CHAPTER 1 - The Child With The Rope

Hundreds of years before the Succession War that would change the Avallon Empire forever.

During a time remembered as “The Dark Age”, 

A young girl raised an empire from frost and ashes, giving meaning to the northern part of the world.

Although her name was long forgotten, 

Her feats were passed down from generation to generation, 

The Root of Cure, 

The Linguist,

The Sun Heiress, 

This is the founding myth of the Avalon Empire

This is the story of The First Queen:

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**

A carriage trailed on broken paths, inside sat a young girl with too-fine clothes for the frost.

Her eyes followed the falling snow that covered the entire evergreen pine forest with a thick coat of heavy, pure white.

On her lap, her slightly trembling hands tightly held a hangman’s knot.

They have been moving for a while, but she has yet to see any signs of civilization or any change in the scenery.

Her gaze travelled through the carriage, two maids and the nanny sat beside her, still and quiet like furniture, and her golden eyes soon returned to the window.

The world passed outside in a blur, when she heard the harsh cry of a bird.

The rain hit the ground heavily, like the footsteps of people gathering around the execution square.

“My people! We have reunited here tonight, to deliver justice!”

On the wooden platform, a man dressed in all black lifted his voice above the storm, chanting each word as if he were narrating a play while smiling.

But his words were lost, as the little girl’s gilded eyes could only focus on the raven sitting at the man’s shoulder.

As if she focused enough, the bird would turn to her and tell her that she was dreaming, that this was all a nightmare. 

“Close your eyes.” the nanny behind her whispered. 

The girl stopped breathing and did as commanded, the world became even darker.

But she still heard the crowd gasp, the heavy footsteps on the wooden platform.

And the raven’s, harsh, continuous croaks, 

one,

after, 

another. 

Like laughter. 

“Young Lady, we have arrived.”

The girl flinched.

“My lady?”

The coachman outside the carriage looked embarrassed, his extended hand was pending in the air for a while now.

The little girl softened her surprised expression, before standing up and holding the coachman’s hand to step down the carriage. 

Before her, a large stone mansion stood out amidst the snow like a black dot on a white paper, its size hitting at what could have been a glorious past, but now, the dark house was nothing more than a shadow of its former glory. 

“This is preposterous! How can a Duke live in a shabby house like this?!” shouted a maid with blonde hair. “Coachman, are you sure you didn’t bring us to the wrong estate?”

“This is Duke’s Eirenthal current residence, miss, I am sure of it.” 

“How!”

The coachman blushed and scratched the back of his head, but was soon spared by a cold voice.

“Bianca, that’s enough. You are embarrassing the poor man.” said an older woman with a tight bun after putting a heavy bag on the floor. “I apologize for her behaviour, sir, thank you for bringing us safely.”

“It was my pleasure, ma’am.” he bowed, holding his hat near his chest.

While the maids unpacked the carriage, the girl stood still, glaring at the old mansion.

It had broken windows covered by wooden planks and the vines had already completely claimed the first floor. A strong wind seemed enough to bring the whole building down, so Biancas’s reaction wasn’t surprising. 

The girl then lifted her chin, glaring to the grey sky above, it seemed so close, like it would slowly approach the ground and crush everything, herself, the mansion, the maid’s rumbling - all at once. 

Soon, a voice pulled the little lady from such thoughts. 

“Nice to meet you, Your Ladyship.” 

A large old man stood in the middle of the mansion doors.

He looked as haggard as the mansion. Long black hair, streaked with white, was pulled into a low ponytail, he had a full beard in his face. The man wore simple clothes under a thick fur coat held by a leather belt.

“I am Edgar Hale, Duke Eirenthal’s butler.”

He bowed gracefully with a hand over his chest. While he looked disheveled, his movements and the way he posed himself made him look somewhat noble.

The young girl quickly hid the hangman’s knot behind her back.

