Sleep had claimed me without permission, dragging me down where I had no business being. The weight of exhaustion pinned me to my desk, my head buried in the crook of my arm. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of rain, seeping through the half-open window. It clung to my skin, damp and suffocating, filling my nostrils with that muggy, earthy aroma that lingered after a storm. My hair was a tangled mess, strands sticking to my forehead—I hadn't bothered to care for it in days.
Even through the haze of half-sleep, I felt it. The faintest sound. The door handle twisting, hesitating as if whoever stood on the other side was unsure whether to enter. The click was soft, almost apologetic, followed by a pause that dragged a breath too long. My senses stirred before my eyes did, and when they finally fluttered open, I was met with a sight that stirred something deep within me.
She stood in the doorway, framed by the dim glow of candlelight. Long, jet-black hair tied neatly into a ponytail, a few loose strands falling across her face. Her dress—modest yet elegant—hugged her frame, the pristine fabric of a maid's uniform somehow doing nothing to diminish her grace. But Eleanora was no ordinary maid. No simple servant attending to the whims of royalty. She was so much more.
Her green eyes met mine—calm, steady, and yet, I saw what lay beneath. The dreams she carried, the aspirations that burned quietly behind her gaze. It was for those dreams that I had fallen. The freckles that dusted her pale skin, the fullness of her lips that I had kissed a hundred times over in my mind… even now, half-lost in sleep, I couldn't help but be captivated.
My body was heavy, unresponsive, but I fought against the weight pressing down on me. My eyelids fluttered, threatening to close once more, but then—She moved closer.
Eleanora crossed the room in silence, her steps as light as a whisper. The chill that clung to my bones was banished the moment she draped a thick blanket over my shoulders. The warmth seeped through instantly, and with it came a different kind of heat—one that stirred in my chest, spreading through my veins. She didn't speak. Her fingers brushed against my face, lifting my head with such tenderness that it made my throat tighten. I felt the dampness on my chin, the evidence of my restless sleep, but before I could react, she wiped it away with a cloth, her movements careful as if I were fragile enough to break.
And then... she smiled.
A smile that could shatter kingdoms. Soft, genuine, and filled with a warmth that pierced through the fog clouding my mind. My eyes, which had been fighting to stay open, found new strength. I blinked, forcing away the last remnants of sleep, and when I finally saw her clearly—I was breathless.
Eleanora. My beloved Eleanora.
The woman who had been by my side since childhood. The one who had watched me grow, stood beside me through the storms of politics and power, and yet, despite everything... she had stayed. And now, as if fate itself had blessed me, she was more than just my head maid. She was my wife. My heart.
I felt the weight in my chest loosen, the ache of sleepless nights fading in her presence. With effort, I pushed myself upright, the blanket slipping down slightly as I reached for her hand. My fingers found hers, slender and delicate, but steady—always steady.
I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles with reverence, as though I were touching something sacred. Her skin was cool against my lips, but the way she stiffened, the faint hitch in her breath... I noticed it all.
Her gaze wavered, her composure faltering just enough for me to catch the bashfulness in her eyes. And yet, despite her attempt to remain composed, I saw a faint blush blooming across her cheeks. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.
Eleanora's smile faltered, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly as she tried to pull her hand away, but I wouldn't let her. Not yet. "Eleanora…" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and dry. "How long have you been here?" "Long enough, my prince," she whispered, her voice as soft as silk, but I could hear the worry behind her words. "You've been sleeping for too long. I was... worried."
"Worried?" I rasped, my thumb absently brushing over her knuckles. I tried to smile, but my lips barely cooperated. "Since when do you worry about me?"
"Since always." she retorted.
She tried to say it lightly, but I felt the truth behind her words. She had always worried. Even when I was too foolish to notice. "You shouldn't," I mumbled, my grip tightening just a little. "I'm not worth losing sleep over."
Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, her eyes faltered. I knew it was immature of me, and it was a slip of the tongue, but I shouldn't have. "Someone has to," she said softly, but there was no bite this time. "You never seem to."
I let out a weak chuckle, dry and tired. "Maybe because I know you'll do it for me." "Don't be an ass." She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "Can't help it." I gave her a small grin. "It's part of the charm."
"Charming isn't the word I'd use." She shook her head, but I caught that hint of a smile she was trying to hide. "Come on." I nudged her gently. "Admit it. I grow on you."
"Like a fungus," she muttered, but this time, I heard the warmth in her voice. "Better than mold," I murmured, my thumb brushing lightly over her hand.
She went quiet for a moment, her eyes dropping to where my fingers traced lazy circles along her skin. Then—"You were talking in your sleep."
That stopped me cold. My heart skipped. "What?" My surprise extended itself.
"You kept saying my name." Her voice was quieter now. "Did I?" I tried to play it off, but the way my throat went dry gave me away. "Don't do that." Her eyes lifted, locking onto mine. "Don't lie to me."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn't remember the dream—just flashes—but I didn't need to. I knew what it was. I knew who it was. "You," I whispered before I could stop myself.
