ARTIZEA
5 YEARS AGO…
The ground quaked beneath Artizea upon her reaching the center underground chamber of the arena, splitting apart. A formidable beast climbed out from within, standing tall as it gave a hissing roar. It was enormous and grotesque. A lion's mane crackling with static, its snake-like tail snapping and twisting. The air seemed to hold its breath as she stood alone, gripping her lance firmly, her heart pounding. This was her Rite of Challenge, a centuries-old test to prove she was worthy of the Crown Princess title. Not just in name, but in body and soul. She exhaled deeply and moved forward.
The chimera lunged, jaws wide. She ducked low, turning precisely. The onlookers gasped, as one moment she was on the ground floor, next she was mid air, landing on the beast's back, slicing strike as she ran toward its back, if she could cut off its tail, it would have no balance. Her movements felt sharper than ever, smooth and deadly as she landed, only to be knocked off by its smooth maneuver.
Artizea grunted, looking back up. Her vision quickly sharpened—unnaturally so. But something felt off. She saw the pores on the beast's skin and the shimmer of blood in the air. Her body pulsed with heat, her limbs moving instinctively—faster, harder, almost outside her control.
Gilgamesh leaned forward from the royal balcony, eyes narrowing. "She's tapping into it," he whispered to himself.
Below, Artizea's grip loosened. She hardly noticed the sand beneath her boots or the chimera's roar when she managed to strike its side cleanly. Then—darkness. A monstrous roar tore through the area—but not from the chimera. It was from her. Moments later, her body was no longer human. Scales rippled across her skin like living armor. Wings, half-formed and torn with gold-tipped bone, stretched behind her. A tail lashed the earth, cracking stone.
The chimera shrieked as fire engulfed it, writhing in agony before collapsing in a heap of scorched flesh and ash. Spectators screamed, scrambling for the exits. Knights of all classes rushed forward, but their swords melted before they could unsheathe them. From the royal balcony, her mother watched in silent agony. Tears streamed down her face, unable to move. Artizea saw when she fled, she had the will to continue fighting. Her small body was bruised and battered. Voices fading in and out. Until dark.
Then darkness.
Artizea opened her eyes. She was underwater, and she looked ahead to see the sun through the water's surface. She could hear the faded voices of her family, but one was clear: "Artizea!" Her Father's voice boomed through the chaos, "It is me— it is your father." his eyes were wide now, instantly she tried to swim up with a mixture of desperation and pain. Next thing she knew, Chain's links together coiled through the air, attempting to bind her. They wrapped around her, tightening with each wave of struggle. For what felt like hours, the chains held her, slowly draining her strength until she finally yielded.
Artizea's eyes shot open once more. She woke up in her chambers. Her father was at her side. She sobbed quietly, her tears scalding hot against his armor. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I did not mean to—"
"Shh," he murmured, "You are safe now."
From the servants' angle, it almost seemed as though the king shed a tear, maybe even a few. "I will never chain you again. I promise you that," he swore.
Artizea nodded weakly. It was at that moment that she knew what she truly was… a monster.
GILGAMESH
The sound of heavy doors groaning open snapped the king from his thoughts, the echo reverberating through the grand hall. The court fell silent, all eyes turning to the figure entering. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathered courtiers as they caught sight of the first Prince, his clothes smeared with blood, his expression carved from stone.
Arthur strode forward, his boots thundering against the newfound silence. In his hand, a bloodied sack was clutched, which could only mean one thing.
Gilgamesh, seated on the throne, leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as his son approached. "Arthur," he said, his voice steady but edged with curiosity. "What is the meaning of this?"
Arthur stopped at the base of the throne, lifting the sack in one hand. Without a word, he untied the cord and let the contents spill onto the polished floor.
"A Traitor." He said firmly, his gaze never leaving his father's.
The king stared at the gruesome offering, his expression unreadable, but his fingers tapped the arms of the throne in a rhythm. His gaze lingered on the head for a moment before shifting back to Arthur. "Did he beg for his life?"
Arthur's jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I did not give him the chance."
"And….you thought he was not worthy of life…because?"
"—His vows were hollow as was his sworn loyalty to knighthood—" Arthur grunted out. "Sir Eric Quint severed his claim to mercy; he knew the consequences and made his bed with them, as head of the knights, it was my duty to do what had to be done—"
"Does your sister know?"
Arthur faltered; there was a long silence. "She will," he finally replied.
