A Wound That Wouldn’t Heal
The woman and I stood facing each other.
The banquet hall was still. Too still. Every noble and servant lay scattered across the floor. Some had collapsed over tables. Others lay twisted beside fallen chairs. Glass crunched faintly under my boots when I shifted my weight.
She stood several steps away from me near the edge of the hall. Her body was wrapped in black robes. A hood covered her head completely. I could not see her face. I could not see her eyes. But I knew she was staring at me.
I felt it.
The same pressure I remembered from the night I died. The same presence that had stood before my parents corpses. The same silence that came before the blade entered my heart.
I clenched my fists.
My breathing slowed. My thoughts sharpened. Emotions tried to surface but I forced them down.
Not now.
I would not let emotions decide this moment.
We did not speak.
We did not move.
Seconds passed.
Then she vanished.
There was no sound. No flash of light. One moment she stood there. The next the space she occupied was empty. The shadows shifted slightly and settled.
My eyes widened.
I turned sharply.
Movement caught my attention near the far end of the hall. A figure sprinted forward. Low posture. Fast steps. Direct line.
Straight toward the Everwinter prince.
My body reacted before my mind finished processing it.
I ran.
My boots slid on spilled wine and shattered glass but I kept my balance. The darkness did not slow me. I could see clearly in the dark for some reason. Every obstacle in my path stood out sharply.
A guard lay on his side near the table. His sword rested just beyond his fingers.
I grabbed it as I passed.
The grip was unfamiliar but solid. Well balanced. Meant for combat not ceremony.
I jumped.
I planted my foot on the edge of the banquet table and jumped forward. Plates and goblets clattered and fell. Food scattered across the floor.
She turned.
Her sword was already in her hand.
Steel met steel.
The impact jolted my arms. Sparks burst briefly. I twisted my wrist and pushed her blade aside then followed immediately with a thrust aimed at her shoulder.
She blocked.
She stepped inside my range and cut toward my neck.
I ducked and swung upward.
She deflected again.
Fast.
Her movements were efficient. Clean. Precise. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
It was the same style.
The same swordsmanship every black robed figure had used. The same training. The same patterns drilled into muscle and memory.
I felt nothing.
No shock. No grief. No hesitation.
Only focus.
She attacked again.
I stepped back once then surged forward. My blade slipped past her guard and cut across her arm. Cloth tore. Blood splashed across the table.
She did not cry out.
She did not slow.
She kicked the table toward me. Plates shattered against my chest and face. I raised my sword to shield myself. Sharp fragments cut into my cheek. Pain flared.
I ignored it.
I lunged again.
This time I aimed for her leg.
My blade swept low meant to cripple her. She reacted instantly leaping backward. But she was not fast enough.
Steel cut into her thigh.
Blood poured out immediately staining the floor. She stumbled for a brief moment then caught herself.
I advanced.
She retreated. Each step careful. Her breathing was heavier now. Blood loss was slowing her movements.
Good.
She struck again aiming for my ribs. I caught her blade with my bare hands and twisted it hard. Pain shot through my palm as the edge bit into skin but I held firm.
I slammed my shoulder into her chest and drove her back against the table.
The wood cracked loudly.
I raised my sword and brought it down.
She blocked barely.
The impact shattered the table beneath us. We fell together amid broken wood and silverware. I rolled to my feet first and struck again.
She deflected but slower this time.
I cut her arm again.
Then her side.
She countered with a thrust that pierced my shoulder. Pain burned deep. Blood soaked my sleeve. My breath hitched.
I did not step back.
I twisted and drove my blade toward her knee.
She jumped back again.
The previous cut on her thigh was deep.
Her leg buckled.
She dropped to one knee.
I raised my sword.
I had to capture her, even if it meant crippling her.
That was my intent.
Then the darkness broke.
Light flooded the hall. Chandeliers flared to life. Torches ignited along the walls. The pressure vanished instantly.
Sound returned.
Shouts echoed from the entrance.
“Lord Julius”
“Over there”
“Protect the prince”
The Knight Commander.
I heard armoured boots pounding across the floor. Dozens of them.
She looked up.
She saw them.
She stood slowly despite the blood pouring from her leg. She slid her sword back into its sheath calmly.
She looked at me.
