Chapter 14 – King Killer

On the back of the griffon, time moved too quickly. It was all too fast that the familiar canopy of trees above the crater she called home had appeared, their descent swift and graceful into the peace that held below the surface.

What was she thinking? Back at Doseogwan her blood had been racing, red filling her vision as she raged about all that had come to be, all due to that man that sat safely on his throne away from the madness. He had essentially sentenced Lavena to her death: Almira's eldest sister, first princess and third in line to the throne, the most radiant light to ever grace Fleogas. Seeing the plum colored wings hanging in the sickly purple light of the Galra base had sent a wave of sickness through Almira's core, grief at the knowledge of just what had happened. Surely there had to have been another way, something that the King could do instead.

Instead, the casualties continued to roll. He had sentenced Almira to an assured death, even without explicitly stating it. They had been confident that the druid would spell her end; the punches continued to roll after she had survived, and Ten had alerted her that no orders had been given for her upon completion of the infiltration. She had been expected to die, plain and simple. It filled her with rage, with pure anger. Her body trembled as she thought of the injustices wrought upon not just her.

The King fraternized with the enemy. The thought filled her with rage.

But underneath was an undeniable layer of anguish, of sorrow, and that was enough to make her hesitate.

A part of her wanted to believe that the King was not the mole, that the scientist—her uncle?—had lied. It was all so bizarre and confusing. Her mind resisted, her heart bled.

She would find the answers.

Internally, she settled on a compromise. There was no need to shed unnecessary blood here in these hallowed halls she had carelessly tottered through as a child. Here where her flesh and blood had raised her from a baby to the adult she was now. As the griffon touched down outside the castle, she found a new resolve; she would question her king-father first, and determine what his truth was. Then she would take action, if necessary.

Leaping off of the back of the griffon, she walked around to stroke its feathered face. The creature eagerly shoved its forehead into her hands, earning a smile from the troubled soul. "Thank you. Please, wait here until I'm finished."

Question? Confusion?

Even though she now expected this form of emotional and pictoral projection inside her own head, the mind melding that occurred still caught Almira off guard. Shaking her head gently, she moved a hand to scratch under its chin. "I'm going in alone. Stay here until I'm done."

Almira felt the confusion melt into acceptance, stepping away when she was certain the griffon would remain in place. It twisted into a circle, padding around and around like a gigantic cat until unceremoniously plopping into place on the soil, wings settling around it as it looked expectantly in her direction. Taking its relaxed posture as encouragement, the captain turned toward the giant doors.

The looming gates opened silently, and Almira strode into the cool marble foyer. She was struck by a sense of nostalgia as her eyes darted around the empty space, not a noble or guard in sight. Empty, just as it had been the night that she and Arden had arrived with the paladins in tow, the sound of their foreign boots striking the harsh tiles below their feet echoing through the hallways. Her own footsteps were silent, the soft material of her shoes muffling all sound. The assassin. Every step was confident and composed, contrasting with the chaos that stirred inside her chest.

Was it possible to move with both certainty and uncertainty? She had never known until now; it had been a while since she had felt doubt in her chest regarding a mission, the muscle memory of war and conflict now constricting her muscles in comparison to her early days. It was the routine that sent her forward with shoulders pulled back and chin lifted defiantly. Even if her mind failed her, her body wouldn't.

Climbing the steps into the throne room she squared her posture, golden eyes flickering into the empty space the moment that her head peeked over the elevated floor. No one, save for a familiar figure hunched over the throne. The King's eyes lifted at the movement, bugging out in shock as recognition sent him flying to his feet, posture coiled and shoulders tense. Almira continued to maintain a languid pace, slow and steady, yet determined. She cautiously watched his reaction, his shock and horror spread across his expression for all to see before he composed himself into mild surprise. It was a telling reaction. Her heart sank.

