Lach's head throbbed as shock pulsed into his veins. He couldn't keep his eyes from that forever horror-stuck face. Nausea riled up in him, but before he could let the content of his stomach right here and there on the cold, crunchy ground, grunts rose into the clear night.

Lach's head snapped to the side. A few silhouettes were progressing in the snow, silver glistening from their body reflected by the moonlight. Soldiers.

The shaken stableman slipped his way onto his feet and raced towards them as best as he could with his worn-out high-ankle boots plunging into the snow. The unforgiven cold bit his cheeks scarlet, and a haze of rash breath came out of his mouth. Despite the trembling of his legs, they transported him with strength and stamina he wasn't aware of possessing until that very moment.

He reached the adjacent wall of the castle, and the silhouettes quickly shaped into royal guards. Nighttime gatekeepers.

"Guards!" Lach screamed, his voice reaching them before his body could. He waved his hands over his head like a drowning man seeking help. The three men turned their heads to him, their hands grabbing the handle of their swords. Lach kept screaming despite the burning of his lungs. Someon- Someone was killed!" His feet kicked onto something hard, and his hands and knees rubbed into the biting snow. He hissed.

Before he could go back on his feet, another silhouette appeared behind the three guards. Two red dots glowing instead of his eyes. The newcomer drew a sword from its scabbard, and Lach froze as he watched the man swing the weapon in the air. The first guard had no time to counterattack as the glistening blade sliced into his throat. He fell like a rag doll, and the other two grunted in rage as they drew their swords.

They attacked simultaneously, but their blades rang as the attacker struck back, his sword stopping each blow without even moving from his place. The guards reenacted, but what Lach saw then made his neck veins pulsate. The attacker caught another blow with his bare hand. Stuck in fear, the guard hadn't had time to process before a punch rose him from the ground and made him land back with a crack. He turned toward the other guard, who started running away, but he launched a blade to his back, and Lach witnessed the blood profusing from his mouth before he fell down like a ragged doll.

Lach couldn't move, couldn't blink, or even lift his fingers from the crystalized ice burning his skin. No, all he could do was stare at the lifeless bodies. His eyes panned up, and two glowing orbs stared his way.

He sucked in a breath and crawled backward until his back hit an icy hard surface -one of the statues scattered across the vast garden. His back flattened against the cold white stone. He jerked his chin up, and the white eyes of the late Queen looked down. He glanced away, peering behind the statue. The man disappeared, and one of the doors was left open.

He glanced around. Silent whiteness welcomed him. He took a breath and propelled himself back on his feet, not without stumbling once or twice -his bone still jittery with the memory of what he just saw. Who was that man? And why was he attacking the castle in the first place? What if he wasn't alone? An icy feeling sank into his stomach. What if they were all inside?

Lach looked over his shoulder. The stable's windows were dark. Only its silhouette haunted the white snow. His heart drummed. He could take one of the horses and leave before the entire place was taken over. Deer-like eyes flashed through his eyes, and the melodious laughter besieged his chest. His lips pressed together. He couldn't leave like that. Not without trying-

"All the entrances are taken." A voice rose.

Lach's body tensed, and he slipped into a shadowed corner, near the open door. One man had came out of the door.

"Great. What about the royal quarters?" Another grave voice chimed in. Lach leaned forward, the sound familiar.

"Taken care of. We got King Bantu," the first man replied. Lach's eyes widened.

"Her Royal Highness?" Lach sucked in a breath, tension gripping his shoulders.

A frustrated grunt. "We are still looking for her."

Lach's shoulders sagged down, and he grabbed the cold brick for support, preventing his knees from deepening into burning ice again. Relief escaped his lips. They hadn't taken her yet.

"What should we do to them? Should we kill them?" The man questioned. The air was filled with the whistling of the wind and the drumming of Lach's heart as he waited.

"He said. They shouldn't live," the other man replied. Lach's fingers drew white as they tightened on the cold wall. "Find her and kill her. She must not draw more breath before Solstice." Blood turned cold inside Lach. "Or the prophecy will be fulfilled."