Her breath caught, and for a moment, neither of us moved. "You shouldn't say things like that," she murmured, her gaze falling to where my hand still held hers. "Why not?" My thumb traced another slow circle. "When it's true?"
"Because…" Her voice faltered, her fingers curling just slightly against mine. "Because it's not fair."
"Fair?" I echoed, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. "Eleanora, when has any of this ever been fair?"
Her lips pressed together, and I could see it—the way she was trying to hold back, to build those walls again. But I wasn't letting her. "You deserve better," she murmured, barely audible. "And yet," I said softly, leaning in just enough for my forehead to brush against hers, "you're still here."
Her breath hitched, and I felt her grip tighten. She was so close. So damn close. "Don't do this," she whispered, but her voice was barely holding together. "I'm not doing anything." My lips brushed against her skin. "I'm just… tired, Eleanora. Tired of pretending I don't—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked this time.
I pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. And there it was. That ache. That longing. She already knew. "I can't stop," I whispered. "Not when it's you."
Her lips parted, but no words came. The space between us felt too small, too heavy with everything we weren't able to say. "You're an idiot," she murmured finally, her voice barely above a breath. "Yeah." I gave her a crooked smile. "But I'm your idiot."
"Gods," she muttered, shaking her head, but I saw the tiniest twitch of a smile. "You like me that way." I said between an exaggerated gasp.
"Unfortunately." she added.
Her breath brushed against my lips, and I felt her walls crumbling. "Stay," I whispered, the plea slipping out before I could stop it.
Her eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, I thought...
Maybe the rain wouldn't come.
Blood.So much blood, it felt like I was drowning in it. I could feel it pooling around me, staining my clothes, seeping into the earth beneath me. It was thick, sticky, suffocating. The pain in my stomach was unbearable, sharp like a thousand knives twisting inside me. My vision blurred, my thoughts frightened.
"Where's my top hat? What happened? Why am I lying here?" Why does it feel like something's missing?
I forced myself to move, but my body wouldn't obey. My hands trembled as I tried to push myself up, and that's when I saw it. My waist—"my fucking waist!!"—was gone. There was nothing but raw, pulsing muscle and intestines spilling out, dripping down my body like something from a nightmare. The blood poured from me like a broken dam, running in rivers, spilling across the cobblestones. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. My throat was clogged with the taste of iron, choking me, as if every breath was being stolen from me.
"No... No, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen."
I was supposed to be happy. I was supposed to have a life with Eleonora—she was waiting for me, I promised her I'd come back. I promised I'd make it back, I promised...
My body felt numb, the pain spreading like wildfire, searing through every inch of me. My hands, shaking, scraped at the ground, trying to push myself forward. My legs—no, my stumps—barely moved, my body dragging itself across the stones with each agonizing inch. I couldn't stop. I couldn't give up. I had to move.
I had to get to her.
My fingers curled into the cobblestones, slipping in the blood, but I kept going, one push at a time. I didn't care if it hurt. I didn't care if I was dying.
I just wanted to see her.
Every movement felt like an eternity. Each push made my insides tear further, made my heart scream in agony. But I moved I had too.
I saw them. People, carriages, help. They were so close. Oh So close.
I could hear them now, the sound of footsteps, the murmur of voices, the clatter of carriages rolling by. Someone had to see me. Someone had to help me. I was so close. I could reach them. I could... make it.
With a final, desperate effort, I stretched my hand forward, the cobblestones cold and slick beneath my fingers. I was just... just past the alley. I could hear them, so close. So close. I outstretched my hand my voice escaped in a shallow yelp.
"HEL-!"
But before I could reach the street, I collapsed. My hand slipped, my body giving out, and I fell. I fell face-first onto the cold stone, the world spinning around me, the sickening sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. My skin was slick with blood, every breath ragged and shallow. I tried to speak, but nothing came out except a wet, choking gasp.
"Eleonora," I whispered, my voice cracked, broken, barely a breath. "I'm sorry... I'm so... so..."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Someone shouted, their voice cutting through the Alleyway. "Your final words are so damn loud!"
Amid the pouring rain and the dying man's heartbeat thundering in his chest, Leandro could hear the heavy footsteps of someone approaching. Each step felt like it was measured against the rapid pounding of his own pulse, his blood spilling out of him in thick, relentless waves. He couldn't see clearly through the haze of pain and rain, but he felt a hand grab his collar, lifting him with eerie ease. The voice that followed was detached, almost bored, like someone casually observing the grim spectacle in front of them.
"You're going to die here," the voice remarked, the words soft but cutting through the noise around them. "But since you're not the only one in this city who's in danger, I'll grant you one final wish. Anything you want, dipshit?"
Leandro barely had the strength to respond, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. His body was broken, mangled beyond recognition, yet something inside him refused to die just yet. "Why are you helping me?" he croaked, his throat tight, his vision darkening at the edges.
The stranger sighed, a long, exasperated sound, as if their patience was already running thin. "Because, like I said, you're loud as shit. And frankly, I need directions out of this hellhole. The whole damn city's being overrun by its own military—kind of funny, if you ask me."
