The palace burned.
Screams echoed down the marble halls like tortured music, twisted by fire and steel. Blood soaked the once-golden carpets. Portraits of kings past lay shattered, torn by stray arrows and falling stone. Smoke poured from shattered windows as if the heavens themselves wept for Eldara.
Daemon's heart thundered as he sprinted through the smoke-choked corridor, his armor scorched, his blade already red with blood. In his arms, the young Prince Marcus whimpered, too young to understand the war tearing his world apart.
Behind him, Queen Antonia, her gown torn and crown missing, ran barefoot through the wreckage. Her eyes, once regal and serene, were now wild with fear. But her steps never faltered.
They had no time to mourn.
They had no time to breathe.
Because behind them — their kingdom was dying.
"Hurry!" Daemon barked over his shoulder as the walls trembled with another distant explosion. "The royal hall is gone. The soldiers… Edgar… he's—"
"No!" Antonia gasped. "Don't say it! My husband… my king…"
"He gave the royal command," Daemon snapped, his voice thick with sorrow and rage. "And I'll obey it with my life. You and the prince must survive."
Suddenly—CRASH!
A section of the ceiling collapsed just ahead, crushing two loyal palace guards beneath flaming stone. Their screams didn't last long.
"Back! This way!" Daemon shouted.
As they turned the corner, a group of enemy soldiers blocked their path — six men in blackened steel, blood already staining their swords.
"Traitors," Daemon growled.
Without hesitation, he handed Marcus to the Queen and stepped forward, blade in hand, a demon of vengeance in mortal form.
"Stand behind me. No matter what."
The first soldier charged.
Daemon spun—one clean slice. The man's head flew, bouncing across the floor like a ball. Blood sprayed the walls in a fan of crimson.
The second raised his axe. Daemon ducked low, slid forward, and rammed his sword through the man's groin, twisting savagely before yanking it up through the stomach.
Another lunged.
Daemon blocked and punched his armored elbow into the man's throat, collapsing his windpipe before shoving his blade through the mouth from underneath the chin.
"Three down," Daemon muttered, eyes blazing.
The fourth and fifth came together. Daemon roared and charged — one he impaled straight through the chest, the other he grappled, lifted by the throat, and threw into a wall spike. The spike punched through the man's eye socket.
Blood dripped from Daemon's face and armor. He panted like a beast, teeth clenched. "Come on, then."
The sixth ran.
"Coward," Daemon spat.
He turned to Antonia. "We move."
They reached the chapel — or what remained of it. The stained-glass windows were shattered, light filtering through the smoke in fractured colors. Bodies of priests and handmaidens littered the pews, many with throats cut. One still clutched a burned book of prayers.
Daemon smashed the lever behind the altar — the hidden wall groaned open, revealing a cold, narrow tunnel into darkness.
Antonia stood still, trembling, her eyes locked on the inferno behind them. The kingdom she loved, the husband she adored — all turning to ash.
Daemon stepped beside her.
"Your Majesty, we must go."
She gave a final look back — then lowered her head, clutching her son close, jaw tight with silent rage.
"They'll pay for this," she whispered. "All of them."
Daemon nodded, his grip on the hilt tightening.
"With blood."
And with that, they vanished into the darkness — fire roaring behind them, vengeance burning ahead.