A realm in ruins

The sea churned like a restless beast beneath the ferry as Luciana tightened her grip on the boat's edge. Moonlight danced over the waves, silver and spectral, illuminating the ship that approached them like a phantom emerging from the abyss.

A voice rang out in Amanécerian, carried by the wind. "Follow us!"

Luciana turned to Fabio, her voice clipped with urgency. "They want us to follow."

Without hesitation, he dug his oars into the water, his muscles straining as he fought to match their pace. The ship loomed closer, its dark hull slicing through the water like a harbinger of fate.

As they neared, a man descended onto their ferry in a fluid motion, his boots landing with a heavy thud. His gaze swept over them, sharp and assessing.

"Who goes there?" he demanded.

Luciana met his stare, her voice steady as she replied in her mother tongue.

The man hesitated, his brows knitting together. "Who might you be?"

"Luciana Mircea de Amanécer."

Silence hung between them before the man let out a short, barking laugh. "The princess? She has been in Wahrheit for a year now." His laughter, hollow and mocking, echoed over the water.

Luciana's expression hardened. "You mock royalty at your own peril."

His smirk remained. "And your proof?"

She exhaled slowly, allowing the familiar current of power to awaken within her. The night around them brightened as pure energy gathered at her back. A single wing materialized, unfurling in a brilliant cascade of white light. The glow bathed the man's face, stripping him of his arrogance.

His smirk faded. He lowered his gaze, swallowing thickly before dropping to one knee. "Forgive me, your imperial highness. I have sinned."

Luciana held his silence for a moment before speaking. "Take me to the emperor, Commander Assensio of the Second Naval Order. He will confirm my identity."

His name on her lips sent a visible jolt through him. He bowed deeply. "There is no need, your highness. I beg your forgiveness."

She accepted his apology with a curt nod but wasted no time. "Escort me to the eastern safe zone."

Assensio straightened, barking orders to his men. "Prepare to set sail!"

As the ship lurched forward, he approached her again. "I would accompany you myself, but war has stretched us thin. The borders are barely holding."

Luciana's gaze drifted over the endless horizon. A hand rested on her abdomen, fingers pressing against the fragile promise of life within.

The journey to the eastern stronghold was an exercise in endurance. Food was scarce, rationed carefully among the weary travelers. By midday, six soldiers had been assigned to escort Luciana and her company to Olympus.

"We must move quickly, your highness," Assensio urged, helping her into the wagon. The harness was drawn by two pegasi and two stallions, their breath visible in the cold night air.

Fabio climbed in last, cradling Nemesis against his chest. The caravan pressed forward, cutting through what remained of a once-glorious realm.

Luciana's heart clenched at the devastation that unfolded before her. The Amanécer she had known—proud, unyielding—was now a graveyard.

Once-majestic cities stood in smoldering ruin, their towering structures shattered and skeletal, like the broken ribs of a dying beast. The villages—once alive with song, laughter, and the scent of fresh bread—were now eerie wastelands, littered with the unburied dead.

Fires still burned, their embers swirling in the wind, devouring homes, orchards, and fields where children once played. The rivers ran dark, tainted with the blood of kin and foe alike.

Luciana swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"Oh, great deities," Dacey whispered, her voice trembling. "What horrors this land has suffered."

Luciana's grip on the wagon's edge tightened. Then, a strange unease prickled at her skin.

She turned, scanning the darkness. A shiver crawled up her spine.

"Guards," she called in Amanécerian, her voice sharp as a blade. "Behind us!"

The soldiers reacted instantly, twisting in their saddles. A heavy silence fell, the kind that precedes death.

Then, a monstrous screech shattered the night.

A fourth-category demonic beast emerged from the ruins, its hulking form shifting between shadow and flesh. Veins of pulsing red light crawled beneath its hide like molten lava.

Atop it sat a demon werewolf soldier, its face twisted in a grotesque grin. The beast's claws struck first, cleaving through one of the escorts in a single, brutal swipe.

Blood sprayed into the air, hot and thick. The soldier's body collapsed to the ground in two uneven halves.

The demon cackled, yanking on the beast's reins. It lunged again.

The remaining guards sprang into action. Swords flashed, steel ringing against flesh. A piercing howl tore through the night as the beast was struck down, its master following moments later.

Dacey shrieked as the creature's corpse convulsed, its body rupturing in a grotesque explosion. Thick, black blood drenched one of the soldiers.

"Keep moving!" one of them barked.

Luciana lifted her hand, white light spilling from her palm as she purified the cursed blood.

The soldier shook his head. "Do not concern yourself with us, your highness. Not when you carry a child."

She hesitated but relented. They would not accept more.

The road stretched on, paved with suffering. Every village, every city bore the same wounds—burned homes, rotting corpses, the lingering scent of charred flesh.

On the second day, they found an orphan, bleeding and fevered, clutching his dead mother's hand. They took him in.

By the third day, they came across a woman sobbing over the bodies of her children, her grief a sound so raw it felt like the land itself was mourning. She came with them, too.

By nightfall, they reached the entrance to the eastern mountain range. The colossal gateway loomed before them, carved into the mountain's heart. The sacred barrier shimmered faintly, its celestial glow standing as the last vestige of divine protection.

The soldiers dismounted and knelt in unison, murmuring prayers into the cold night air.

Luciana stepped through the veil, emerging into the sanctuary of Olympus.

Yet peace did not greet her.

The city, carved from the very bones of the mountain, bore the scars of war. The streets were filled with the wounded, their moans rising like the last echoes of a dying world. Families huddled in the shadows, their eyes hollow, their bodies draped in the weight of loss.

The scent of death was thick, mingling with the bitter tang of sorrow.

Luciana's breath trembled. She had once walked these streets as a child, basking in the city's radiance. She had watched its people celebrate life beneath the golden sun.

Now, all she saw were remnants.

She pressed a hand to her abdomen.

Her time was near.

But Olympus was no refuge.

Not yet.