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Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 4
Cantata

Prince Siegfried sat up in his bedroll, his forehead resting in his hands.

The attack the night before devastated them. There was the issue of bringing the fallen back home when the greater half of their Pegasi had been stolen. And they were an entire day's distance away from the safety and peace of Vineta. In this state, they were defenseless and vulnerable. The sooner they prepared to fly again, the better.

But … moving on so soon after …?

Though the storm had passed, the rains continued, a dismal, gray shower over the remnants of their camp. Their lost men were laid out beneath one of their few tents left, hands folded over their chests, utterly still.

The prince's eyes fell on his crown beside him, his reflection staring back at him in the gold metal. He hardly recognized the weary man staring back at him, dark shadows beneath his eyes, his skin more pale than his usual fair.

He didn't know what came over him. There was little preparation; he gave the order and they simply left, leaving behind his kingdom in the middle of crucial dealings with Rungholt, his advisor unconscious and the castle in disarray.

And now, his loyal men—the ones who dropped everything to follow him in pursuit of his fiancee—were either injured or …

The prince stood, heavy and slow, leaving his crown as he trudged outside of his tent. He didn't bother to pull his hood over his head. Letting the sharp, frigid raindrops pelt his hair and face, he plodded through the mud toward the tent where his knights reposed. The camp was a disaster, with remnants of their tents shredded, the Pegasi restless in their makeshift stable, and blood intermingling with soaked earth.

The bodies of the intruders were piled together at the edge of the encampment, discarded without a second thought.

Prince Siegfried entered the neighboring tent. Inside, the air was rank, the scent of death thick and suffocating. Demetri and four others were on their knees, sobs wracking their forms, one of them sprawled out over the chest of his fallen comrade and clutching his hand. Five had died during battle, and two more succumbed to their wounds overnight.

The prince's eyes shut tightly, the burn of tears searing behind his eyelids. Casualties. Numbers. Was that what he was resorting to, now?

Prince Siegfried knew them all by name; he knew their families. Ignatius was an older gentleman, with an infant grandson. Tristram had a little sister who picked daisies in the gardens of Vineta, and a mother who doted on him even to adulthood. Sylvester left behind his sweet wife and twin sons who were barely thirteen years old. Mortimer, just a year older than the young Demetri, was newly engaged …

Prince Siegfried's fists clenched, knuckles turning white, a sharp pain twisting in his chest. Mortimer had a fiancee. In the prince's attempt to find his own, he'd—!

Lysander stood in the corner, his head bowed and visage crumpling with grief. There were so many questions—who those men were, how long they had been out there, if they would return—but no energy to consider them. This venture had cost them irreplaceable soldiers. Good men. Loyal friends. They weren't numbers. They weren't expendable.

The prince's heart felt like it was shattering in his chest. This was his fault.

Certainly, his feelings for Ahiru knew no bounds. It didn't matter that they'd known one another for little less than a day. She was a shining, warm beacon of hope, her blue eyes warm and inspiring, her smile bright and uplifting. The day before, he was certain to have done anything for her.

But never before had he put his own needs before those of his people until now. He was known to be a selfless prince by even his most vicious of critics.

He knew he acted rashly, but his heart cloyed at his entire being, pushing him to pursue only her. He couldn't stop himself, even if he tried. He could only think of his love, and he'd forgotten all else

The prince was almost afraid; if someone had truly tried to fight him on his decisions and urge him to return home immediately, he likely would have drawn his sword against them. Even now, faced with the deaths of good men who had given their lives for a smidgen of a chance of finding Lady Ahiru, the prince wasn't sure if he was truly sorry.

Prince Siegfried's heart raced, blood running cold through his veins with heavy, steady, low thumps, echoing in his ears. It hurt. It hurt.

The pain was inescapable—like excruciating talons ensnaring him and tugging him about uselessly, this way and that. The good of his men—his fiancee—they were dying around him—she was out there, without him—it was his own fault—but they failed to help him reach her—!

A warm, firm hand weighed down on his shoulder. Prince Siegfried glanced up, his discombobulating thoughts effectively silenced.

