The Night Before Market Day
The palace of Melandor slept. Only a few candles flickered in the corridors, and even the guards at the gate had turned their gaze to the fire, where the flames traced dreamy patterns.
But there was no peace in the queen's chambers.
Althena sat bolt upright in her bed, the sheets at her feet slipped, her hands clutched around her ankles. Her entire body was drenched in sweat, her skin glistening in the candlelight. Her breath came in ragged gasps, as if she had just traveled a long way. The dream still clung to her like damp mist—not as an image, but as a taste. Iron. Ash. And something sweet she couldn't name.
A voice.
She had heard a voice. Not from within the dream, but from the depths of what came after. From the emptiness between sleep and waking.
"The sun must set."
When Althena opened her eyes, the familiar darkness of her bedchamber awaited her. Instead, she saw movement at the foot of the bed.
Nela, her maid, stood motionless in the shadows. Her nightgown shimmered strangely silver in the moonlight streaming through the window. Her face was turned toward her, but her eyes...
Her eyes were closed.
"Nela?"
The girl didn't answer. But the voice came from her mouth. The same voice. Deep. Without an echo. As if the room itself were speaking.
"The kingdom of Kaelon must fall."
Althena wanted to scream, but her throat was constricted. She could only stare as Nela—or what Nela was—took a step closer.
"Not the realm. The king. For he alone bears the light that shall burn away your power and all that you love."
"Who..." Althena's voice broke. "Who are you?"
A smile flickered across Nela's face. It wasn't cruel. It was certainty.
"One who knows the end. And you, Althena of Melandor, have seen it. Your walls in smoke. Your children in the river. Your name—erased."
The vision overwhelmed the queen once more, even though her eyes were open. No longer the dream, but the knowledge of it. The black mist that swallowed the palace. The silence that descended when no one else cried out.
"Why him?" Althena whispered. "He is..."
"Precisely because he is loved. Because his light burns so brightly that it casts shadows he cannot see and cannot stop. A king who loves his people is more dangerous than a tyrant. For him, they would die. And they will."
Nela—the figure—tilted her head. The movement was too fluid, too agile.
"You have a choice, Queen. Wait until he comes. Or send the shadows to him before the sun rises."
With these words, the girl sank to the ground. As if her bones had turned to water. She lay motionless, breathing heavily, but when Althena leaned over her, Nela opened her eyes—and knew nothing: "Where am I?"
An hour later
Althena, wearing her royal copper-colored gown, made her way to her desk, her long train trailing across the floor. As she walked, her entire train moved as if she were breathing. Reaching her desk, she picked up the quill pen. Candle wax dripped onto the parchment, but she didn't notice.
A small troop, she wrote. Traitors from within Kaelon itself. Melandor's confidants, who know the enemy's face.
Her hand trembled. Not with fear—with what she knew. The voice hadn't given an order. It had only pointed. And in that knowledge lay a responsibility heavier than any crown.
The King of Kaelon, she continued, must fall. Not through war, which destroys us all. But through what he loves most.
She paused. Thinking of her own husband, who had died three winters ago. To her daughter, who was now asleep in the adjoining chamber.
"May the sun forgive me," she wrote last. Then she rolled up the parchment and called for her chamberlain.
The next morning
Caelanthor was suddenly in an uproar. Elandor was out in the city with his family, strolling happily and carefree through the streets, when a townsman rushed up and frantically addressed the King.
"Elandor! My King, please come quickly…" the man gasped, completely out of breath. Elandor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, lad. What happened?" The man took a deep breath and blurted out, "There's been a violent altercation at the market. A citizen has been seriously injured; he's already lying lifeless on the ground. His head is covered in blood."
Elandor's expression darkened instantly. He turned to his wife. "My beloved, please go home with Elenya and Lyrielle first. They shouldn't see the blood." Lysandra nodded silently and led her two young daughters away from the scene.
Elandor hurried with the messenger to the market. There he saw the injured man lying motionless on the ground, drenched in blood. "What happened here?" Elandor demanded sharply, his gaze fixed on the obvious assailant. The attacker, a muscle-bound, bald giant named Marven, stepped forward. "This foreigner and his men are ruining our businesses... They had to be punished for that!"
"Punished by you?!" thundered Elandor. "You are neither judge nor executioner! You have no right to judge anyone, and certainly not to use force!" His voice was raspy with rage. Marven merely laughed derisively and advised Elandor to worry less about him and more about his wife and daughters.
"You dare to lecture me?" Elandor snapped. Marven just grinned and remained silent. "Fine, if you have nothing more to say!" shouted Elandor. "Guards! Lock this man in the dungeon until he stands trial. And if the victim dies, you will pay with your life!"