Gilgamesh tilted his head slightly, "If your mother was present to see this—" His voice was calm, almost too calm. "She would say—When one holds a sword against another, you must first understand the weight between life and death.' he paused,"and the extinction of all possibilities."
Arthur's nostrils flared upon remembrance of what the women in the street said, "I heard he fathered a child with his favorite concubine—" Then, another. "Some say the queen still does not know, or worse—she knew… and said nothing."his mother's voice rang. 'Arthur, I ask that you find this girl. She has fallen into misfortune, and it weighs on me. But do not speak of it to your father." He shoved it to the back of his head, but now, raising his gaze to meet his father's once more. He stood his ground. "What good will the explanation of a traitor achieve, when the facts speak for him?"
Gilgamesh leaned back in his throne, one hand idly drumming against the gilded armrest. "I do not doubt the facts. His betrayal was as predictable as it was undeniable. But, your haste, your anger…I wonder if they clouded your judgment."
"My judgment was clear." Arthur's voice sharpened. "He was a threat that had to be eliminated."
A tense silence hung between them, the court holding its collective breath.
Finally, the king sighed, "Very well, you have made your point," gesturing toward the severed head. "Clean this up," he said to the guards, his tone laced with weariness.
Arthur, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword, then looked away slightly as the guards moved to obey. "You will not condemn me?"
Gilgamesh fixed his gaze on his son once more. "No."
Arthur's expression remained impassive, but his fists clenched at his sides. Though his heart was conflicted. He had avenged his sister's honor, but at the cost of a bond that had once been dear to him. "Do you think I made the wrong choice?" His voice cracked slightly.
His Father's expression softened. "It no longer matters what I may think. The decision was not yours to make; however, it was made by you." he paused, always reminiscing. "The choices you make here on out will either damn you or redeem you. The real question, Son. Will you let the guilt or lack thereof chain you to the past or shape you into the man you will become in the future?"
Arthur was conflicted between the words of a man he thought he would never hear in this lifetime and their deep meaning. The room instantly started to spin. He took a moment to steady his mind, then slowly rose, his gaze still fixed on the floor, fighting the urge not to look in the bloodied spot beside him. His thoughts faded to Artizea, hoping that his actions might, in some small way, bring her peace, yet still at the back of his head stood the possibility of his father's mishaps. All he could do was swallow it all down. With a curt nod, he turned and strode out of the throne room, his cape billowing behind him.
The courtiers whispered in hushed tones as the heavy doors closed behind the first Prince, leaving the king alone with the weight of his thoughts and the knowledge that his son's actions had set events in motion that could not be undone.
"Arthuria, what am I to do with them…" he murmured.
ELAINE
Elaine led Stolas into the stables. The forest's scent lingered on her, a mix of earth and pine. She patted Stolas's neck gently before closing the stall gate. When she made her way out of the stables, the low murmur of voices caught her attention. Two knights stood by the tack room, speaking in hushed but animated tones.
"I have never seen the Prince so furious," Sir James muttered.
"Took his head clean off," another knightguard said. "All for the Princess's honor, they said."
Elaine froze, her heart pounding. She leaned closer, trying to catch the moral of their conversation.
"I heard the king knew about the entire affair but chose mercy," another knightguard continued.
"Mercy?" a trainee guard. "The Prince did what any brother or knight would. Now Eric's dead like his traitorous uncle. Piece of shit had it coming," sneered a trainee guard.
Elaine's breath hitched. Eric?
Sir James's hand shot out, fisting around Adrian's collar. His voice was low, dangerous.
"Mind yourself, Adrian. Unless you would like to end up the same."
Adrian shoved him back with a sneer. "What, you think the Prince will name you her guard now? Kiss-ass."
"You think I do not know who told the king?"
"I do not know what you are talking about." Adrian snarled
Sir James's jaw tightened. "A true knightguard does not do this for coin or favor; none of us do. Sir Eric was a hell of a knight-guard, the strongest among us. That is why the Crown Princess chose him, not some weak link, snitch of a guard-in-training. You are not worthy of the title knight, let alone 'Sir.' He slammed a helmet into Adrian's chest hard enough to make him stagger. "I wish for it to be shining by the time I get back, Adrian."
The others chuckled darkly. One by one, the four remaining knights dropped their helmets at Adrian's feet.
"Do not be stingy with the Polish butter," one of them called over his shoulder.
"You know what they say, the shinier the armor is, the more ladies will want to take it off," another knight sang, wiggling his brows.