"My daughter." His words echoed and drifted among the vaulted ceiling, not the sonorous tone he used to address the large crowds that often consumed the hall but attaining the same effect due to the emptiness. There was a strained quality to his voice, but Almira continued to stride forward, eyes leveling with his. "How did you get here?"

If she had imagined that she would be at a loss for words, Almira found that her training took over, instincts allowing her to keep her cool, thoughts articulate and crisp as they left her mouth, almost foreign. "Does that really matter? You seem horrified, father."

He crossed his arms over his chest, hands sliding into the billowing sleeves and hiding away. His expression faltered for a moment before recovering quickly, smoothing over into a placid mask. "No, not horrified. Just surprised. Shouldn't you be with your men?"

"Funny you should mention that." She came to a stop halfway through the throne room, still a good seventy feet away from the throne. At this distance she could see his face clearly, watch each muscle in his neck twitch, the flickering of his eyes. "I was sent on a suicide mission. I learned much there."

Molten eyes narrowed at her comment. "Do I dare ask what?"

"I had a conversation with someone. They seemed to know about the mole in our forces."

The shift was instantaneous. Golden eyes hardened, face overcome with a severity she had rarely ever seen, much less aimed in her direction. It was the look he used when the nobility often said something insidious, cunning, and aimed to crawl under someone's skin, the disdain of the scent of blackmail or sneaking. His entire posture changed, resignation mired with self righteousness.

She knew before he even opened his mouth to respond.

"So you know."

It broke her heart. The glimmer of hope in her heart, even though it was small, that all this was a lie created to get a rise out of her, crushed. She couldn't help it when her face fell to the ground, eyes lowering in shame. "So it's true." Her voice was defeated, a whisper.

The king began to pace, multi-layered robes dragging on the floor. Though regal and lifted, he seemed to drag himself through the motions, an invisible layer of weight and exhaustion tying him down. He looked beyond the room to the royal gardens outside, morning light beginning to break through. "Every king has been tied to the Galra. After the Final Uprising nearly eight thousand years ago, one of our line established contact with their base in order to broker a sort of peace. He sought to bring an end to the genocide, the heavy persecutions our people sustained after the rebellion, at any cost necessary."

Clasping his hands behind his back, he sighed. "That oath has been passed down to each successor. When I became King I tried to fight it. But their leaders had too much of a hold over us, threatening another genocide if I didn't comply. How could I refuse?" Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and dipped his chin. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. That is how I rationalized this loss." Turning his head back to Almira, she saw the angst and grief in his face, honest and unfeigned. "You should understand."

"I do." Almira nodded her head once, but she was unable to take the entire situation at face value. A violent emotion stirred in her chest. She had to know. "But why continue to help them? Why leak our plans, when Voltron is here?"

At this his expression hardened, turning to face his daughter. "The Galra are undefeatable. Voltron or no, we are incapable of beating them."

"You're wrong."

Silence. The king looked at his daughter incredulously, anger and confusion in his glare. The rebuke had been unexpected, and as he rounded his full attention back onto her, he stared her down for her insolence. But Almira kept her head up high, refusing to back away.

"I'll be honest, I don't remember the details of the Final Uprising. But Voltron," her hand clenched at her chest, throat tightening. "Those were the bedtime stories you used to tell us, mother too. How they were the defenders of the universe, and how they would save anyone in need. Maybe," she relented slightly, "they were bedtime stories at the time, just to give up hope. But they're real! They're here, and they're helping us! Can't you see that this is the first time we've actually had hope in nearly ten thousand years?"

Almira's heart swelled. Of all the stories she had listened to as a child, those of Voltron were her favorite. She could remember sitting next to Arden and Lavena on the couch, wrapped in a blanket on cold winter nights, listening with rapt attention as their mother animatedly retold of their valiant fights. Fire dancing in her memory, she could feel the heat burning in her chest.

"Hope?"