General Lysander, eyes weary and bloodshot, tightened his comforting hold on the prince's shoulder. "Your Highness—Mytho."

The familiarity of the nickname washed over the prince, soothing and warm against his shattered, cold heart. "I ..."

The wrinkles across the general's brow loosened, an anguished, yet patient smile spreading across his square jaw. It seemed that Lysander understood without Siegfried having to say anything at all.

They stepped outside and into the rain, quiet and somber. But there were things to discuss, and subjects that Siegfried didn't quite feel brave enough to face, yet which he held himself responsible.

Lysander spoke first. "... We cannot continue on this way, Your Highness." His tone was reverent as ever, but gruff from grief and left no room for argument. "Our supplies have been seized and ..."

"No one can go on like this," Siegfried agreed, finishing the general's thought for him. "Too many losses." Though his heart lurched in his chest, protesting almost wildly to this decision, his mind fought for some semblance of control over his strangely volatile emotions.

He strongly cared for his fiancee, but he was a prince, first and foremost.

… Why did his chest hurt so much? That sharp, tugging feeling persisted, but he swallowed it down and ignored the pain. He took a deep, composing breath, glancing upward and letting the soothing rain wash over his form as if to clear his thoughts. "We will gather ourselves and go home. When we return to Vineta, we will find out more about our attackers from last night. You have mapped our current location?"

"I have, Your Highness."

"Good." There was a moment of silence before the prince found his voice again. "We'll … need to bring home our men. All of them. They need to rest with their families."

Lysander nodded, brushing some dripping rainwater from his forehead, squinting through the water that clung to his eyelashes. "Aye, I've considered it already, Your Highness. With the remaining horses and manpower, we can perhaps build some wagon or cart from the surrounding trees—"

"Just," the prince interrupted, pausing and grimacing at the impatience that broke through. "... have it done. I …"

"... Of course. I-I apologize, Your Highness."

Siegfried shook his head, water dripping from his bangs. "No, do not be sorry, Lysander. That was insensitive of me."

Lysander shuffled his foot into the mud, awkwardly sniffing. "May I—uh, speak plainly, Your Highness?"

The prince nodded slowly, letting his gaze fall upon the general.

"You haven't been—I mean, pardon me, but you haven't been quite yourself, Your Highness. Has the Lady Ahiru so changed you? So quickly, I mean?"

There was hesitation for a moment, Siegfried's expression dismal and broken. Had she? Was she the reason for his changes? For the emotions he could barely contain or understand?

He found that he couldn't answer.

It was cold; the sky was black and foreboding, stretching out above the decrepit town, an expanse of shadow and despair. The grinding of gears and the clicking of cogs echoed between buildings and swept through every alleyway. There were no people.

But there was a little duckling at the base of the clock tower, quivering as the darkness grew thicker, encroaching in from beyond the walls that enclosed the town. She trembled, blue eyes seeking out any semblance of light or warmth as the shadows crept closer.

Then, the clock struck thirteen, and the rumbling, low bell was struck, the sound of it sudden and final.

The duckling quacked, jerking away from the clock tower frantically. She flapped her wings, but she could not take flight no matter how she tried. So, she made haste to escape the frightening blackness, tears burning behind wide, fearful blue eyes.

The wheels kept turning, and the ticking sounds persisted as she ran as swiftly as her little, webbed feet allowed.

But in the distance, the darkness began to take shape, coalescing into a gargantuan shadow that threatened to devour everything in sight, covering the black sky entirely. The large silhouette of black, feathered wings blanketed the town, the long, imposing neck lined with sharp spines loomed right above the little duckling, and a terrifying, beak-like snout was accentuated by a deep, purple grin that exhaled smoke and fire.

Two slits opened in the horrific shadow—sharp, sinister eyes the color of blood.

With a tormented quack, the duck skidded to a stop and turned around, bolting the way she came and trying to propel herself faster with her wings—anything to escape the jaws of the monster.

Then, there was laughter; it was high, joyous, and ominous all at once.

The duck halted again. The monster was behind her, but in front, two disembodied, gloved hands reached out, fingers greedy and beckoning. And above them, framed in nothing but shadow, were two, large, swirling amber eyes, consuming, reading, and mirthful.