Sun Healers rushed forward, desperately trying to save the injured man, but he had already lost too much blood. Discontent stirred in the crowd over the King's decision. Quiet voices grew louder: "Marven may have acted too harshly, but he certainly didn't want the stranger to die." "He's right, the foreigners are ruining our businesses." "His livelihood! Those foreigners probably deserved it."
Almost coinciding with the turmoil at the market, Lysandra and her two young daughters—nine-year-old Elenya and six-year-old Lyrielle—were ambushed by ten men in a deserted alley. Since the townspeople had gathered at the market, the streets were empty.
The men gagged Lysandra and threatened her: "If you resist, your children will pay with their lives!" They threatened the children in turn: "If you resist, we will have to hurt your mother very badly!" said one of the men with a broad, repulsive grin. Thus, the men expected no resistance. They dragged Lysandra and the girls into a nearby hut to assault the Queen. The doors slammed shut. There was no escape from the horrific scenario that was about to unfold.
They tore the clothes from her body without even the decency to cover the children's eyes. "Children, do you remember the game Papa used to play with us?" Lysandra asked hastily, her voice trembling. The two nodded, their faces streaked with tears. "Then we'll play that game now. Yes?! Until I touch your arm," Lysandra said, trying to smile despite the tears welling in her eyes. The little ones obediently squeezed their eyes shut, pressed their hands over their ears, and began to loudly hum a song.
What happened next robbed Lysandra of all dignity, all strength. The men didn't wait. They held her down, leaving her no room to breathe, no escape. She endured it silently—for one reason only: As long as her daughters sang, they were still alive.
Suddenly, Lysandra heard her daughters stop singing. That moment was worse than anything she had ever had to endure. "Don't stop singing, my two little rays of sunshine! Don't stop, okay?! Listen to Mama. Everything will be alright, my two little rays of sunshine!" "Yes, Mama," a little voice answered obediently, and they continued humming the song.
But that wasn't all. After the brutal assault, the men planned to behead Lysandra and her daughters. "Who should we behead first?" one asked, laughing. "Let's start with the children," another suggested. "They have their eyes closed anyway and won't even notice if we kill their mother. That wouldn't be any fun." He laughed shamelessly.
Lysandra begged for her children's lives. "Please, spare my two little rays of sunshine! They haven't done anything to anyone! Kill me if you absolutely must—but let my daughters live."
One of the men answered, his voice toneless and harsh. "Your husband didn't spare our families either. Why should we show mercy now? Say goodbye to your little sparks, you filthy whore! Oh wait, they can't even hear you." Laughter filled the room.
"Pleeease!" Lysandra screamed, weeping. "My husband certainly wouldn't have done such a thing. He is an honorable man. This must be a misunderstanding. You come from the kingdom of Melandor?"
"That realization won't do you any good now!" one of the men retorted coldly. "You're just whining for your life and the lives of your brood. Back then, our families whined. And your husband and his soldiers slaughtered them like cattle. Did he have mercy? Keep begging, maybe we'll spare you!" He paused for effect. "Hahaha, that was just a lie! We will never spare you or your brood!"
A dull thud echoed through the hut. Then a second. The song stopped. Something inside Lysandra died that no god could ever heal. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just stared at the men—empty, broken, but filled with hatred.
Then the men approached Lysandra. "Any last words, you filthy whore?!" Lysandra no longer begged for her life. She was powerless, broken by the death of her children. "Just do it!" she cried, filled with pain and hatred. "Kill me if it makes you feel better. But this won't be the end! I swear it!" The hatred within her grew immeasurable. "My husband will haunt you for eternity, hunt you down, and slaughter you like cattle!"
The men grinned, unimpressed. "We certainly hope so! That was the plan all along, you stupid whore!" Lysandra stared in horror, but it was too late. She closed her eyes and prayed to the sun one last time. Then the sword swung down.
The men impaled the heads of Lysandra, Elenya, and Lyrielle on spears and rammed them into the ground next to the well—as a message to King Elandor.
Townspeople discovered the gruesome scene and, shocked, alerted the King. Elandor rushed to the spot, but he was too late. He fell to his knees and screamed his pain into the heavens, louder than he had ever screamed in his life. "Why?! Why, God?! What did I do wrong?! What did I do to incur your wrath? Why did you take my family from me?! Take me for my sins! Have I not always served you faithfully?!"
Elandor's entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. His chest, his heart, and his throat constricted so tightly that he could literally no longer breathe. He lay limp on the ground, retching several times. He could no longer perceive his surroundings properly; everything was just a rushing blur. Elandor realized that he could no longer speak the names of his loved ones. Desperately, he tried to pronounce them, but he simply couldn't. Tears streaming down his face, he gasped on the ground, clutching his throat with both hands as if trying to force himself to speak their names.