Although her eyes had begun to tear up, the waterworks froze in place as she looked back at her father-no, the king. Her father had never looked at her with so much as a disdainful sneer, the exact same look he now wore upon his face. With a single reaction he crushed her delightful memories, threatening to snuff her lightness out with one look. Peering down his nose, he stared unflinchingly back into her own gold orbs. "Hope is for the weak. It is for those who cling to an unattainable vision of the future, unwilling to face the situation they are in. I have been working all my life to ensure the safety of my people, all while you and those army rats chase a beggar's dream."

Disbelief and anger surged through her chest. "How dare you?" She spat her response, a hand raising to one of the swords on her back, her actions monitored by the older male figure in front of her. "Weren't you the commander of the army before you became king? You were one of us!"

"Yes, a blind fool I was, clinging to that vision of liberation." There was no fondness in his gaze, only a harsh coldness in his eyes as he stared down Almira. "I realized the truth after becoming king, once I accepted my responsibility. It seems as though you need to face reality as well." He threw his arms out dramatically, puffing his chest as he yelled. "I saved our planet from instantaneous extinction, and yet you ignore the truth! I am the savior of our people, not you, not Voltron, not anyone else!"

"I've had enough of this." She drew both swords from their sheaths, holding them aloft and sliding into an offensive stance. "I may understand why you partnered with the Galra all these years to keep our people alive, but I draw the line at this battle. You are a blind, arrogant fool if you deliberately choose to help them and disdain your own people."

"I am the King!" His voice was bordering on delusional, a crazed and maniacal tone taking over his words and body. "Will you defy your regent, your father?"

"I am a princess and a captain of Fleogas." Her tone finally took a silver edge to it. The man in front of her was beyond reason, was beyond arguing with. The line was drawn, and she would no longer stand aside. All the doubt she had stewed upon during the flight over was disrupted, dissipating like the morning mist under the hot sun. "I will do what I must to defend my people and the ideals for which we stand. Not even you with your twisted ideals will stop me, father or not."

"So be it." He sighed to himself, briefly closing his eyes before they flashed open with killing intent. "I should have let you rot with that other pathetic excuse for a princess."

Almira jolted. Lavena? Her momentary distraction was all the King needed, a flash of light sending her body flying through the air with a cry. So powerful was the jolt that she tumbled down the staircase, body seizing from the electric current that had been sent through her. When she rolled to a stop in the foyer she groaned, limbs limp. It was already too much that she had been sent through hell by that wraith, his electric abilities shocking her into the beyond. Body finally giving out, she laid limp on the floor, head turned toward the door. She could hear a pair of ostentatious footsteps making their way down the stairs in her direction, slow and methodical. A hand gripped a fistful of hair and yanked her head up to meet his, Almira hissing in pain but unable to resist.

Golden eyes met gold, weakness and pain overwhelmed by spite and fury. "I had such high hopes for you, my daughter. Of all your siblings you showed the greatest aptitude for our powers, the greatest of our time. If only your head wasn't filled with such noble aspirations by Arden and Lavena." He spat out their names, as though nothing to him. How could he say such things about his own children? Was this the true side of the king: malicious, malingering, and spiteful?

He shook her head, forcing a cry out of Almira as she continued to hang limp in his grasp. "It's a shame that I had to give your mother up. They wanted her back, for whatever reason. But I suppose it's even more of a shame that they didn't take you with them when they came to abduct her."

"What?"

Tsking, he clucked his tongue, releasing his grasp and dropping her head back to the floor. Almira cried as her chin collided with the marble, but she could only twist her head to the side, looking back at the door as the King circled around her like a vulture.

"Another one of their demands. Every so often they ask for new test subjects, else they destroy the craters one by one. They demanded your mother, but she had fled the palace back to that dirty crater where she had been born. I suppose she must have hidden you before they took her back. That or that mystic Emrys had already stolen you away."

Took her back? Almira wanted to cry. "So you knew."

"Knew? I had no idea until they told me. Ironic that you should be the most powerful wind bender of our time, only to be tainted by Galran blood." A foot was pressed to her temple, crushing her into the ground, and Almira gritted her teeth from the pain. "I really do hate to do this to you, Almira. You were so promising. You would have made an imposing general."

