update: scroll to the bottom for artwork!

Behind billowing black clouds, an ominous blue moon shone but no light could pierce through the raging storm. The centerpiece of an old kingdom was under fire, the castle alight with magic from the inside out. 

Flashes of light; blue, vermilion, violet, white. 

People shouting, screaming, chaos sown. 

There was a coup.

The castle halls were thrown into chaos, old allies becoming new foes. Everyone wore the same country colors and spoke the same language. It was difficult to tell in a battle as such who was really fighting who.

Leonel pushed his way through the halls, his heart hammering against his chest, breath heaving, and legs weak. 

As a young man yet to blossom into manhood, it was easy for him to disguise himself as a woman. In a classic maid’s dress, his dark hair was braided into a neat bun and his blue eyes were wild as he scanned for a path through the chaos unfolding in familiar halls. He wore the appearance of a frazzled maid perfectly, dazed and confused.

Torch fire and magelights danced between stone walls and tall pillars. Leonel was used to the castle being rowdy with gossiping ladies and haughty lords. This level of chaos, of violence, was new.

Quickly, he ducked beneath swinging blades and flying magic. Something sharp grazed his shoulder. A man shouted curses before being decapitated by an axe. 

The blood fell onto his dress. The puddles of red caused him to slip. Someone had a spell on their lips, magic unleashed. The silken drapery caught aflame and Leonel almost fell right into it.

He rolled away right before he fell face-first into the fire. Heat licked his shoulders, burning right to his skin but he tumbled until the flames on his dress quelled. Leonel wasted no time. He gave no mind to the squabbling men in the hall. They could kill each other for all Leonel cared. 

No, he needed to go… he needed to… 

Panting heavily he found the narrow winding staircase that led him up the northward tower. He could hear the storm that brewed outside, the heavy rainfall, the roaring thunder, and the violent hiss of chilling winds.

His legs burned and his lungs did too. He needed to run faster…faster…!

“P-Princess…!” Leonel’s hoarse voice croaked, “Please don’t…be rash…!”

…

And the thunder did roar. Crackling. Lightning flashing, rain deafening.

Atop the northward tower, a lonesome figure stood. The dark cape around his shoulders grew heavy with rainfall and his body strained from the black armor that was meant to protect him. His chestnut hair, wet, fell around his tanned visage in waves and his eyes glowed with power; gold.

Beneath his heel was a corpse, freshly killed and burnt to a sizzling crisp. A former friend, perhaps, a favored associate of his once upon a time.

He laughed, and it was a silvery sound, as clear as wind chimes even with the maddening howl of the brewing storm. Footsteps approached from behind. 

Slowly, he craned his neck, peering at the enemy that dared to oppose him.

“Your wretched reign ends here, Amari,” a venomous voice spat. His challenger was one he knew well. Her blond hair was wild and undone, falling around her like a chaotic veil. Hatred was bright in her sapphire eyes; a trait inherited from her ethnic heritage. The dress that she wore, rich maroon velvet, was in tatters. It was once an expensive gift from Amari himself. And in her hand was a royal heirloom, a silver blade that glowed a soft blue. 

King Amari lifted a sharp brow. His smirking expression was alarmingly casual, as though he wasn’t at all concerned. It was as though he hadn’t ingested a whole bottle of poisoned wine. “Dearest consort, Giselle my darling,” he chuckled wickedly, “don’t tell me that you’re the one behind this mess. What do you hope to gain from this buffoonery, hm?”

Giselle snarled. His casual tone and impassive grin only served to stir her rage. “Y-You—! I will purge the world of your evil poison!” With a thunderous roar, she lunged for him.

But King Amari only had to raise his arm, the silver blade caught on his ebony gauntlet and he pushed back against her strength with ease. If Amari was in pain, he made no show of it. He didn’t even seem the slightest bit concerned. A sickening smirk pulled his lips, pointed and condescending. He chided, as though scolding a girl, “Foolish lassie. What do you hope to accomplish by purging me? Did you believe that mankind’s poison would end with me? Then you are disillusioned. Who do you think will sit on the throne once I die? A saint?”