A frown deepened on the stableman. The prophecy? What were they talking about?

"I hear something," the man said before the thump of their steps diminished into nothingness. A moment later, a loud clang rang, and on cue, Lach peeked outside from his hideout. No one was left beside the guard's corpses, a thin veil of snow already covering them.

Lach got closer. Vivid blood coated the snow dark, and their eyes were left wide open with a last terror. Lach slowly crouched down, not without shrugging at the horror. He grabbed a sword from one of the man's slacked hands, the skin already bluish and frigid. Death looked back at Lach at that moment and hoped that if the Sun God existed, he would be merciful to them on the other side. He turned his face away as he climbed over the other two bodies to reach the entrance.

He hoped it wasn't too late.

The tunnel was dark when Lach entered. The last time he took it, it was with the Princess during her ceremony escapade. His palm palpated the damp cold wall and found a torch that he quickly lit up before he sank inside the narrow walls, mind wholly scrambled. But one thing he was sure he needed to do was to warn as many people as possible.

The warmth of a smile through rosy, plump lips passed through his mind.

As soon as he could.

A yell surged from the darkness, and he froze, leaning his torch in front of him, casting light a few feet away. Beyond that, it was complete darkness. His fingers tightened around the sword's handle before another yell startled him.

"Who is this?" He cried into the void that echoed back at him. It seemed like someone breathed heavily through the walls, and that sent a shiver through Lach's spine. He raised his sword as he sank with calculated steps into that shady maze.

"Help! Help me! Please!" the acute and imploring scream came from a passage on his left side, and Lach slipped inside it. Soon enough, his light cast over a face drenched in blood, the viscous liquid matting thin grey hair against a wrinkled forehead. Lach's narrowed his eyes before they widened, making up its features under the bloody mask. "Sir?" Lach cried in shock. It was the Steward, the one who threatened to kick Lach out of the ceremony.

Lach smacked his knees to the floor, and the torch echoed as it dropped next to him. It cast a dim hallow of light against the agonizing face, invading by telling tremors. Lach drank in his sight. The blood had already drenched his pale shirt and jacket. The sun embedded in it, colored red.

"What happened?" Lach's hands hovered over him, searching for a wound. The old man's eyes started to roll back behind his skull. "Hey!" Lach shook him by the shoulders, and they rolled back into place.

"They- they-" He spat thick red, leaving his teeth colored and the corner of his mouth dripping. "They attacked us, killed everyone..." he heaved, voice hoarse and sloppy.

"Who did this?" Lach leaned closer as the man's body started to quiver, as if a playful demon had taken possession of his body.

The old man opened his mouth, but only labored breathing answered him back. His greyish skin, like ash, gradually drained of its sparse color.

Lach's hands quivered, still on the man's shoulders. "Wait- Don't!" The tremor spread across Lach's body. "I- I am going to help you..." He drawled out as a river of blood flowed from the old man's side of his stomach. Realization whitened Lach's face, but he wouldn't let go. His palms pressed against his wounded side, still hot liquid slipped between his fingers. The man mumbled something incoherent. "I am here," Lach assured, searching his gaze, but the old's man pale gaze was foggy and unfocused. "You will be fine, all right?"

"Listen." He coughed. "Don't let them have it," Lach frowned. "Don't let them have her."

"What? Who?"

"If they do, we are doomed," he cried. The terror in his gaze met Lach's. "Get out of here before they have you too."

"No. I am going to find help," Lach said as he kept pressing at the wound, glancing around. "Someone help me!" But when Lach looked back at the wrinkled face, life had left his eyes, and his body slowly sagged down against the wall.

Lach stared at the man, his hands still firmly pressing against his wound, his chest heaving, and his eyes unable to tear away from the lifeless face. His bloody hands slowly fell down to the side. He tore a piece of his shirt, which had been spared by the spit of blood, and covered his eyes with it. "I am sorry," he whispered before his face fell, his eyes shadowed by his wet strands, hiding the heaviness of his heart.