Gears continued to grind. Harsh, incomprehensible whispers continuously filtered from the monster's lips. And the joyous, unnerving laughter rumbled. All at once, the noises assaulted and assailed, and the duckling curled up in her wings, shrinking away from the approaching reach of the shadows and the gloved hands and she was all alone.

But … there was one other sound. It was slight and barely-there, but constant, rhythmic, and swelling, almost desperately trying to be heard beneath the menacing cacophony.

Drums.

The duckling quacked, hope and faith fueling her as she made one last dash for safety. She followed the low, pounding beat, slipping into narrow alleyways, avoiding the pursuing darkness and the reaching hands. Though the other voices tried to drown it out, the duckling stubbornly clung to the rhythm, never letting herself lose it.

It grew louder. She was getting closer—!

And finally, the duckling fluttered between two tall buildings where there drums were the loudest. But as soon as she stepped into the shadowy alleyway, the rhythm ceased. And before her, a large, shuddering form was huddled in a corner. It had a long neck, like the monster in the sky, but its featherless wings were wrapped tightly around itself, its clawed hands tearing at its own scales.

Everything was silent. The monster in the sky no longer whispered. The eyes and hands no longer laughed. The clock stopped.

The duckling's heart dropped when the huddled monster opened its eyes, and roared.

Then, the clock's hands erratically spun. The drums exploded in her ears.

"QUA—!"

The incessant pounding of a drum persisted, even as Ahiru tumbled from the cot and onto the floor, landing painfully on her tailbone and her braided, red hair slapping her face.

Ahiru whimpered, sitting up and rubbing over her new bruises. This ground wasn't forgiving or soft by any means, unlike the carpet and plush rugs back home.

… Which only served to remind her that this was all real. The past two days seemed like a strange dream. She was finally with her prince, exploring Vineta and meeting the people, and then …

"Ohhhh! Duck-zura?"

"Eh?"

Ahiru blinked and looked up. That doll-like girl from the night before stood above her, sticks poised over her drum. Her eyes bore into Ahiru's, big and wide, and her eyebrows were furrowed inquisitively. "Duck is awake-zura!"

"I'm not a 'duck,'" the redhead mumbled, stumbling to her feet. What a strange little girl. She had to admit, though, that there was something about the little girl's presence that made her forget that she was being held captive against her will and was snatched up by a monster just yesterday. "You keep calling me that. I'm Ahiru. And you're … Uzura, right?"

"Ahiru is a duck-zura!" Uzura insisted, waving her sticks in the air. "You were sleeping and turning around and you were quacking-zura!"

Ahiru's shoulders slumped in defeat. That was right. She was having a strange nightmare, and in it, she was a duck. She shrugged it off. Maybe the stress and worries of these past couple of days were just affecting her.

The memories remained, however. That giant, feathered, dragon-like monster in the sky. Those reaching, greedy, gloved hands and the amber, swirling eyes. The whispers and the laughter.

With a shudder, Ahiru shook her head to push the images from her mind. She had to be thinking about what to do about her current predicament, not dawdle and dwell over a silly dream.

Ahiru took in her surroundings. It was still dark, but there was a glowing lantern sitting on the table that wasn't there the night before. How long was she asleep? Was it daytime already? It was difficult to even guess, considering she was so far underground. How did someone even live like this?

Uzura plopped down onto the cot, drumming idly and watching Ahiru with those curious eyes the entire time. With a sigh, the redhead stepped toward the lantern and the rest of the items on the table.

That was right. Late last night, before her exhaustion and grief finally caught up with her, her kidnapper, Fakir, dropped some things off, acting so high-and-mighty. She didn't see what they were until now.

There was a bundle of neatly folded brown cloth, and a bowl that held one potato, assorted berries, nuts, root vegetables, and what looked like dried meat. The very sight of it made Ahiru's stomach rumble eagerly. Part of her wanted to refuse to consume anything these people offered her, but her hunger was more noticeable now that she was more calm and had some time to process what was happening.