Laughter echoed as they filed out.
However, Elaine was not laughing. She turned and ran toward the castle, her steps hurried and frantic. Bursting into Her Sister's Chambers, she found her sister seated by the window, staring out at the horizon. "Artizea," she gasped, struggling to catch her breath.
She turned, her eyes narrowing in concern. "Elaine? What is the matter?"
"Arthur—and Eric," Elaine rasped.
"Please, Elaine. I do not wish to hear about Eric," she mumbled.
"Eric is dead!" Elaine blurted out.
The room went still, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. As Artizea's expression shifted, disbelief and anger battled for dominance.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Father wouldn't…"
"The knights—" Elaine said, her voice cracking. "They were talking about it in the stables. It was Arthur..."
Artizea's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. A storm brewed in her eyes. "Where is he?"
Elaine hesitated. "I-i do not know. Maybe the training grounds?"
Without another word, Artizea rose, striding toward the door. Elaine trailed behind, worry etched on her face, for she had never seen her sister like this before. Artizea was not just angry; she was furious.
ARTHUR
The training courtyard was unusually empty that afternoon, the air thick with the promise of rain; she could smell it. At the far edge, she spotted Arthur, standing tall with a wooden practice sword in hand, barking instructions to a group of younger trainees until they paused mid-swing, sensing the storm in her stride.
"Arthur Careful Albion Pendragon!" Artizea called, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
Startled by his full name, Arthur turned at the commotion, his expression shifting from curiosity to caution when he saw the fire in his sister's gaze. "Sister—."
"Don't—" she snapped.
Before he could process the situation, Artizea reached for a rack of real swords, unsheathing one and throwing it at his feet."Pick it up," she said coldly.
The air grew heavy, and the knights around them froze in place, unsure whether to intervene.
"What is this?" Arthur asked
"Pick. It. Up."
He frowned. "Artizea, I do not understand." he looked from the sword to her.
"Bullshit! Did you kill him?" she demanded," Did you kill Eric?"
As the first drops of rain began to fall, Arthur's silence was damning.
"I will take that as a yes," she growled, raising her sword. "Now fight me."
Arthur sighed deeply, bending to pick up the sword. "If this is what it takes to get you to listen—"
Artizea did not wait for him to finish. She lunged, her blade swinging toward him with a force that made him stagger back.
Arthur blocked her strike just in time; their swords clashed with a sharp, ringing sound.
"You had no right!" Artizea yelled, each word punctuated with a strike. "He betrayed me, that was my wound to bear—not yours!"
He parried her blows, his movements more defensive than offensive. "No right? He dishonored you! He betrayed our family! What kind of brother would I be if I stood by and did nothing?!"
"Let me decide what I can endure!" she shouted, their swords clanging together again. "You think I could not take his head if I wanted to? " she spat, stepping closer, her fists clenched. "I could have!"
Arthur gritted his teeth. "But you wouldn't have! That is why it had to be me—He was a disgrace! And you—" He faltered, his voice softening. "You deserve better."
Artizea's strikes became more erratic, her emotions overwhelming her. Memories of Eric's betrayal flashed through her mind, mingling with the fresh sting of Arthur's interference. She pushed forward, forcing Arthur to retreat step by step. Finally, Artizea disarmed him with a sharp motion. His sword clattered to the ground, but he did not move to retrieve it. Instead, he stood there, breathing heavily.
"Say it," she demanded, her voice hoarse. "Say you did it."
Arthur, meeting her gaze. "I did," he said simply. "I took his head and brought it to Father. For your honor."
"You butchered someone I cared about, someone I might have forgiven one day…"
Arthur's eyes darkened. "You would have let him stay here to mock you in secret? Let him linger as a stain on your name? Your forgiveness…is weakness."
"Don't you dare lecture me about my choices, Arthur," she snapped. Her voice lowered. She paused, glaring at him. "The real question is, how are you going to tell her? Will you do it while wearing honor on your cloak? Or will you say nothing at all and let time fix it for you?"
Arthur's expression hardened, but he said nothing.
"That's what I thought." Artizea continued, her voice icy. "You speak of defending the family's name, yet your actions are just as reckless, just as selfish. At least I did not hide behind some righteous excuse to justify what I wanted."
"All I ever do is care for your feelings above my own!" Arthur yelled, "Do you want to know how much he cared for you? He thought of you as a good lay and nothing more! I will not allow anyone to tarnish your name. You are the Crown Princess. You are my duty to protect."