What was he going on about? Between the pain wracking her limbs and the pressure on her skull she felt as though she were ready to fracture into a thousand pieces. For a moment she felt herself consumed by despair, body going limp. Was this how she would meet her end? A hundred trials that waved death in her face, only to crumple at the hands of a tyrannical king that masqueraded as a benevolent god?

It was over. Just what had she tried to accomplish here? She had attempted to unveil the traitor, only to meet her end without passing the message along. The Galran scientist had been right all along; not only was the king the traitor, she was of Galran lineage. Three quarters the people she protected, a quarter tainted with the enemy she had sworn to defeat and eradicate from her world. Self loathing didn't cut it. She wanted to die. She had been a fool-all of them, fools-and blind to everything. She shared blood with the enemy, and worst of all, the most sickening Galran she had ever lay eyes on, perhaps save for the emperor himself.

But worst of all, she could do nothing about it and nothing productive would come from this. She would die, the king would continue on without anyone the wiser, and more lives would be lost. Voltron would be at risk, and their planet would surely succumb to an even greater darkness. Defeat.

All she could do was bleed out on the marble floors below her.

Her mind was going hazy from the pain, vision blurring and doubling as it pleased. Everything felt cold, like lying in the snow without clothes, icy pinpricks stabbing wherever they pleased. Giving up. Was she really giving up? No. She strained against the foot against her head but it only dug into her skull harder as she cried, slamming a fist into the ground. No, this was truly the end.

Boom.

The castle doors buckled before splintering, a shriek echoing through the space as a gust of wind ripped through the foyer. The pressure on her temple ceased and she sighed in relief, eyes slipping shut. Her body felt like a handful of water trickling through the cracks, shapeless and splattering against the marble as all tension released. At least she could be relatively comfortable now. She could hear fighting, lightning and wind violently swirling around her as though she were in the middle of a tempest, though nothing scraped her or touched her. A shout, a cry, and a thud was picked up by her ears, and suddenly the battle was over. What had happened?

The floor shuddered as something made its way to Almira's prone figure. She continued to lay perfectly still, eyes shut as though blissfully unaware to everything around her. But when she felt a presence looming above her back and a soft, warbling cry, she forced her eyes open.

Twenty feet away, sprawled on the ground, lay the unmoving corpse of the king.

She couldn't see his face, but neither could she see the rise and fall of his chest. The way his limbs were tangled about him and jutting out at bizarre directions only added to the notion of his complete lifelessness. Dead. Even if she couldn't move herself over to check for herself, something inside her told her that the king was dead.

Another warble sounded from above, and she turned her golden eyes to look above her. Of course. The griffon stood guard over her, its own intelligent eyes catching her own. She smiled.

"You came for me?" Her golden eyes slid closed one final time after hearing its cry, the smile still on her face through the pain. "Thank you."

Fading into the darkness, she could feel the warmth in its chest as it lay down over her, a comfort that fought the cold away even as she lost consciousness.

By all accounts, she should have died.

And yet she found herself surprised, mind pulling out of its long slumber to discover that she was indeed still alive.

Almira's consciousness had drifted in and out multiple times, but she remembered no distinct details to recall exactly how she had gotten off the marble floors of the foyer and into a bed. When her golden eyes finally opened, her lips parted in surprise. She had sustained enough injuries to be familiar with the pristine walls of the military hospital ward, a massive window streaming the afternoon light through its glassy filter making her eyes flutter for a few moment, attempting to adjust to the brightness. Her neck was stiff-scratch that, her entire body creaked like a poorly oiled jet fighter-but as she turned to look at the window, a familiar figure entered her vision.

It was apparent that he hadn't stopped anywhere before sitting down in the chair next to her bed, his hair still greasy and matted and his uniform still on his body, splattered with blood and nicked with a few gashes. His brow was creased in worry even as he slept, ruining the otherwise peaceful image of her brother. But his presence was enough to make her smile, even though even her facial muscles protested the movement. She knew that he must have been seriously worried if he was still here by her side, refusing to leave even for his own sake.