Shamefully, Ahiru picked up a sliver of sliced beet and nibbled. Her tentative tasting escalated quickly, however, and soon she was scarfing down two pieces at a time. After some nuts and berries, she picked up a piece of carrot while still chewing, devouring it all at once.

Then, she choked, leaning forward and coughing ridiculously. That was certainly unladylike, but she'd been so hungry and the vegetables were surprisingly fresh!

"Ohhh!" she heard Uzura coo, and the pitter-patter of little feet against stone ground. Suddenly, the little girl was beside her, holding a wooden cup and pitcher. Ahiru, still coughing, gratefully took the water and poured herself a cup, drinking greedily as soon as she could.

She downed the entire contents and placed the cup down, gasping for breath. When she finally composed herself, she turned to look down at Uzura.

… Who happened to still be staring at her. "U-Um ... thank you?"

At this, Uzura smiled, bright and giddy. "I was helpful-zura!" The little girl tiptoed and reached for the brown cloth on the table, pulled it off the edge, and offered it to Ahiru. "Here, here's some clothes, because Rue said that what you're wearing is 'in-de-sent'-zura!"

A blush spread across Ahiru's freckled cheeks when she realized that, indeed, she was still in her bloomers and bodice. She took the bundle from Uzura's tiny arms and let the cloth fall free of its neat fold. The dress was simple and common, with laces across the front and ruffled sleeves, nothing at all like the many layers Ahiru was so used to. Still, it would certainly cover more at this rate, and it looked comfortable. Probably more comfortable than her usual wear.

"Ahh," Ahiru began, her cheeks still tinged with red, "do you think you can go outside? So I can change?"

Uzura blinked, pouted, and turned on her heel, obediently giving Ahiru the privacy she desired. Now, without the little girl's presence, Ahiru would be able to turn her attention to more important things, like escape.

She took full advantage, using the water in the basin to freshen up. Without the tight bodice and with a proper covering over her underwear, Ahiru felt more confident and awake. Today, she would think of a way to get word out to Vineta and leave this dark, gloomy place!

Dressed, refreshed, and clean, Ahiru put on her most determined expression and laced up the front of the bodice. Yes, this was far more comfortable than the weighty, constricting one she was forced to sleep in last night. Though it was of lower quality, the fabric was softer and breathable. This would be easier to run in, should she need to make a break for it when she made her escape.

Her hand wandered to the pendant that rested above her breast, gathering strength from the red jewel.

"Are you done yet-zura?"

"Eh? Um, yeah!" Ahiru dusted herself off. "Why? Are you waiting for me for something?" It would be difficult to find a way to leave with Uzura trailing after her the entire time, but the girl seemed determined to remain nearby for some reason.

Uzura waddled in, drumming with every step. "Come and see on the upper ground-zura!" She pocketed her sticks and reached out to take Ahiru's hand. "Everyone's so happy-zura!"

Despite everything, Ahiru couldn't help but smile a little at Uzura's earnest tugging. She closed her fingers around her little hand and let the child lead her outside. Everyone was happy? Did it have something to do with Ahiru's presence down here? "I guess that's great, but … well, there's somewhere I have to be. Um. Would you happen to know the way out?"

The child kept pulling at her hand. The atmosphere of the town was unchanged. No one was around, and it was dim, with only the glow of the lampposts illuminating the decrepit streets. Still, Uzura led her along fearlessly and confidently toward the ladder that led to the higher level. That must've been the "upper ground" that Uzura spoke of. "Ohhh!" she murmured thoughtfully, bringing her free hand to her chin. Not once did she drop Ahiru's hand. "A way out-zura? Uzura never goes out 'cause they say I'm not allowed to-zura!"

Ahiru's jaw dropped in dismay as they stopped at the base of the ladder. "They don't let you out?! That's horrible!" She was about to go on, but lost her train of thought when music reached her ears, filtering down from above. "What—?" It was strange hearing something so melodic in a place like this, especially compared to the night before.

Uzura pocketed her drumsticks and shifted her little drum so it slung behind her. She was already scrambling up the ladder when Ahiru finally shook herself out of her reverie.