"I never asked for your protection! God! You are just like father—" she said, her voice softer now but no less cutting. "And just like him, you are wrong, you did not do this for me. You did it to satisfy your pride. You always think you know all. You make decisions for everyone else, and everyone is just supposed to live with it, because you know best—" she choked out. At this point, she did not know who she was referring to.
They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the rain filling the space between them.
Artizea's grip on her sword tightened, she raised her weapon, ready to strike, and Arthur did nothing to fight it, but before the blow could land, a commanding voice cut through the tension.
"Enough!" A voice rang out across the training grounds, sharp and unwavering.
Both siblings froze, the sheer authority in their mother's tone rooting them in place as they watched her stride toward them, her expression a mixture of disappointment.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, "One day away from court, and both forget everything I taught you?" Her piercing gaze shifted between them. "Nothing good comes from walking the path of violence! Blood must not always answer anger!"
Artizea, still trembling with rage, lowered her sword only slightly. "He had no right to interfere in my life, Mother.None!"
"I did what I had to… for the family," he muttered.
That makes Artizea's glare almost murderous, raising her sword once more.
Arthuria caught the blade in her bare hands, crimson welling instantly along her palms. Her gaze sharpened. "A family divided cannot rule united."
Artizea's hands shook upon seeing the blood running along the blade. It was then that she finally let the sword fall to the ground. She looked away in shame, her jaw clenched tight.
Arthuria clutched her palm. "Both of you. This ends now," she commanded them both.
Arthur's shoulders sagged, the weight of his mother's words pressing down on him.
Artizea let out a strangled sob, her tears spilling onto the dirt. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the training grounds.
Arthur glanced at his mother, his expression torn between regret and frustration. She shook her head in disappointment. "Fix this," she whispered. Then left the grounds.
As the rain began to fall harder, leaving Him to confront the chasm growing between him and his sister, while reminiscing on fragments of their shared past flashed before his eyes. He remembered the boy who had stood by his side, who had laughed with him, fought with him, and promised to be his knight.
The arena's training grounds echoed with the clash of wooden swords and the shouts of young recruits.
Arthur, then only thirteen, had been sent to train with the royal knightguards as part of his training to take over. Despite his royal status, he was expected to work as hard as anyone else, a challenge he accepted with his usual mix of pride and stubborn determination. It was during one such session that he first noticed a trainee who moved with a natural ease, deflecting strikes and landing counters that impressed even the senior knights. Arthur stepped forward to join a spar with him.
"You sure about this, Your Highness?" The knight asked, his tone playful but respectful enough not to cross the line. "The lad's fifteen."
Arthur grinned, gripping his wooden sword tightly. "Let's find out if age is just a number."
The sparring match was quick and decisive. Within minutes, Arthur was on the ground, his sword clattering away. The victor extended a hand, helping him up with a grin.
"My deepest condolences."
Arthur laughed, brushing the dust off his tunic. "You have a northern tongue. What is your name?"
"Eric Quint, Nephew of the late Sir Lancelot," he replied, slinging his sword over his shoulder.
Arthur tilted his head. "Not exactly a Hero, you are from the migration generation, I take it?"
Eric shrugged. "It was a hell of a war, or so I heard, but it is not about whose steps I follow in, or what I wish for. It is about duty. You of all people should know that." His tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of understanding that struck a chord with Arthur.
"My sister needs a knight like you. I do, too." Arthur said.
From that day, the two became best friends, up until the day before it all fell apart."If anything happens to me," Eric said, almost too quietly, "will you keep Cesealia safe?"
Arthur shook his head at once. "Don't say that. She needs you—"
"I need you— to promise me, Brother," Eric insisted. "Promise me that she will never be alone."
Arthur's chest ached, but he nodded. "Till Death do us part, my vow will remain, Eric Quint."
Eric smiled, "Thank you, Arthur Pendragon."
But as Arthur lay there in the pouring rain. For a fleeting moment, He wondered if things could have been different had he not been swallowed by duty and the choices they had both made. He had dealt with the situation and ensured his sister's name and honor would not be tarnished any further. But the anger in his chest still burned, the betrayal cutting deeper than he cared to admit.
His father's words came into view, "Your haste… your anger…I wonder if they clouded your judgment." Then Eric's "If someone has to bleed, let it be me."
Arthur's tears now fell freely as the consequences of his actions began to settle.