“Good afternoon, mister, I am…”

****

The girl sank deeper into the wooden tub, arms wrapped around her knees. Warm water lapped against her thin shoulders, steam curling around her brushed back salmon-colored hair as gentle hands scrubbed.

“It surprises me they even have hot water in this ruin,” Bianca muttered, arranging flowers by the tub. “This mansion feels more like a grave than a house.”

Candlelight flickered across the stone walls, throwing shadows over the three maids. Two washed her quietly, while the third folded clothes at the side.

“The Duke must be a monster, like the rumors say.”

The girl’s breath caught. She froze, listening.

“I heard he’s like a corpse—that’s why he hides here in the cold, to keep himself from rotting.”

The brush in the nanny’s hand faltered. “Enough. They say he’s only ill, and prefers the countryside.” Margaret poured warm water over the girl’s hair, rinsing away the soap.

Bianca sniffed. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise, I’ll wither in this frozen wasteland before long.”

A hand, warm and steady, rested on the girl’s shoulder. “We’ll be alright, my lady. Won’t we?”

But no one answered.

***

The dining room was empty, a long wooden table with ten places was the only piece of furniture present, and sitting on the endless large table, was a small girl whose feet didn’t reach the red carpet floor. 

They were supposed to dine together, but the Duke never arrived.

The wind howled outside.

She reluctantly brought the food to her mouth. 

They say he’s like a corpse.

The words haunted her like ghosts, while the meat scratched her throat like sandpaper.

A corpse.

The girl sat the silver fork on the table, while the other hand trembled around the rope on her lap.

“I wish to go to my room now.”

Her voice lowered like a whisper, her gaze fixed to the plate.

“But my lady, you barely-”

“I wish to go to my room now.”

The nanny sighed.

“As you wish, my lady.”

The girl waited for the maid to pull her chair and slightly jumped to get on the floor again, before walking in the door’s direction.

“My lady,” a soft voice called “was the food not to your taste?”

The girl lifted her head, it was the butler from before. 

Her cheeks reddened with shame. 

Am I being difficult?

Her finger fondled with the rope for a second before answering.

“It looked excellent, but… I am not particularly hungry.”

The butler’s gaze stayed on the lowered head little girl.

“Hm…”

“I understand,” he paused for a moment. “My lady, if you are done for the night, may I escort you to your room?”

Walking through the empty stone corridors, the young girl looked awfully small next to the butler, she almost looked like a doll, dressed in black with long salmon hair, carrying a hangman’s knot like a plushie.

“As you can see, my lady, this old mansion is lacking in a number of ways, from structure to manpower. It may not be as comfortable as your house in the marquisite, but please try to bear with it for a while for His Grace's health.”

“Hm…” the girl fiddled with the rope in her hand for a second, “His Grace… is the Duke really sick?”

“Sadly, my lady, His Grace disease is well known here in the North…” the girl noticed the butler’s expression darkened “but despite that, I am afraid it’s incurable.”

He’s dying then…

Her grip in the rope tightened, she looked down as she didn’t know if she should feel sorry or relieved.

Despite her worries, she didn’t have anything left to say after asking that. So both kept silently walking until they encountered themselves standing in front of the room's wooden door.

“My Lady, I shall tell you that His Grace wishes to see Your Ladyship at the soonest opportunity.”

Her golden eyes widened, the butler paused.

“Yet, having journeyed so long, it would be perfectly understandable if Your Ladyship feels fatigued.”

She nodded.

The rest of the evening was quiet. The maids had lightened the fireplace and Margaret now brushed her hair with a pearl adorned brush she brought from the marquisite. While the girl played with the rope in her hands. 

The hand tending to her hair was specially caring, the old nanny, Margaret, couldn’t help but remember when the little lady was so curious that she was always asking questions or looking for somewhere new outside.

But she now only sat silent, staring at the floor, while hugging that filthy hope.

Margaret prayed that time would soften the girl’s grief.

But as she watched the child’s thin fingers close around the hangman’s knot, even she could see it-

Some wounds would never sleep.