed forward, dodging bodies that collapsed in front of her, weaving through the chaos like a mother wolf protecting her cubs.
Axel's blue eyes widened in horror as he looked around under Lucia's left arm, being carried.
He saw them—
The villagers being slaughtered.
He saw an old man reaching out for help, only to be cut down. He saw a mother shielding her child, only to have a bandit's sword pierce through both of them.
It was happening again.
Just like before.
His small hands trembled violently, his breathing turned shallow.
PTSD struck him like a curse, dragging him back into his past.
The flames. The screams. The blood.
Everything from millions of years of his existence—everything he had tried to forget—was happening all over again.
Axel's body froze in Lucia's arms. His mind collapsed into terror.
"No…" his voice barely came out—a fragile whisper lost in the chaos.
Ymir, eyes squeezed shut, shook uncontrollably against Lucia's chest. Tears ran down her cheeks as she held onto her mother for dear life.
She was afraid.
Afraid that if she opened her eyes—
She would see the same nightmare as Axel.
Lucia gritted her teeth.
She knew the horrors happening behind her.
She just couldn't afford to look back.
Her only focus—the only thing that mattered—was to escape.
And no matter how much her arms burned—no matter how much her heart ached for those who had fallen—
She would not stop running.