“Shut up!” she howled, teeth grit, “even a pig would be better than you!” With a violent burst of strength, she broke through his defense, knocking Amari off-balance—

Only for a moment.

When she tried to pivot and step in for a thrust, he caught her wrist with ease.

One simple twist and Giselle yelped, her arm pinned against her back. But no matter how hard he squeezed and twisted, she refused to let go of her blade. She thrashed like a cornered wolf, snarling and cursing his name.

Yet Amari’s smile was as calm as an enlightened saint. “Tell me the truth. Why are you so angry, my dear?” he hummed. “Oh? Are you still upset about our daughter?”

“She was my daughter!” Giselle roared, power twinkled in her sapphire eyes and the air around them froze. “And you killed her!” 

Amari only laughed, the magic that sought his life was no better than child’s play. He didn’t even have to lift a finger to call upon vermilion lightning. With a bright flash and snapping thunder, Giselle’s magic completely dissipated.

Bright sparkles littered the air, like snowfall amid the roaring storm. The rain was deafening but all Giselle could hear was Amari’s wretched cackling.

Although her magic was quelled in an instant, she managed to use the moment to worm her way out of Amari’s grasp and chase after him with her blade. 

He danced and weaved through her attacks, amusement twinkling in his golden eyes. “I cannot fathom why you’re so angry. That babe was defective. I only put her out of her misery. It was a favor, don’t you understand?”

Giselle, devoured by wrath, swung wildly. She called upon her magic, turning the air cold, the rain into hail. But none of her attacks struck true. She couldn’t even land a single blow on this villain.

Amari eventually grew bored of his foe, seeing that she was beyond reasoning. With one decisive strike, he caught her sword hand. This time, there was no mercy. One cruel twist was all it took to snap bone. 

Giselle howled in rage and pain. Her mind was going numb. But despite the blistering agony she held on and called upon her mage circuits, drawing power as deep as her life force and—

Thunder cracked; a bright ominous rouge. With a single spell, Giselle’s body went slack. Defeated, without even a chance to unleash her magic. Amari picked her up by the collar of her dress, dragging her to the edge of the tower as though she were nothing more than trash. 

Without much thought or even a word of departure, he held her over the edge and—

“NO!” A sharp anguished cry cut through the howling storm. “DON’T!”

“…” Amari had no heart to mind the pained pleas of a stranger. He let go and Giselle fell.

“Princess!” A frantic voice followed with a mad sprint. Giselle’s little maid dashed madly for her precious princess, diving after with frenzied desperation. 

Amari blinked impassively as he watched the maid dive after his worthless consort. Together, they plummeted into the icy moat below.

Amari sneered. What a waste, he thought. That little maid had quite a pretty face if he was recalling correctly, the one that Giselle brought with her from her homeland. 

A narcissist like Amari could not understand the sentiments of self-sacrifice. He turned his attention to Giselle’s discarded blade and picked it up, testing its balance and admiring the way rainwater trickled down its edges. He could hear a cacophony of voices come from the stairwell. 

Amari drew in a long breath, savoring the scent of autumn rain and rising smoke, copper too. Thunder obscured the sound of stampeding footsteps that approached. It was bloody cold.

“What a beautiful night,” he lamented. “Who is it that wishes to disturb my stargazing?”

A cough threatened to trickle up his throat, Amari could taste blood in his mouth but he swallowed it down. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes and found himself surrounded by his enemies. “Ah,” he hummed, “so you too, desire death at my hands.”

“Amari,” the familiar voice of an old ally spoke with deep emotion; emotion that Amari himself neither understood nor cared about. “You have gone too far.”

Amari sneered. “Says who?”

“…”

No more pleasantries were needed. No more words were said. A battle unfolded, one so epic that it was said to have sliced open the skies and shook the earth.

A crimson star fell that night.

King Amari’s reign finally came to an end.