Leandro's mind swirled in confusion, his stomach burning with every breath. His vision flickered, his body trembling under the weight of his injuries. "Wait… there's been more than one attack?" His words felt slow, distant, as if he were already drifting away.
The stranger's response was sharp, angry. "Hurry up! What do you want? I don't have all day! I'd rather be a little less dead than you right now, so get to it."
The words barely made sense to Leandro, but something inside him latched onto one thought. His wife. His love. The one person who kept him tethered to this world.
"Eleanora," he whispered through cracked lips. "Bring me to my wife."
The stranger paused. For a long, eternal moment, there was silence. Then, with a grunt, they nodded, as if agreeing to a deal that had little meaning in the grand scheme of things.
A few minutes passed. Leandro wasn't sure how long he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness. He wasn't sure if he was still alive or if he'd crossed into whatever hell awaited him. But somewhere between his fading vision and the pull of death, he felt himself being carried—his broken body cradled by the stranger, who moved with an unnerving speed.
They reached an estate, a grand building with a second-floor window glowing faintly in the darkness. The stranger, with Leandro still limp in their arms, knocked on the window, the sound sharp and abrupt against the silence of the night.
The window opened, and Eleanora's face appeared, her eyes searching the darkness. When her gaze landed on the windowsill, she froze, her fingers trembling as she reached out, picking up Leandro's top hat, turning it over slowly, as if looking for some sign that everything might still be okay.
Her eyes then fell to the steel wedding band, glinting in the dim light. The dried blood clinging to the metal was unmistakable. It struck her like a blow to the chest, stealing her breath and breaking something inside of her.
Eleanora's hand shook as she gripped the hat, and for a moment, she stood there, still as stone, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, as if the weight of the world had collapsed on her all at once, she sank to her knees. The top hat slipped from her fingers and fell, tumbling into the street with a soft splash into the puddles of rainwater. The reflection of the streetlights shimmered off the dark surface as the hat lay there, abandoned.
Leandro's eyes fluttered, and for the briefest moment, he thought he saw her face, crumpled in grief, her expression twisted with the unbearable weight of loss. His heart broke, and a soft whisper escaped his lips, the words slipping through like a prayer.
"Eleanora…"
Her sobs shattered the night, raw and jagged, each breath torn from her chest as she wept, her body trembling uncontrollably. Her cries rang out through the empty street, drowning in the thunder of the storm and the chaos of the city falling apart around them. Leandro's world went dark, and in his final moments, he could only hope—hope that she would be safe, that she would live through this nightmare.
The stranger let out a hefty sigh, the sound heavy with something that almost resembled sorrow for the dead man. With surprising care, they lifted Leandro's mangled body and propped him upright, as if granting him one final moment of dignity. Then, without a word, the stranger removed their cloak and draped it over the corpse like a tablecloth—perhaps to preserve the body, perhaps as a silent gesture of compassion or remorse. But it wasn't that.
It was human decency.
A fleeting, fragile attempt to offer respect in a world that had long since forgotten the meaning of it. The stranger stood there for a moment longer, eyes lingering on the lifeless form beneath the fabric, before finally turning away.
The footsteps echoed softly at first, muffled by the endless downpour. Each step landed with a muted squelch as the stranger's boots sank into the wet cobblestones, water sloshing beneath every calculated movement. Puddles rippled outward, disturbed by the weight of each stride, sending tiny waves skittering across the uneven stones. The rain fell harder now, drumming against the pavement like a thousand tiny hammers, yet the sound of those steps remained distinct—steady, unhurried, but with a single purpose.
The sound of footsteps grew softer as they approached the edge of the alley, where the streetlights flickered, barely piercing the veil of rain and smoke hanging in the air.
Then, just as the silence of the night threatened to swallow everything whole, the stranger spoke again.
"Time and time again, humanity proves itself incapable of change, incapable of breaking the cycles they create. And because of this… they fail, over and over. However I can change, and tonight so does this world."
The stranger moved through the ruined, chaotic city, where hundreds of voices screamed into the night, clinging to the desperate hope that this was all just a nightmare. Men in armor, sworn to protect these people and their homes, had instead began butchering the young, the elderly, and the sick without a flicker of conscience. It was for that reason this stranger would upset the balance. People crowded the streets, their bodies pressed together as they searched for answers that would never come.
They all desperately wanted to escape through the city's east gate.
Bodies were trampled, the sick and wounded crushed beneath the chaos. Children were lifted high, held above the masses as if offering them to the heavens for salvation.
The stranger pushed through them like water slipping through cracks, until he reached a horse-drawn carriage toppled and consumed by flames.
Surrounding it stood men in armor, their shoulder plates engraved with the head of a lion, and their banner—a deep cerulean—fluttered lifelessly in the heat. Beneath the burning cart, a woman clutched a child to her chest, her body curled protectively as if she could shield them both from the inevitable.
The screams grew louder, merging into a single, haunting wail—and in that moment, as the flames cast flickering reflections of the chaos, the stranger's face was finally revealed.