Later, eyewitnesses reported that men from the city had left the hut. Elandor immediately dispatched his guards. They quickly located the suspects and arrested three men from the capital. But instead of showing remorse, these men laughed shamelessly. "She smelled so wonderful," one sneered. "I've never fucked such a beautiful whore. Her flesh was so tender and..."
"Stop it!" Elandor roared in fury, driving his sword into the man's thigh. The man continued to laugh despite the pain. "Your wife was fucked by dozens of men, right in front of your daughters. And then we beheaded the little ones in front of your whore! Hahaha..."
Elandor twisted the sword in the wound to silence him. "Who are these pigs?! Tell me!! I want names!" His gaze was murderous. "If you don't tell me, I'll slaughter your family like cattle!" "I will never tell you," the wounded man gasped. "Just kill me! You've already killed my family. You can't take anything more from me. You want names? Find them yourself!" Elandor pulled his sword from the leg and thrust it straight into the man's heart.
He turned to the second prisoner. "Then we'll play the same game with you. You know the rules." The prisoner interrupted him: "Yes, I know the game. We've already played it with your wife and daughters…" Before he could finish the sentence, Elandor pierced his heart as well.
He strode toward the third prisoner with long steps. "Now for you, you Noralem!" Elandor spat out—which meant "Dishonorable." "You get only one chance! Just one! Make a wise choice!" The man, Torlin, trembled. "I will say nothing! Did you make a wise decision when you executed my family? You won't get a word out of me. Torture me, kill me, but I will remain silent!"
"I have never in my entire life taken the lives of women and children! If you continue to tell lies and have nothing else to say, then I will execute you on the spot!" Elandor shouted, raising his sword.
"No, my King!" cried Kaeldrim, the King's right hand and once his father's advisor. "I know what you feel. But we need him alive! Otherwise, we can never bring the other criminals to justice. We must give him a fair trial. What would the people think of us otherwise?"
Reluctantly, Elandor lowered his sword. He knew Kaeldrim was right. Suddenly he looked at his hands, which were smeared with blood. Was it his blood or the blood of others?
Then a guard called out, "My King, one of the prisoners wishes to speak with you." Elandor went to the dungeon. It was Marven, the man from the marketplace. "I only distracted you so the others would have time to rape your wife and execute her along with your daughters," Marven laughed. "Even the one who called you at the market was one of us… Hahaha…"
"Tell me who else is involved, and you'll get a reduced sentence," Elandor offered. He signaled for the arrest of the man who had brought him to the market. Marven burst into devilish laughter. "You won't get any more information from me. I'll take it to my grave." "Then you'll be put on trial," Elandor said coldly. "And you'll hang from the gallows!"
Shortly afterward, a guard brought in the man who had fetched Elandor. Elandor confronted him and pierced his thigh. "Who else is behind this?" he demanded furiously. "This is your last chance!" "But my King, I have nothing to do with this! I swear it!" the man begged for mercy in agony. Elandor didn't believe him and beheaded him on the spot. Only when the head rolled did he come to his senses—but it was too late.
"Ha... ha... ha…," Marven's laughter echoed from the cell. "I lied to you. He wasn't even there. I'll never tell you the names of the real perpetrators!"
The townspeople who witnessed the events were stunned by their King's vigilante justice. Elandor had to restrain himself from killing Marven immediately. He wanted the remaining criminals.
He placed a bounty: 10 Kael—gold ducats—for each head, dead or alive. When no leads came in, he increased it to 20, 30, 40, and finally 50 Kael. The greed of the people was awakened. Countless false tips poured in, neighbors suspecting neighbors. Dozens of innocent people were executed. A climate of fear gripped Kaelon. Many fled to neighboring kingdoms.
Meanwhile, the true culprits, the Melandorians, had long since escaped. Infiltrators from Melandor now freed Torlin and Marven.
Elandor sent an unmistakable message to all neighboring kingdoms: "Hand over the criminals! If you protect them, your kingdom will burn!" Most kingdoms refused to comply with Elandor's insane demands, as they could no longer bear to witness this madness, let alone support it. Three kingdoms—Baiteng, Aelorienne, and Serenwynn—allied themselves and declared war on Kaelon should Elandor attack.
Only the Queen of the neighboring kingdom of Melandor sent Elandor the heads of the criminals, including those of Torlin and Marven, who had fled to her realm. She called it "an act of goodwill for her peaceful coexistence with the kingdom of Kaelon." She, of all people—the mastermind behind the murders of Lysandra, Elenya, and Lyrielle—pretended to be a friend of Kaelon.