"H-Hey, Uzura! Be careful!" She followed after her, slowly and carefully taking it one step at a time.

The child reached the upper ground when Ahiru was only halfway there. She heard Uzura laugh delightedly, and then her ecstatic drumming.

When she reached the surface of the upper level, her head just barely poking out from the opening in the stone floor, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped again.

It was a celebration.

Unlike the level below them, dark, silent, and cold, it was as if this place was suddenly alive. She attended a few ballroom galas growing up, accompanying her parents to various formal occasions—she often felt out of place and pressured, with the choreographed dances, extravagantly embroidered gowns, gossip and false smiles and flattery.

This was different. They were dressed similarly: common clothes, some with rips and stitches and patches, but their eyes shown earnest, absolute contentment. This must've been the entire population of the underground village, and there were so many beautiful faces dancing around one another, some joining hands and circling around those who held instruments, others clapping along in the sidelines. In the center, a bespectacled man sat on a stool and played a dusty, wooden piano, flanked by others with antique string instruments, playing an uplifting, celebratory, and yet mysterious song. Uzura stood by him, drumming away and giggling as the beautiful people danced about her.

Ahiru blushed. It was as if they were all floating on their feet in elegant, surreal movements, lifting themselves to the tips of their toes. Balletic, and breathtaking.

There were three women in particular who garnered the most attention. A sweet-faced, tall girl, with bobbed, curly brown hair danced in the back, smiling thoughtfully and watching the others, as if studying—no, appreciating them from where she was. Another had flowers in her full, long golden hair, and she danced with a basket of petals, joyfully scattering them about and twirling with a peaceful expression.

Then, there was the woman from the night before. Rue. And Ahiru could hardly take her eyes off of her when she spotted her. Her thick, dark hair was piled into a bun, and she was ethereal in her grace, and magical with her presence. With every twirl and arch and leap, it was as if Rue demanded your attention just by her gestures alone. Even the piano player, who was so engrossed in his music, took the time to glance over his shoulder to watch her. Ahiru thought Rue looked like a real princess.

There were others: a woman with a long face, pouting at the three dancers; a young lady adjusting her glasses and clutching at what appeared to be a pad of paper, admiring Rue's dance; so many people, and all of them must've been the villagers.

What sort of life did they lead down here? And why was Ahiru brought down here with them?

As she continued watching the scene from her little hiding spot, she scanned her surroundings. Maybe if they were really busy, she would be able to make a break for that weird entrance from before!

Then, her gaze landed on a familiar face. Her kidnapper, Fakir, was leaning his back against one of the stone huts, his arms crossed over his chest. Though everyone else seemed to be smiling, it looked as if nothing was capable of making him happy. His lips were pressed into a grim line, but at least his thick, scary eyebrows weren't furrowed in disdain this time. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Even now, he still looked like a big jerk.

… And as if Fakir knew someone was staring at him, his stare was suddenly directed at Ahiru.

The redhead's heart jumped at the unexpected glance. She squawked in panic, almost toppling right down from the ladder before she caught the edge of the opening, and lurched herself clumsily onto the deck of the upper ground to save herself.

Her heart raced from the adrenaline, and slowly, she began to realize that it was suddenly eerily silent. Ahiru gulped and glanced up.

The music and revelry ceased, and the entire village stared at her. Her stomach dropped at the realization that her chances of escaping now have shattered pathetically before her very eyes. "Um—!"

She felt small and vulnerable under their collective gaze. Some of them seemed suspicious, some looked as if they would fall into tears, while others smirked at her with a strange, proud triumph that she couldn't possibly fathom. There were so many faces …

Everyone seemed frozen in their spots, until Uzura (who seemed to be the youngest in the entire village) scampered up to Ahiru, urging her to stand. "Ohhh! You fell-zura!"

Ahiru stood on shaky legs, one hand wringing the fabric of her new dress and the other clutching her pendant. She faced the villagers and tried not to shrink away from their piercing gazes. She found Rue in the crowd, who gave her an arresting smirk. Then, she found Fakir. His expression was utterly neutral, and his green eyes unnerving as ever. After a moment, he stepped forward and parted from the crowd, opening his mouth to say something.

