The battlefield was an ocean of silence.
Smoke curled lazily from the remnants of shattered wagons. The air was thick with the scent of blood and scorched earth. Torn flags clung weakly to broken poles. The cries of the dying had long faded. The soil itself seemed to groan beneath the weight of fallen men. Amidst this grim aftermath stood one figure, unmoving—Adam.
For hours, he hadn't stirred.
His armor, once a radiant silver, was now a canvas of dried blood and ash. His sword hung limply in his grip, its blade dulled from endless strikes. His shoulders, broad and defiant, now sagged beneath an invisible burden.
One name haunted the winds: Alexandra.
The final moment looped in his mind like a curse. The boy—eyes wide, lips trembling—not with fear, but with recognition. That fleeting glimmer of connection before Adam's blade drove through his chest. A gasp. A stagger. A life undone.
His son.
A son he never knew. A son he would never get to know.
Adam collapsed to his knees. The earth welcomed his weight with a dull thud. His head lowered, his body trembling—not from exhaustion, but sorrow. Not a single soldier approached. Even the animals stayed away. The winds no longer howled. They whispered.
It was then he heard it.
A shuffle. A fragile sound breaking the stillness behind him.
His grip tightened on the sword. He turned slowly.
A woman stood cloaked in black. Time had aged her, silver streaks lining her hair, but her eyes…
He knew those eyes.
"Lucia?" His voice was rough, like gravel ground underfoot.
The old maid lowered her hood. Tears already streamed down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Yes, Adam."
His jaw clenched. "Why are you here?"
"To tell you the truth. The truth you should've known long ago."
He didn't speak. Just stared, blood drying on his brow.
She stepped forward, every inch of her weighed with regret. "I wanted to tell you years ago. But she made me swear... upon my life."
"She?" His voice cracked.
"The Queen. The woman you met at the candy stall."
Adam blinked. A memory surged—the young woman with stolen sweets, her laughter bright, her eyes alive. A meeting that changed his life, yet was cloaked in mystery.
Lucia nodded slowly. "Yes. That day in the market. You paid for her. You smiled. And she... she fell."
His heart stuttered.
"She followed you," Lucia continued. "Snuck away from the palace just to see you. She wore peasant clothes, braided her hair like a commoner. She said you made her feel human. Not a pawn. Not a princess. Just... loved."
His eyes burned. He remembered the stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the heat of that small apartment where she had made him soup and kissed him like it was the only truth she knew.
Lucia's voice quivered. "That night… in that hidden home… you gave her a piece of your soul. And she never let it go."
Adam lowered his head, pain knotting in his chest.
"But Malik's spies were always watching. They saw everything. They reported back. He… punished her. Banished her. Took her title, her dignity. But she never once cursed your name. Never."
He whispered, "She bore my child?"
Lucia reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, weathered pendant. Inside, a drawing. Faded, delicate—A woman. A child. And beside them, a man with sharp eyes and kind hands.
Adam.
"She gave birth to a boy. Alexandra. She raised him in secret, away from the politics, away from the pain. She filled him with honor, courage... and love. But Malik… he waited. He twisted everything. He poisoned the boy's mind. He told Alexandra that his father was a traitor. A murderer. A demon in human form."
Adam staggered back. His breath left him. A storm raged in his eyes.
"He wanted you to fight. He wanted you to kill your own blood. And you did."
A scream erupted from Adam's chest—raw, primal. The heavens themselves seemed to tremble. He fell forward, pounding the earth with his fists. Blood seeped from his knuckles, mixing with the dirt.
"NOOOO!"
His sobs came in waves, shaking him like a wounded animal. Lucia dropped beside him, clutching the pendant to her heart.
"He didn't know. Alexandra died hating you. But he didn't know the truth. Neither of you did."
Adam's eyes were wild. Haunted. "I killed my son... I killed him."
Silence gripped the battlefield once more.
Then slowly, painfully, Adam rose. His body groaned, but his spirit began to ignite.
He looked to the sky, tears streaming down his scarred face. "Forgive me... both of you. I swear... I will make this right."
He turned to Lucia. "Why now? Why tell me this now?"
Her voice was a whisper. "Because the storm is coming. And before you destroy the kingdom, you deserve to know the truth."
Adam's gaze turned cold. Focused.
"Malik will pay."
Lucia nodded. "Then I will help. I know the palace. I know the secret tunnels. And I know his deepest fears."
The wind stirred.
Adam looked to the horizon. Fire glinted in his eyes.
Lucia had just finished speaking, her voice trembling with the weight of years-long secrets, when the sharp twang of a bowstring sliced the air.
Thwip!
Adam's eyes widened—but it was too late.
The arrow struck Lucia straight through the chest.
Her body jerked backward, collapsing into Adam's arms. Blood poured from the wound as she gasped for air, her lips trembling.
"No... No, no—Lucia!" Adam caught her, his hands pressing against the wound as if sheer will could stop death itself. "Don't do this. Stay with me! Please... please don't leave me too."
Her hand rose weakly, trembling as it touched his cheek. "You... were always... a good man..."
And then, the light faded from her eyes.
Adam froze.
Then slowly, he turned his head toward the direction the arrow had come from—his eyes now a storm of wrath.
A small group of soldiers emerged from the woods—Malik's men, armored and cocky, expecting to find an old woman and a broken man.
What they found was death.
Adam rose slowly, laying Lucia's body down like a sacred relic. Then, without a word, he drew his sword.
The air changed.
One soldier charged forward.
In a flash, Adam moved—steel whispered, and the man's head rolled across the ground.
Another lunged with a spear. Adam sidestepped, grabbed the shaft mid-air, snapped it in two, and drove the jagged end through the attacker's neck.
Screams. Blood. Chaos.
Within moments, five of Malik's men were reduced to twitching corpses on the battlefield.
Only one remained.
Terrified. Kneeling. Bleeding from the shoulder.
Adam grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against a tree. "Who sent you? Who gave the order?"
The man groaned, refusing to speak.
Adam's voice was cold steel. "You'll talk. One way or another."
He dragged the soldier back to camp, where the silence of death still lingered. What followed was not mercy. It was methodical. Ruthless.
Torture.
Cries rang out into the woods—desperate, broken cries. But Adam didn't flinch. Every scream was for Lucia. For Alexandra. For the Queen. For himself.
After an hour, the soldier sobbed like a child. "It was the Captain!"
Adam narrowed his eyes. "Name."
"Ezekiel..." the man gasped. "Captain of the King's Guard. He ordered it... said no loose ends. The King knows you're alive... and he's scared."
Adam stared at him for a long moment.
Then—without a word—he drove his blade through the man's chest.
Silence.
He wiped his sword clean.
That night, Adam buried them.
Lucia. The Queen. Alexandra.
He found a quiet hill overlooking the river—the same place the Queen used to dream of taking her son. He dug with his bare hands. The earth beneath his nails tore, but he didn't stop until the graves were finished.
He laid them to rest—one by one—his hands trembling, his eyes hollow.
At the head of each grave, he placed a stone.
On the Queen's: "She loved without chains."
On Alexandra's: "Son of Adam. Lost to lies. Forgiven forever."
On Lucia's: "The loyal. The brave. The last voice of truth."
Then, with the moon watching, Adam knelt before them.
"I failed you all. But I will make this right. I swear it."
He stood.
And as the wind howled over the graves like a mourning song, Adam walked away.