Fervor flames light this now warm winter night. The blood of those who didn't keep their promise and those who stood in her way stains the white snow. A red river begins to form behind her as knights continue to fall one by one or by groups. She doesn't care and no one could withstand her rage.

What a tragedy that they didn't expect this of her; they underestimated how serious she was. How could they? It was a promise made to her! A vow she endeavored to be worthy of. Her name is a testimony of what her fate is! If all it takes is something as small as an impulse for him to forget their fate, then they should forgive her for being impulsive as well.

Smoke envelopes the sky with the large bonfire created by the wooden structures of the western wing of the Wydellian Imperial Palace, the stars hidden from those who'd wish for hope.

Red hair, tall, tanned and muscular. The woman chuckles, a grin plastered on her face as she sees the light fade in the eyes of her enemies. The Silverion knights.

Are they not who they said could protect the empire? Aren't they the ones who were supposed to stop her? Mere ants ready to die under her heels——— the fire reflecting on her green eyes twinkles a sadistic glint.

The northern wing is now catching fire, it bursts in flame, the walls crumbling to the ground. The ruins of the empire that turned their back on her would be spectacular! But it shall not fall on her just yet. Not when the promise is for her to sit upon its throne.

Chaos ensues, civilians and nobles that are inside the imperial grounds during her one-woman assault scrambles to run away. Soldiers and brave idiots charged against her to protect those who can't defend themselves as she stood awaiting it all, with her weapons to her side, looking down on their small figures.

The tall woman takes a dull gray gem from her pocket, tosses it in the sky, picks up her greatsword that is almost as tall as her and swings it. One clean and fast sweep carves through six men charging. Three are cut perfectly in half, some tried to dodge and got imperfectly cleaved. Blood splatters everywhere, staining a small spot on her face. The gems fell on the snow with a soft stump. She kneels to pick it up, sees a knight in the reflection, at the sides shielding children from falling debris.

She makes her way to him. He doesn't notice her approach. Her hair blends with the fire.

Kicking the knight to his side, not enough to trip him over but enough to make his job difficult, she towers over him. The last of the children flee as the knight moves to tackle the woman in place.

Keep her, for even a second, until more help arrives, he thought.

"You think they're safe?" She whispers in his ears.

She smashes the gem down his throat. He gagged, his hands reaching to stop her but it's suffocating him. He thrashes, attempting to cough it up. His hands gripped his throat as the veins in his neck swell.

"Know that not even these last seconds of your life could shield them from their demise. Their blood reeks of betrayal and soon they shall all follow you."

The gem in his throat glows. Gradually, the man becomes limp, his body falling flat on the snow with his mouth gaping wide open. His eyes reflect the horror of his last minute as well as the silhouettes of people charging towards his murderer. Sunniva slits his throat, plunging in her hand to retrieve the gem. Now in its new form, a magnificent crystal pink that sparkles red against the flame.

"An artist," she hums. "Well, your blood does look like an artwork."

"Stop right there!" Out in the distance, a man with two scars on his face bisecting each other commands. Dark-haired, tanned, and tall. The distance clouds his eyesight of the entirety of the massacre; the woman turns her whole body to him. Her hands grabbing the pole of the giant warhammer standing tall where she left it and the great sword on her other hand.

"The De Marcos are gone. Such shame for they'd have protected me if they did," she tells the man. "But I kept my promise, didn't I? No Glasse with self-respect shall dare collude with the scums that protected this corrupt regime."

"Put an end to this, Sunniva. Enough of this madness!" The man roars, the flames behind him growing bigger in intensity. The knights of her estate throw snow to calm the raging beast down. But neither the fire nor her can be stopped. Not after all this time.

"I have," She shifts her weight, leaning against the warhammer.

The man's will falter, his eyes flickering as he sees her atop the snowy hill. A dead soldier at her foot, two weapons of destruction by her side, a satchel of magical gems she used to orchestrate this whole thing tied around her waist and her hands soaked in blood. A beautiful sight of a warrior he would've been proud of. If it were not for the kind of honor she fights for. If it were not for the reason she fights altogether.

"I will not raise my sword against you, my dear."