Before he could do so, someone else had beaten him to it. Striding forward with a cool, self-assured air, was a tall man with short hair the color of crows feathers and deep, blood-red eyes that somehow chilled her. The man was older—perhaps he was a couple of years shy of thirty. He wore a smirk, as if trying to appear amiable, but seemed untouchable at the same time. On instinct, Ahiru shrunk away, unnerved by his penetrating stare and his vastly superior, looming height.

His smile seemed to widen with her reaction. She didn't know if it was to sooth her, or if it was because he was pleased to see her visible discomfort. "Good morning, Miss Ahiru," he uttered, his voice like velvet, but likewise cold. She didn't quite know what to make of it. "I hope your evening was restful. I am Raven, the Elder of Wyvern Village."

Ahiru found that she was having difficulty articulating how she felt. She remained silent, wringing one hand into her skirt while she gripped her pendant with the other.

Raven's sharp eyes seemed to catch the movement. His smirk widened a bit. "Ah, yes, such a pretty gem, that is. Vibrant and enduring."

She was stricken by his strange interest in her family heirloom. And when she thought about it, hadn't Fakir and Rue taken a fascination to it as well? Upon glancing behind him at the villagers (who were still staring at her like that), she realized that her pendant had garnered their focused attention. "I … my mother gave it to me." Taking a deep breath, Ahiru mustered her courage and hardened her gaze, staring at Raven defiantly and trying not to cower under his stare again. "So you all can't have it, if that's what you're after!"

Raven only simpered, and there were a few scattered chuckles among the people behind him. Ahiru was incensed, and stomped her foot against the stone ground. "I mean it! It isn't yours! So if that's why I'm here, you can just forget about it and send me home!"

Some of the snickering escalated into full-blown laughter. Her cheeks grew hot, confusion, frustration, and embarrassment welling up in her chest.

Raven turned to face the villagers, stepping back so he stood beside Ahiru. "Behold!" he announced, presenting the redhead with a flourish of his arm. "Our savior!"

"... Eh?!"

That was the last thing she was expecting.

They seemed to react, strongly or otherwise. Some seemed uncertain still, but others embraced it, smiling gently or coolly smirking in her direction. A few even fell to their knees in tears, or drew one another into embraces. Rue brought a hand to her heart and looked down, a soft smile on her face. Uzura was the only one who looked just as confused as Ahiru.

Then, there was Fakir, who seemed to be glaring fiercely at Raven.

Ahiru was completely, undeniably confused. "S-Savior? I don't know if I—!"

Raven cut her off, throwing his arms out and bowing to her as the others continued celebrating. "Miss Ahiru. You are our savior. You will be the one to draw us out from the darkness and live in the light once more." The Elder reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder in what seemed to be an attempt at comfort. She flinched away from the startlingly cold touch.

Fakir stepped forward, his expression severe and his arms crossed over his chest. "Don't sugarcoat it," he asserted, effectively silencing those around him and commanding everyone's attention. "We already have her prisoner. There's no point in misleading her, too."

Ahiru glanced between them anxiously, noting the sudden narrowing of Raven's red eyes. The Elder left her side, striding right up to Fakir. Now that they were in front of one another, Ahiru saw that they were evenly matched in height, Fakir's sneer set against the Elder's calculating smirk. "Now, now, Fakir, you cannot deny that she will be the one to save us all." Raven turned a bit to smile at the redhead. Once again, she shrunk away, feeling lost. "There's no need for abrasive behavior. We shouldn't frighten her."

Fakir's scowl deepened. "We shouldn't romanticize her sacrifice, either."

Suddenly, Ahiru felt her stomach drop. One moment, she was a prisoner, then a savior, and now she was sacrificing something? She watched them, pitifully trying to gather her wits about her to interject. There was simply too much information to process. "W-What sacri—? I—!"

Raven's words overcame her own once more, and it looked like his lip twitched in its frozen smile with his next words, his eyes meeting Fakir's directly. "You said yourself that your part in this was done—and Fakir, you have done well. Thanks to your efforts, the prophecy will come to fruition. Leave the rest to me."