Even now her hood did not move.
She took one step back.
Then another.
Her body shimmered.
The edges blurred. Light bent strangely around her form.
She began to fade slowly.
Then she was gone.
My strength left me.
The sword slipped from my fingers. My knees gave out. The hall spun violently.
I heard shouting.
“Medic”
“Get a healer”
“Lord Julius stay awake”
The Knight Commander caught me before I hit the floor.
“Stay with us my lord”
His voice sounded distant.
The last thing I saw was the ceiling above me intact and unburned.
Then darkness took me.
***
I could not move.
My body felt heavy. My limbs would not respond. The pain from my wounds was gone yet something else lingered. A deep heat spread across my chest. Not sharp. Not sudden. Just constant.
Then sound returned.
Steel clashing. Screams. Shouting voices layered over one another. The sound of fire roaring somewhere close.
I opened my eyes.
I stood in a wide stone hall. Flames crawled up the walls. Smoke hung thick in the air. Bodies lay scattered across the floor. Blood pooled between cracks in the stone.
Black robed figures surrounded us.
They stood in a wide circle. Silent. Watching. Their swords were drawn. Their posture was calm.
I held my blade with both hands. My breathing was steady. My arms felt strong. My body moved without hesitation.
Behind me someone stood firm.
A large presence. Solid. Familiar.
My father.
The Grand Duke stood at my back. His sword was raised. His stance wide. He guarded my rear without looking away. His breathing was heavy but controlled.
Between us stood my mother.
She did not hold a weapon. Her hands were raised slightly. Her posture straight. Her expression calm. She turned her head slowly as if counting enemies.
Around us chaos unfolded.
Screams echoed from every direction. Knights fell one by one. Servants ran only to be cut down. Black robed figures moved through the carnage without pause. Their blades rose and fell with precision.
I stepped forward.
A robed figure lunged. I blocked and cut him down. Another followed. Then another.
Steel rang continuously.
I struck. Parried. Advanced. Blood coated my boots. My arms moved on instinct. My focus narrowed to the enemies in front of me.
Do not break formation.
Do not turn your back.
I felt my father shift behind me. His blade struck. Someone screamed and fell.
My mother moved with us. Always between us. Always protected.
The door ahead trembled.
A loud crash echoed through the hall.
Wood splintered.
Light burst through as the doors were forced open.
Voices shouted orders.
The Knight Commander and his men surged into the room.
My father saw it.
“Now” he said.
“Come on it is time to go”
We moved.
Slowly at first. Step by step. Blades raised. My father led the front. I guarded the rear. My mother stayed between us.
Enemies closed in.
We pushed forward.
The exit was close.
Too close.
The black robed figures near us shifted at once. Their posture changed. Their attention snapped toward me.
They rushed.
Too many.
I raised my sword and struck. One fell. Another blocked. A third slipped past my guard. Steel grazed my arm. Pain flared.
I tried to adjust.
I could not keep up.
Blades came from every direction.
I felt my balance slip.
The swords closed in.
I saw them all at once.
Edges aimed at my chest.
A shadow moved.
Something large crossed my vision.
A body slammed into me from the side and shoved me back.
Steel pierced flesh.
Again.
And again.
Warm blood sprayed across my face.
I stumbled.
I looked up.
A huge figure stood in front of me. His back straight. His arms spread wide.
Multiple swords were buried deep in his chest.
Blood poured down his Armour.
He did not fall.
He turned his head slightly.
He smiled.
It was Sir Lancelot.
The Knight Commander.
“Do not hesitate” he said quietly.
His body trembled.
Then he fell forward.
A burning sensation exploded in my chest.
***
I gasped.
My eyes snapped open.
I sat up sharply.
My room was dark.
My bed was soaked with sweat.
My chest burned fiercely. My breath came fast. I pressed my hand against my sternum.
There was no wound.
No blood.
No fire.
Only heat.
I swung my legs off the bed and stumbled forward. My movements were clumsy. My vision blurred at the edges.
The mirror stood across the room.
I reached it and grabbed the frame to steady myself.
My reflection stared back.
Pale. Wide eyed. Breathing hard.
I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt and tore it open.
I stared at my bare chest.
The golden star was still there.
But it was now broken.
One of its rays was gone.