She wanted to reach out and take his hand, to let him know that everything was going to be fine, but before she could even move her arm he began to shift in his seat, brows furrowing. Slowly, molten eyes made their appearance, blearily blinking away the sleep before focusing on Almira's own eyes. Shock. Arden immediately straightened, fully awake as he realized that Almira was awake. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that her throat was completely parched, vocal chords straining to make a noise. Ever the attentive elder brother, Arden grabbed a glass of water from a tray and lifted it to her lips, helping her drink in small gulps. When she had finished he set the glass down, folding his hands in his lap.

Almira wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to say first, but when she opened her mouth a second time the words seemed to tumble from her lips.

"Did we win?"

As a jaw splitting grin lined his face, Almira sank back into the bed. "We won." Heaving her own sigh, she realized just how much she had missed hearing his voice, simply happy to be alive. Aware of everything. It was then that she noticed that they were not the only two in the room, an official looking person sitting on the other side of the bed. He offered a curt nod of his head, and as he stood the blood drained from Almira's face. She knew why he was there. Memories of her arrival at the palace and everything that had ensued rushed into her mind, threatening to distract her from the man's introduction.

"Captain Almira. You've been out for nearly seventeen vargas. We're glad to see you alive and awake."

Alive. She shouldn't have been alive. By all accounts, she should have been the one lying on the floor motionless, mind recalling the image of the King lying motionless a few feet away. Oblivious to her inner musings the man continued, pulling out a tablet as he began to type away. "My name is Ors. I'm an interrogation officer, assigned to collect your story from yesterday's events."

For a moment she stared in confusion. What would an interrogation officer-oh.

The last she remembered, she was falling unconscious at the scene of the crime. The next thing she knew, she was lying in a hospital bed. Obviously questions would be raised about her intentions, seeing as she left nothing to her commanding officer and essentially tricked her communications manager into thinking she was rejoining the fighting. She should have been on the battlefield, but instead they find her next to the dead body of the king.

What had happened to the griffon? Probably detained somewhere, knowing the operations and style of the military. The griffon had technically killed the king, but if they didn't talk with it then that meant that the military failed to realize its cognition and ability to communicate. If they didn't realize that the griffon could talk, then that left her as the only logical witness.

The interrogation officer shifted, wary of her silence. "You were discovered at the site where King Khayin was found murdered, along with a legendary griffon. How did these events come to pass?"

He obviously had intended to jog her memory as though she was still operating under a drowsy, half waking state. So it was true. Almira was the only witness, but from Ors' tone she was also the suspect. Who could have suspected her?

Her hands clenched in realization. Of course. The nobles. She had been found dead in the palace, the hallowed grounds of the wealthy patrons that supported the royal line, not a battlefield far removed from the scheming men. Even if she had been found by military members, rumours traveled quickly within the royal compound. Almira, the most hated member of the royal family in the eyes of the nobility, had been found at the scene of the crime where their beloved king lay dead. Even if she told them that the griffon had done it, they would purport lies of how she was a demon, controlling the creature to do her evil bidding. Either way this went, it was a witch hunt; the arrogance that permeated their fragile masculine egoes would surely undermine her position, and she would fall one way or another.

The only question remained; would she drag down anyone with her?

Golden eyes closed. Fine. If they were to make her to be a witch, she wouldn't give them the glory of painting the picture. This was her choice, and if she was going to be dragged into hell she would pick up her feet and raise her chin in defiance. They could take her down, but she would never give them the satisfaction of seeing her beaten, weighed down by the chains of their jealousy. She would not give them an inch.

She was Almira Eos, and she would write and finish her story however she pleased.

