Year 998 of the Imperial Reign
I was born Agate Gladwyn, a soldier by default in the kingdom of Isen. They say that about ten years before I was born, Isen was prosperous; peasants had enough to eat, and the king was loved by his people. Now, the kingdom, or soon-to-be former kingdom, is in such a state that being born practically means you become a soldier.
I was one of those. My parents, both soldiers, tried to keep me away from the war as much as they could. They assigned me to chore roles, such as cleaning and cooking. They even went so far as to claim I was a girl, dressing me in dresses and calling me their little girl. Looking back, even now, I can't help but cringe.
Eventually, it was discovered I was male. My parents weren't punished harshly, mostly just fewer rations, because I think people pitied them. But it didn't matter. The war took them soon after.
By the time I was nine, I was fighting in the war too, or at least, I thought it was a war then. Looking back, it was more of a resistance than a war. We had no home, moving constantly as the Imperial Kingdom of Volind hunted us. I trained for years, my hatred for the enemy growing, but my skills never improved beyond average. I was never the best swordsman, nor did I have strong magic. Maybe that was for the best; the gifted and the helpless died first. Every battle, every desperate attempt to escape, ended in losing one or two of our strongest soldiers and thousands of the weakest. Yet I always remained, even as our numbers dwindled. Even when the king, once so revered by his people, had died and our soldiers deserted en masse.
This kingdom I was born into, born to defend, even as it was crushed beneath the enemy's boots, no longer exists, not after all the blood spilled by my comrades, my parents, and those I once loved. Even now, as the last fragments of our resistance fight to protect the king's only daughter, our soldiers fall one by one. The battlefield is a graveyard. Soon, it's just her and me.
The enemy soldiers stood in a ring around us. The urgency that once drove them had faded, replaced by a complacent calm. they carried the confidence of one who believed they've already won. And yet, here I stood at the center, drenched in blood some mine, most not shielding the princess.
No. Not a princess. Just the daughter of a fallen king now. I owe her nothing. I should have no allegiance left. I've hardly even spoken to her.
And still, I stand. Defending her with what will, without a doubt, be my final breath.
Another soldier steps out from the circle. I've killed the last few, somehow, but I can't keep going much longer. This one's different, taller by a head, the sword he carries looks like it could split me in two with a single swing. It's nearly my height.
My knees buckle as I force myself forward. The soldiers ringed around us cheer, I lean into my momentum, and drive my blade toward his gut.
He moves. Fast. Brings his massive sword up and bats mine aside like it's nothing. I stumble, almost falling from the deflection, slam my foot into the dirt, grit my teeth, and swing again.
Wild and desperate back toward the giant. He meets it with a clean clash of steel. The impact crashes through my blade, my arms, and down into my spine. My fingers go numb. I'm pushed to my knees. He raises his massive sword overhead. I don't move. I just bring my blade up to meet him, bracing for the end. My sword glances off of his. As it cleaves through my shoulders, wedging halfway into my body. But my blade pushed into his shoulder, buried deep.
As my my vision dims. The man before me slumps to his knees, blood spilling from the gash in his shoulder. Behind him, she appears.
The princess.
Her face is streaked with tears.
A golden light enveloped her body. Around us, soldiers falter."Is... is that a Will?" someone breathes.
The man in front of me even turns around to take in what he's seeing. I hear the rush of footsteps soldiers fleeing from the princess and then I hear her voice:
"I'm sorry, Agate."
My vision was gone. Just darkness, then without warning, warmth. I awoke.
Soft sheets cradled my body. Clean and pure White. Smoother than anything I've ever touched like silk woven by the goddess herself. The scent in the air was plain, unnatural. No ash, no blood, no traces of war.
I tried to sit up. Couldn't. My limbs are too heavy.
I forced my eyes open. The ceiling above me was high, sculpted, and gold-trimmed. A chandelier swayed gently.
I moved or tried to.
Hands rose into view. Tiny hands.
Not mine. Not Agate's.
A baby's.
But maybe most important of all was the window beside me. Its curtain bore a crest deep crimson, a lion mid-roar. I knew it instantly. Unmistakable. House Ascelyn. Of all the noble lines in Volind, none had more blood on their hands. None had done more to destroy Isen. And now, their banner hung in the room where I had been reborn.