The first gunshot tore through the music like a blade, cutting through the laughter and chatter. For a heartbeat, the ballroom froze. Crystal chandeliers swayed, golden light scattering across marble floors and glittering gowns. The scent of perfume mixed with smoke and something heavier—fear, sharp and metallic.
Then chaos erupted.
Screams echoed, boots pounded, and men in black flooded the hall. Tables overturned, wine glasses shattered, and the orchestra's music was replaced by the frantic pounding of terrified hearts.
She froze at the top of the grand staircase, fingers gripping the cold railing. Seventeen years old, she had grown up in the shadow of the Blood King, surrounded by wealth, power, and danger—but nothing could have prepared her for this.
"Stay where you are," a voice said. Calm. Controlled. Cutting through the panic like a knife.
Her eyes searched the chaos. Through the smoke, she noticed a figure moving with purpose, clearing paths, silently guiding her without stepping into the line of fire. She didn't know who it was—one of her father's trusted men, perhaps, or simply luck in human form—but the reassurance was faint and fleeting.
"Papa!" she cried.
No answer came. Only shadows, smoke, and gunfire.
A hand grabbed hers, pulling her away. "Quiet. Move!"
"No! Let me go!" she shouted. "That's my father!"
The man ignored her, dragging her through narrow hidden corridors behind the library and past walls she had never noticed before. Each step echoed, each breath sounded loud in the tension-filled air. Somewhere, distant screams and the smell of gunpowder clung to her senses.
They emerged into the streets, dark and deserted. The city seemed asleep, unaware of the empire crumbling behind its walls. The ally guided her silently, keeping her in shadows, avoiding patrols and stray eyes.
At last, they reached a small, nondescript building. He left her with supplies: food, water, clothing, a small knife, and a note simply stating: Trust no one. Survive.
"Why are you helping me?" she whispered.
His eyes flickered briefly, unreadable. "Because someone has to. Now go."
And then he disappeared, leaving her alone with questions she couldn't answer.
Three days passed. Silence became a constant companion. She lay on a thin mattress, listening to the distant hum of the city and the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but the emptiness in her chest—the absence of her father, the loss of everything she knew—was worse.
She thought of the Blood King, feared, respected, now gone. The memories of the ballroom—the music, the chaos, the fire—replayed endlessly behind her eyes. She wanted to cry. She wanted to rage. But she could do neither. She could only survive.
On the fourth night, the door opened. A shadow stretched across the floor.
"It's done," a voice said.
She jumped to her feet. "Done? What's done?"
"The Blood King… is gone," the man said quietly. "The empire has fallen. Those who took it are ruthless. And they will come for you next."
Her knees threatened to buckle. Gone? Her father, feared and untouchable, gone?
She noticed small details—the unlocked door, the supplies left in perfect timing, the faint path cleared in her escape. Someone was helping her. She didn't know who. She didn't dare hope. Survival had a quiet ally.
"Leave," the man continued. "Start a new life. Survive."
"No," she whispered. "I will not leave him. I will not abandon him."
"You have no choice," he said firmly. "Stay, and you die. Survive."
Her nails dug into her palms. She pressed her forehead to the wall. She had been pulled from the halls of power into a world of shadows and whispers. Pain, fear, and determination mixed inside her.
In the quiet, she remembered the small, inexplicable things that had protected her—the timely paths, the hidden corridors, the silent guidance of someone unseen. She didn't know who it was, but she knew one thing: she would survive.
And years later, she would remember this night, not as the night she lost her father, but as the night she first learned to survive in shadows, alone, yet not entirely unprotected.