When she opened her eyes, she only found two faces staring at her with compassion and fear. Almira was reminded that Ors was not the nobility; he was only a man carrying out orders. He likely knew Almira as the beloved captain, not the hated princess, and as she looked into his wizened eyes even she could see the hope that she would not falter and fall to bitter and jealous men.

"Captain? What were you doing?"

His genuine concern made a seed of guilt and sorrow blossom in her heart. She raised her head to the ceiling, willing tears to stay in their place. This was no place for sadness. Not yet. When Almira composed herself she lowered her head, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

"I went to kill the king."

There. It was the first step to sealing her fate. The temperature of the room dropped, both men freezing at her words. How could they not? Seeing her body barely clinging to life in a hospital room, only to wake up and pronounce with clarity her own death warrant. Ors scrutinized her expression, willing himself to find a flaw or a twitch of the jaw that would indicate her lie, but he found nothing in her smooth expression.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand…"

"The King was the mole in the operation." Almira pushed on, ignoring his interjection. "I learned of this on my mission. No one had the power to put him down. So I acted alone."

"Mira, this is treason." Her elder brother looked between the officer and his sister, disbelief on his face. "Even if the King was at fault…"

He trailed off, suddenly realizing his mistake. But he had spoken his mind, and Almira's expression hardened. "I know." Turning her head, she focused on Ors. "I escaped with the griffon, and set the creature on the King. I killed him."

There. She had said it, had said everything she could. She would protect the griffon, who had so graciously protected her life and helped her at every twist and turn, when she was certain that the end had come. The magnificent creature had changed her destiny multiple times, but it seemed as though they were mere extensions. Still, it was more than what she could have hoped for. The King was exposed. She had lived to tell the tail. Even if she was martyred as a witch, it was more than what she could have hoped for, at this rate.

She noticed that Ors had put his tablet to the side, device forgotten. He looked at her with somber eyes. "Captain…"

"It is the truth. I will not lie. I know the consequences."

Death. Even Almira could not deny that she was frightened. But who could say that they truly weren't afraid to break the curtain that stood between life and the void? Who of all people could escape death? No one. But even now she was convinced that it was the right way to go.

No one could break the curtain for her. She would tear it down with her bare hands before anyone attempted to write her destiny. Many times before, perhaps, she had listened willingly to orders and commands, but if she were to do anything before death it would be to orchestrate the entire event herself.

She watched as the officer's hands froze. "Do it." His gray eyes flashed to meet her own, and she looked at him in sympathy. She understood. He had a job to do, and her admission wasn't making it any easier. But even if she could lift that burden, she was committed. Pulling himself together he began punching away at the tablet rapidly, sending his report and tucking the device under his arm.

"Orders have been given for you to rest three days on house arrest. On the fourth day, you will be called to a trial."

So soon? Even Arden protested, obviously oblivious to these orders until now as well. He rose when Almira fell, sinking into the bed and accepting her fate. "Wait a second," he growled, rising from his seat to challenge the other man, "They already called a trial? Before you had collected your report?"

"Arden."

All it took was one call of his name. He backed down immediately after hearing the weary tone in her voice, both men looking at her in worry. She turned her gaze once more to the officer, nodding in acceptance. "Thank you for your time."

She was surprised that the man snapped into a full salute, bowing at the waist fully before retreating from the room. It was a kind gesture, one that she appreciated even as she sent a final, apologetic look over his shoulder. He was only doing his job. There were bigger fish to fry.

But it seemed as though that task would no longer fall to her. She could feel Arden's eyes watching her in concern, though he said nothing. Silence.

She couldn't bear it.

"I had to do it."

"Why?"

The weight of the situation came down heavy on her shoulders, a deluge that pressed her limbs into the mattress as her breath hitched in her chest. She was going to die. "The nobles need someone to blame." She was rambling at this point, panic finally settling in. "It can't be the griffon. They would never allow it. That just left me."

"Almira, what are you talking about?"

"Don't you see?" Turning her eyes toward her brother, she began to plead with him to understand the situation. "The trial. They're shaken. They need to find an answer for his death." A laugh rose from her throat, unbidden. "It's funny. I was supposed to die anyway."