A boom echoed inside the tunnel and Lach pushed himself back on his feet. They were going to invade the tunnels completely. He retrieved his sword and torch, whose light halo had diminished.

His blood pump was infuriating when he found one of the maids he had eaten with. Her chest filled with blood, and her blue eyes stuck in sheer terror.

He clenched his jaw and went on his way. It wasn't too late when he stumbled into a cracked door where light peeked from it. Lach peered inside. Large paintings were shattered to the floor, the gold embroidered walls were splashed with blood, and the throne was overthrown.

The Courtroom, where the ceremony had taken place.

Steps echoed into the room, but he couldn't decipher who they belonged to due to the slit view he had. Someone draped in a dark garment from head to toe passed next to the door. It seemed to be the same attire as the attacker earlier. They turned around, glowing red eyes piercing Lach's direction. Lach captured his gasp inside his mouth before he slipped away from the slit, heart thundering like the wrath of a god. He pressed the hope he hadn't been seen between his tight lips.

"What do you want?" An imposing voice boomed, and Lach peered back. His eyes widened as the King was brought into the middle of the room, dragged by two men shadowed in their outfits too, and glowing dots dancing instead of their eyes.

He was pushed to his knees as he struggled with his hands clasped behind him. His forehead glistened with thick pearls of sweat and blood mixing down under his crown.

Steps echoed, and a figure landed before the King. Lach narrowed his eyes, the large and imposing frame of the man and his long dark hair tickling Lach's memories.

"Answer me, Zakrus!" The King spat, and Lach's features spread into incomprehension.

The Commander raised his sword and pointed it at the King, whose stern scowl was unwavering despite the threat hovering over him.

"Everything will be alright if you give us what we want, Your Highness." There was a hint of sarcasm lacing the title.

The King's eyebrows furrowed hard. "What is this all about? Release me immedia-" A smack, hard on the skin, and the King hissed. Lach was startled as if he had received the punch himself.

"I. Give. Orders. Now." The Commander's voice was stripped of all humor and replaced with a dark doom.

The King raised his bruised face. "This is treason to the Royal Crown," he spat, his nose flaring before his face scrunched up in a painful grimace. "You will be hung-"

The Commander chuckled. "Treason? Said the man who is going to sell Ornuv to the enemy."

"The only enemy I see is right before my eyes!"

The Commander's clenched his jaw. "You are the traitor, Bantu."

"You will declare another war if you prevent this wedding. You know it!"

The Commander's lips curled upward as he navigated his blade to the King's neck, making his Adam apple bob. "War sometimes is the price for freedom."

The King's eyes narrowed. "War will doom the population! As the Commander of the army, you know we don't have the means to defend ourselves anymore!" The King yelled. "Mias is our only resource!"

The Commander lowered his unfazed eyes to the man. "That's where you are mistaken, Bantu. We do have the most important resource."

The King heaved in pain. "The Favor is gone. Can't you understand that?"

"I am not talking about this, and you know it."

The King's eyes widened with pulsating anguish. No..." he whispered.

The Commander kneeled down and tilted his face to the side. "Yes."

A volcano erupted on the King's battered face as he launched forward. "You harm her. I kill you." He said with rage spitting from his mouth. "I will take your head and put it on the pitchfork for all the Kingdom to see. You and all your offspring will be cursed by the Sun God." The King's twitching eyes found the Commander's calm ones.

The Commander rose to his feet. "You should have done that before. You should know I will never give up on my country like you." the Commander spat before he swung his sword into the air. It glistened under the chandelier. Lach's gaze was frozen as he watched the blade aiming at the King's neck.

The ripping of skin tore the room with an agonizing scream.

Lach stumbled backward, chest heaving, his sword clanging to the ground.

The King's body slumped down to the side, and the crown rolled to the feet of the Commander, caught it under the plant of his boot.