At this, Rue interjected, her expression more soft and almost hesitant (and that, in itself, surprised Ahiru, who had only seen her confident and proud up until then). "Elder, perhaps Fakir is—"

"Rue. I said, leave the rest to me. I am your Elder, am I not?"

"Of course, Elder, but she will be—"

Raven's eyes narrowed at Rue, his smile revealing his teeth. Ahiru shivered. "Do you defy me? The one who has cared for you? Have I ever led you—any of us," he paused to gesture to the village in its entirety, "astray?"

All remained silent.

"... No, Elder. I apologize." Rue bowed her head, her pale cheeks reddening with shame.

"As you should. You know your place, Rue, so remain there."

Fakir growled under his breath. "Dammit, Rue, stop letting him—!"

"But he is right, Fakir." She turned her chin up, that cool, proud poise taking hold once more. The change was drastic. "Elder Raven led us this far. Because of all he has done for us, we owe him our respect. He knows better."

Ahiru couldn't take it anymore. She clenched her fists and stomped her foot, her face red from the building aggravation, the words pouring from her lips in a rush. "I'm right here! Stop acting like I can't hear any of this! I don't wanna be a captive! I don't wanna be some savior! I deserve some answers, but no one is giving them to me, and I just wanna go home to Mytho!"

She was met with silence, all eyes on her. Panting for breath, she gripped her pendant again. She needed strength now more than ever. "So, please … can't I just go home?! Or someone please tell me why I can't!"

Before anyone else could say anything, so stunned as they were with Ahiru's passionate outburst, Fakir approached her with long strides. He stopped a mere foot away, staring down at her, his words curt and direct.

"Here's how it is: you aren't leaving. In two months' time, we have a chance to break the curse that was placed on our village and everyone in it. In order to do so, we need you."

There was a curse? Was the curse the reason why this place was underground? And what in the world would they need her for? Ahiru couldn't breathe for a moment, and all else were silent aside from Fakir.

"You're going to die down here. You've got two months. Sorry."

Her blood ran cold.

With that, he turned on his heel and left, shoving past Elder Raven before he pushed his way through the silent crowd and disappeared into the darkness of the village.

They all watched her for her reaction, but for once, Ahiru took no notice.

Her legs felt like liquid beneath her. Knees buckling, she crumpled to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest; it felt as if there was a heavy, cold, dead weight pressed down on her shoulders. She wasn't being held for ransom. She was being kept there, because in two months, they were going to—! She was going to—!

There was a collective murmur among the crowd, but Ahiru paid no mind, far too lost in her own, scrambled thoughts. She didn't even look up when the tall, brown-haired dancer was suddenly at her side, holding her shoulders. "E-Everyone," the woman said, her voice soft and hesitant, her hand waving almost awkwardly back and forth, "please leave her be for now—if that's alright! She's distraught!"

Rue scoffed. "Elder, you were right. Fakir never should have questioned you, and neither should I."

"Indeed," Raven mused in agreement. "And Hermia is correct. Miss Ahiru needs a moment for herself. Come, there is much to be done."

Noises filtered about: the shuffling of feet, the heavy, rolling sound of a wooden piano being pushed away, the hushed, fervent whispers …

The tall young woman reached out to help Ahiru stand. She didn't want to lean into the support, but found that she had little choice, and allowed herself to be steered away from the crowd, little Uzura following after.

"I-I'm sorry, Miss Ahiru! I know what you must be feeling. Let's get you back to your hut and you can rest for a while."

For all of the woman's oddly earnest counsel, Ahiru still wasn't paying attention.

Her hands grasped at her pendant, her knuckles white.

Karon awoke with a wince, his head throbbing. He felt the cool press of soft fabric against his forehead, and he blinked his eyes open.

Though she was blurred, he recognized the hazy silhouette of the head maid, Raetsel. Through his onset confusion, he smiled, his crows' feet crinkling. "Ahh … Miss Raetsel. Good morning. My, have I come down with a fever?"