She was supposed to die when her mother had been kidnapped. She should have died on all the mission she undertook throughout her life. The nobles all waited to snap her up with unhinged jaws and jowls that shook with every movement, creatures that anticipated her slip up and demise. She had been sent on a suicide mission by a king who had lost all hope. Her skull should have been crushed under that same king's sandal. Recognizing all these moments made her lose herself to hysteria, laughing and shaking with fear. She had lost it. Finally, utterly, lost her mind.

A pair of hands grabbed hers, squeezing them tight. The motion quieted Almira, bringing her back to sanity. "Almira," Arden spoke quietly, "was he really the mole?"

When she looked at his face she could see the conflict. Even her brother didn't want to believe that fact that she had killed the king. Their father. If only he could have seen the way that he had talked so whimsically about his children, how little he sincerely cared for their lives. A man whose hope had been crushed by the weight of the crown. But even Almira couldn't let him see that side that she had seen, the devil of a father created by the darkness of their enemies. Instead she squeezed his hand back. "He was."

"Then we tell them." Surprised, she looked back at her brother. His golden eyes blazed, a passion inside them. His words of doubt from before forgotten, Almira found herself breathless at the sincerity and the determination that blazed through his breast. "If he was the mole, then you saved our men during wartime. That has to count for something!"

She wanted to agree with him, to follow his lead. How many times had he come through for her, when she had been lost? But this time, she couldn't allow it. Shaking her head slowly, her voice gave away her spirit. "Arden, do you really think the nobles could forgive me, of all people?"

Perhaps she had begun to lose hope too. Just like the king, she had begun to lose hope that she could be saved. But at least the battle had been won, their people saved. That hope had held through. Only now did faith abandon her. "You know just as well as I that the nobles will jump at the chance to kill me off. It's a miracle I've survived this long."

"No…"

Her heart squeezed at the brokenness in her brother's voice. "Don't deny it," she fought. "It-" Damn it, even she couldn't resist any longer. She shook her head as the tears began to stream down her face. "It only makes goodbye harder."

The hysteria was impossible to hold back any longer, and as she felt Arden tugging her forward into an embrace she let herself go. She had held off for this long, but no longer. Tears freely streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed, her arms wrapped around his torso as she felt herself drowning.

The battle had been won. This was now the beginning of the end.

Two shadows moved in the castle, unbeknownst to anyone.

"Did you get everything?"

"We're ready. I'm in your debt."

"It's nothing, son. Just hurry up and rescue her. I hate seeing that damn look on her face."

"She's really given up, hasn't she?"

"Yeah, but we're not giving up on her."

"You're damn right."

.

AN: Y'all, this story is finally completed. I've finished all the rough drafts, and now I just have to go back and edit/ add some more details. I'm so excited to bring this ending to you, and I hope you all enjoy what's coming.

Thank you, megane-chan for your kind review. I'm sorry I was unable to respond in a private message, so I'll just answer your questions here; during the brainstorming process I wanted to steer away from westernized elements, although I did keep some Greek names for three religious concepts. Naming characters is one of my favorite parts of the world building process, since names carry heavy meaning a lot of the time. Most of the names find roots in a variety of eastern languages, but it's a lot to explain here. PM me if you have any more questions! I'm more than happy to answer. And thank you so much for your kind words; I've never considered writing a book before, since I'm technically in teacher education, specifically prepping for high school English, but I know I want to bring more writing strategies to my class when I teach.

I said that I would finish this story before 2019, and I'm still trying to meet that deadline. I have more things to talk about, but I'll just share them later as we go.

Again, if you want to see updates coming more quickly, please leave a review! It can be anything, even as simple as how much you enjoy this work. I basically spontaneously combust when I get notifications of reviews, and it's my primary motivation to get this done. I don't care if I have one hundred readers or two, I'll write for however many people want to see more from me. Thanks again!