Turn to Ashes

Fire had no sound. When the flames began to touch the wood of the door and window frames—it would get bigger, but it remained silent. The fire would give no warning, until its scorching heat devoured the wood, scorching it to a pulp and blackening. That was when the wood made a sound, shattered and fell on the walls and floor.

When that happened it was too late. The fire had become too big. Humans and livestock that were sleeping were mostly not aware of the coming fire. Because the smoke first silenced their noses and clogs their lungs—filled it with black smoke mixed with deadly charcoal.

The few who woke up tried to run. The living could stay alive if lucky. But that was not the case right now.

In an unpretentious village called Acheron, a fire was raging violently. It happened just as the citizens had just gathered to celebrate the birth of the Phoenix race. They were full and drunk and then fell asleep peacefully in their beds.

"Aaargh! Help!" The humans who hadn't fully sober from their drunkenness—running into the field. They tried hard to breathe air and cleared their lungs. In a state of fear and struggle, they did not even realize the pain of their burning skin.

But their efforts were in vain. They would only meet death faster. Because knights in armor with no identity stood guard there like executioners. With sharp swords they killed the survivors one by one. There was no safe place in the village.

In a corner of a burning house, A young girl named Mireila was huddled in a shallow well. Her body was drenched, she wrapped herself in the blanket while shaking. She dared not cry. She was worried that someone would find out about her whereabouts. She felt heat rising over her. But the water and humidity of the well kept her from being roasted alive.

She didn't know who had survived. Because when her sister and uncle had run out, some knights killed them. Miraila ran scared back into the house and jumped into the well.

The slender girl with short blonde hair was slightly dislocated, but she was still alive. The knights probably thought he was burnt to death. Her trembling lips recited a silent prayer. Her voice only sounded like a whisper that mingled with the friction of falling wood and stones because they could not withstand the heat of the fire.

To her this was like an irony. Even though they were the Phoenix Clan—mythical birds in legends—they were human. They would not rise again from the ashes of a burning body like the Phoenix bird. They were not immortals.

Several hours had passed. Mireila was sleeping in her fear. The sound of a piece of wood falling into the well and hitting the water woke her up. She gasped and a feeling of horror came over her again.

The air around her was cleaner at this time. It seemed like the fire had devoured the house. Mireila caught her breath when she realized that there was the sound of heavy footsteps, more than one person walking around the well.

"There is nothing left, all the citizens of Acheron are dead," said one of them.

Mireila didn't dare scream for help. if it was an enemy, they would instantly kill her.

"What should we tell the King? There's no more of the Phoenix Clan left," another grumbled.

Unknowingly, Mireila's feet shifted. She created a noisy splash in the well.

Splash!

"There is someone!"

"Maybe he's still alive!"

Mireila decided to follow her instincts. After all, she didn't have anyone anymore. If she died, maybe it was fate. She stood up and looked over the well.

"There's a girl! Quickly get the rope!"

"Miss, hold on! we will take you to the palace!" Said one of them.

***

Mireila didn't expect this to happen to her life. A few hours earlier she was still joking with her uncle and sister about her intention to go to the capital to start her music career. Earlier she had carried her sister to bed, covered her with a blanket and gave her a goodnight kiss. Why was she the only survivor?

"Miss, you must drink," a uniformed maid handed her a glass of water with a concerned look.

She had just arrived at the palace after driving in a horse-drawn carriage for nearly four hours. She could no longer sleep, she was too sad to cry even to speak. She couldn't put anything in her mouth.

They took her to a magnificent room and changed her clothes. Her hair was combed and they even put makeup on her face. Mireila felt like a lifeless mannequin. She was still too shaken up and let the servants do whatever to her body.

"What's your name, miss?" A servant asked cautious.

Mireila didn't answer. She couldn't talk even if he wanted to. She could faintly hear the servants talking about her.

"All the villagers of Acheron died, only she is left,"

"How is that possible? She wasn't hurt at all,"

"The doctor said her soul was very shaken, it will take a long time to heal her mind," another commented.

Mireila listened blankly. Maybe it would be better if she just died, then she didn't have to suffer like this. When she set foot in the palace—she immediately thought of her sister Brianna. She had always hoped to be invited to the palace. She wanted to be a knight.

The Phoenix Clan every few years sent a woman into the palace. Nobody really knows what they were doing. But the elders said that Allandur's kings always needed a Phoenix descendant by their side.

They only sent old women and when they died Acheron would send other old women. When a Phoenix entered the palace she could only occasionally return to Acheron. That was why they were usually women who already had children. Because serving the King meant that they had to continue to be near the king without the opportunity to have a family.

Last night was the Phoenix festival, which was held to give thanks for the birth of their race. Mireila remembered meeting the kind-looking old woman who the knights had escorted to Acheron. She only comes home once a year for the festival. And she also died along with the other villagers of Acheron.

The enemies were waiting for them all to gather to slaughter them. Leaving Mireila, who was currently thinking about ending her life.

"Where is she?" A man's voice seemed irritated as he forced his way into Mireila's room. The servants turned nervous and gave way to him.

Mireila glanced at him, showing a lifeless expression. She recognized the man's features. Charming silver hair, blue eyes and a dashing stature that didn't lose to the knights. Sigmar Aramastus was a King who controlled Allandur and later aggressively expanded his territory to the North continent.

He had a stern face with friendly eyes. But he was notoriously cruel and would do anything to get what he wanted.

Mireila did not expect to meet the king. But it didn't feel good at all. Mireila was not excited to move on with life.

"My Lady, are you all right?" He asked. Mireila was silent. She might be beheaded for being disrespectful. But her tongue was mute, she could not speak.

"Is it just your tongue that burned?" His words felt evil in Miraila's ears. She just had a terrible accident. Mireila just looked down.

"Keep your head up," he ordered.

Mireila did not immediately obey. Impatient, King Sigmar forcibly grabbed her chin. Now they stare at each other. Mireila was momentarily stunned, Sigmar was very handsome. He was not fit to be a tyrant. But grief brought her back to reality. Not even a handsome face could cheer her up.

Sigmar, who looked worried earlier, now smiled.

"Emerald green eyes, yes, you really are a Phoenix. I'm sorry that you're now the last of your race. I didn't know they had such a beautiful young girl like you..all this time they only sent old women who were about to die," Sigmar said. Mireila didn't really understand it. But she didn't want to ask any further questions either.

"All of you, get out!" Sigmar ruled. The maids all rushed to vacate the room, leaving only the two of them.

"Well, lady, whatever your name is. Do you know what the Phoenix ladies who accompanied the king in the palace did?" He asked, caressing the girl's flawless white cheeks.

King Sigmar bowed slightly when faced with Mireila who was sitting on her bed expressionless. He then took Mireila's hand and acted like a gentleman. He then gave a kiss on the back of her right hand. The touch of his cold lips made Mireila flinch for a moment, but she flinched slightly when the coldness turned slightly painful.

Did he just bite her?

After a few awkward minutes, Sigmar let her go. He wiped the corners of his lips which left a few drops of blood. Mireila, who was surprised, immediately rubbed her hand. At a glance she noticed, there were barely any scars on her skin.

Did King Sigmar just drink her blood?