As he blinked the sleep away and attempted to ignore the pain of his pounding head, his expression sobered upon finally focusing on hers.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she appeared less kempt than usual, her hair falling out of her typically pristine ponytail and elegant, long bangs, her complexion pale and worrisome. He had never seen the woman look so weary.

It certainly didn't help that he hardly remembered how he got there in the first place. He tried to sit up, wincing as he did so.

She reached out to stop him and tried to coax him back into the pillows. "No, Karon, you must rest."

"I … How did I even get here?" He paused, accepting the drink of water she offered to him. Karon hadn't realized how parched he must've been. How long was he asleep? "And is … something the matter? You seem troubled." Even through the incessant dizziness, he had the strangest feeling he was missing something important.

Raetsel gave him a forced smile. "Please, lie back. Don't worry. You've suffered a blow to the head and you need time to recover."

"A blow to the—?"

Wait. That was right. The Lady Ahiru had arrived, and then there was a tour about the town. There was fire, and His Highness left to see to the flames, while Lady Ahiru had been left with—!

He groaned, once more trying to sit up. "We were attacked. Lady Ahiru. Is she—? And His Highness, does he know—?"

At first, the maid bowed her head, hesitating. "... The Lady Ahiru has been taken, and His Highness—Mytho went to search for her himself."

It didn't matter how injured he was or how much Raetsel insisted that he rested. He was royal advisor and attendant to His Royal Highness Prince Siegfried. In the absence of the prince, he was responsible for the well-being of Vineta. There was no rest to be had; if he remained a second longer in that bed, he would come to regret that.

He pushed himself to drink and eat, but as soon as he found his strength and his balance, he was on his feet, washing up and donning his usual embroidered coat fit for the right-hand of the prince, not minding that his head was still bandaged from the injury he'd sustained.

The first thing he did upon reaching His Highness's study was inquire from the councilmen what instructions Prince Siegfried had left behind before his departure.

They only replied with disgruntlement and slight panic, for the prince had left them with nothing.

Karon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and dismay. That was purely unlike the prince to behave so rashly.

One of the councilmen, scowling and bitter, interjected his opinion fervently. "Surely, His Highness should have given us some sort of order regarding Rungholt's demands! It has been months since we have received word from them, and still, we have nothing with which to counter! His Highness is irresponsible and we look pitiful in the eyes of Rungholt! And he leaves us to chase after a young woman he'd known only for a day!"

Karon winced. It was true. Rungholt had made their demands a while ago, and Prince Siegfried couldn't seem to come to a decision regarding this neighboring land. An alliance wasn't something the prince wanted to consider (a land with such a society that heavily relied on the use of slavery and extreme classism held very little worth to someone as righteous as His Highness). However, Rungholt was powerful. Exceedingly and almost unnaturally so. And war was just as distasteful as friendly association.

Prince Siegfried was just, kind, selfless, and humble. But he was also trapped in an endless battle, and it felt as if he could only win by sacrificing his own morals as well.

The councilmen were not as forgiving or understanding as Karon was. They agreed with anxiety and aggravation, and Karon sat at the head of the table, at a loss, his head still aching.

For three months, Prince Siegfried continued to sit on a decision. And now that Lady Ahiru had been spirited away and His Highness took flight after her, they were left hanging in a precarious balance. Would they have to merely … wait?

That was when a knight in full plate burst through the heavy, wooden doors, his armor clanking noisily as he panted. "K-Karon, sir!"

Oh, what now? The royal advisor stood from his seat, rubbing his temples. "What is it, Sir Elias?"

"The town gates. You're going to want to see what's going on out there! A parade! A large caravan with music and—!"

The councilmen murmured amongst themselves as Karon shook his head. "We didn't sanction for a grand parade to take place in town, but if they aren't causing harm, leave the citizens be. Shut it down if they are disturbing the peace. You don't need me to—"

But the knight shook his head, taking off his helmet. "No, Karon, sir! They bear the Rungholtan colors!"

Karon's heart dropped and the councilmen fell into stunned silence. "I-Is it an army?"

"No, no signs of hostility. If anything, this is more revelry and celebration than I have ever seen in years!"

"... That means—!"

"Prince Femio of Rungholt is here!"

Beta-read by Docktor Locktor