"Do not mock me with sympathy." Sunniva hisses. "The Empress is dead. Her soul is in my hand. By tomorrow or so, the marriage between our family and the Silverion will make it so that I am given what I've been promised! Empress Sunniva! The sun has claimed my birth and you, who named me, know that this is what I am owed. This is how I'll end this! This is how the Glasse Duchy should've ended this! Raise your sword! I've no use for a man who lets others disrespect him nor his daughter! Prove your worth to me, father!"

Abandoning the hammer, Sunniva dashes forward. The knights behind her father are ready, marching in front of the Duke while the man stares down on his own daughter. He raises his own sword to stop further bloodshed from innocent men, women, and folks who pledged their life in allegiance to his duchy.

"Enough of this foolishness!" The Duke's voice booms, drowning the sound of soldiers rushing down on a Sunniva that is dancing through the battlefield.

Her swords spinning and slicing clean cuts on the necks of every soldier. Each movement with grace and elegance, striking only where it needs to strike. Metal sword gliding against metal armor if need be, but the only mark on her weapon is the weakness of the armors she saw daily as the only Lady of the Glasse Duchy.

One, two, three soldiers fell before the Duke ordered a halt on the attack. None of his soldiers listening as those who're with him are those who will fight for the empire that they believe in. Sunniva knows this, it delights her that this is how predictable they are. Mindless to a fault for what is loyalty after all?

Before another life can be taken, the duke grabs her hand that is holding the sword, but with his large size, it's all too easy for her to maneuver away from it. She twists, she turns, and she takes daggers out of her satchel. Throwing it nowhere in particular if you're not paying attention. But all of it aimed precisely in between the eyes of all the soldiers. None of that matters, though, as the Duke himself deflected all the daggers away from their targets with his mighty sword.

"I said enough!" He raises his hands, a metallic glove protecting it, and slams it directly at Sunniva.

She shields herself with her own sword. A sharp grating sound pierces the air as the Duke's gloves slide down, scratching the surface of her blade. He raises his elbow, slamming it down on the blade. Sunniva staggers, her knees falling to the ground. The vibration from the slam numbs her hand, she drops her sword. Soon all the knights of her house surrounded her, the tip of their swords pressed around her neck. If any movement occurs, she'll bleed right there.

She looks up to his father, the flames reflecting his tired eyes. He looks at her exactly how a loving father would at a daughter who lost her way. Disappointed.

Sunniva spits at his emotion, "you know how to end this."

She lowers her head, the sword in front of her falters as if afraid to harm her. As if she hadn't caused destruction, the knights still view her as their lady. The knight holding the sword looks to the Duke, unsure of what to do as the person responsible for all this pain has become amicable. Surely, the mastermind of bombing the left-wing of the palace, the murder of the Empress, and the kidnapping of the Crown Prince Nikko isn't this easy to subdue. Surely there is something else to this.

"You'll be sentenced to jail." The Duke says, he plunges his sword to the ground, taking out a shackle from his belt.

Sunniva shot up. A blade from a sword cuts the side of her neck.

"I committed treason! Not some petty thievery! Do not insult me!"

"You are my daughter! I refuse to harm you." He grabs her hands, locking one but as he attempts to lock her other hand, she pulls her father forward, the knight behind her pulls their sword away, afraid of hurting the Duke. Her father attempts to catch his footing but Sunniva grabs his legs, tossing it over as he slams down to the ground. With ease, she slides down the snow, to take her sword.

Knights rush towards her. Her father picks himself up, adjusts himself to see what her next move will be. Sunniva scatters the snow around her, impeding the knight's vision. They thrash wildly though blind and Sunniva can dodge them with ease. A random soldier knicks her shoulder, she hisses in pain but continues. As the snow settles, the knights watch as a circle of various colored gems encircled her.

Blood drips from her wound, soaking the snow. It inches its way to one of the crystal pink gems before winding towards the other ones. As the blood slowly trails the snow, each of the gems glow. The blood then carves around all the gems next to it, lighting the whole circle in various colors. A kind of magic none of them have seen.

"You know full well this will not end with me alive," Sunniva looks at her father. "You've cursed this nation for loving me."

He dares not to look. He dares not to see the person in front of him. Where could he have gone wrong? Which part of her childhood did he fail her? He knows... and it almost seemed unfair that he's the one in this circumstance.

"Any of you who dare enter which bears not our blood will die." Sunniva threatens. "Enter the ring, father. I shall end this for you."