Poisson's and Truth
As dusks fall over the kingdom an eerie, silence settles with the palace. Guards are posted through out the halls ensuring that no one disrupts the king's orders. Admits this calm a hidden assailant with deadly precision fires a poisson arrow , aimed at the queen and the shaman , who are conversing in ones of the palace chamber.
The arrow strikes both woman and their breath falter as the poisson quickly spread.
The guards outside hear the cries and rush into the room to find them collasping l. Panick spread like wildfire as some guards attempt to administer aid,but the poisson is to swift and lethal. In despiration they rush to inform the king.
As the news reaches the throne room, the king orders the physician to be summoned.
But before the arrival of the physician both the Queen and the shaman had passed away.
In the wake if this tragedy the entire palace is plunged into a state of mourning. The workers and staff in the palace having heared the news, now their heads wherever they are, as a mark of respect and sorrows for the Queen's umtimely death.
The king strike his grief, kneels at the Queen body. His tears falls as he whisper words of regrets , blaming himself for the chain if events that let to this moments.
His once-strong composure scatters as hemourns not only the loss if his wife but the truth that had been buried for so long. He blames his conspiracy , the lies, and the demon that had driven him to this point.
*
The journey back to Ariadne's cottage was fraught with uncertainty, but Tristan's determination propelled him forward. When he arrived, Ariadne was waiting, her face pale with worry.
"Tristan!" she exclaimed, running to him. "You made it back.
" But where is Maria? What happened?" Tristan asked.
" She went to the market"
Ariadne's eyes softened with understanding. She guided him to sit by the fire, the warm glow dancing across their weary faces. "You've been through so much," she said gently. "But you're here now, and that matters. We have work to do."
Tristan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ariadne took a deep breath and retrieved an old, worn book from a nearby shelf. "I found this," she said, her fingers tracing the faded symbols on the cover. "It holds the secrets of the Demon Lord—his rise, his weaknesses, and how to defeat him."
She opened the book to a specific passage and read aloud: "To weaken the Demon Lord's power, his bloodline must be severed. But to fully conquer him, the blood of a woman close to him—or one deeply loved—must be consumed."
Tristan's heart sank. "What does that mean?"
"It means you must drink the blood of someone who is either connected to the Demon Lord or someone you truly care for," Ariadne explained. "It's the first step to unlocking the power you need to fight him."
Tristan recoiled, shaking his head. "No. That's monstrous. I won't do it."
Ariadne's gaze hardened. "Do you want to stop him or not? This isn't about you anymore, Tristan. It's about saving everyone—the palace, the kingdom… Ariadne."
"I won't hurt anyone," Tristan insisted, his voice rising.
Ariadne sighed, her resolve firm. "Then I'll give you no choice."
Before Tristan could react, Ariadne grabbed a knife from the table and cut deep into her palm, letting her blood flow freely. The scent hit Tristan like a tidal wave, and he staggered back, his hands trembling as his teeth began to change.
"Ariadne, stop!" he pleaded, his voice ragged.
But Ariadne pressed on, stepping closer. "You need this," she urged. "If not for yourself, then for everyone else."
Tristan tried to resist, but the primal hunger overtook him. With a guttural cry, he sank his teeth into Ariadne's neck, the taste of her blood igniting a fire within him.
As he drank, memories flooded his mind—visions of a brutal reign, a fiery betrayal, and the Demon Lord's wrath. He saw flashes of his own past: a woman fleeing in the night with a baby in her arms, the child growing up in secrecy, and the truth of his lineage.
When he pulled away, his hands shook as he stared at Ariadne, who smiled weakly. "You needed to know," she whispered.
Tears streamed down Tristan's face as he pieced it all together. "You're… my mother," he said, his voice breaking.
Ariadne nodded, her strength fading. "I ran from him to protect you. But now you know the truth. You are his blood, Tristan. And you're the only one who can stop him.
Fueled by anger and determination, Tristan saddled a horse and rode hard toward the city Ariadne had described. The landscape blurred as he pushed forward, his mind replaying the horrifying revelations over and over.
He arrived at a secluded, weathered house nestled in a desolate area. An old man emerged, his eyes weary but sharp.
"You must be the one Ariadne sent," the man said, his voice gravelly. "Come inside. We have much to discuss."
As they sat by the hearth, the old man recounted the Demon Lord's tragic origin. "He wasn't always this way," he began. "He was once a ruler of light, but greed and betrayal turned him into what he is now. The very people he trusted conspired against him, casting him out of the heavenly realm and branding him a demon."
The old man handed Tristan a knife, its blade shimmering with an ethereal light. "This will hurt him," he said. "But it won't be enough. To end him, you'll need more—a royal heir's blood. That is the only way to sever his connection to this world."
Tristan's heart sank. "You mean Theodora," he said, his voice trembling.
"Yes," the old man confirmed. "She is the key. But be warned—the Demon Lord will sense your intentions. He will come for you."
"Secondly, to perish him you will need the sun to penetrate into his chamber".
"Sun?" Tristan asked
" Yes the sun kills their flesh , the sun eat up their body, the sun makes their whole blood hot and that why he would always work at night .
As the old man finished revealing the secrets to Tristan, his voice dropped to a whisper, urgency filling his every word.
"Leave now, boy," the old man said, his eyes narrowing with fear. "The Demon Lord is no ordinary foe. He's attuned to those who dare to challenge him. If you stay here, he will come, and you will never live to see another sunrise."
Tristan hesitated for a moment, guilt and determination warring within him. But the old man's trembling hands pushed him towards the door.
"Go! Your fate lies elsewhere. Do not let his wrath find you here."
Tristan reluctantly mounted his horse, casting one last glance at the frail figure of the old man who had risked everything to guide him. He urged the horse forward and disappeared into the thick forest, the hooves echoing faintly in the distance.
The old man watched the fading figure, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was to come. He turned back to the temple-like room, kneeling before an altar adorned with burning incense and relics of forgotten gods. His lips moved in silent prayer, his voice trembling with each sacred chant.
A sudden gust of wind extinguished the flames, plunging the room into darkness. The air grew heavy and cold, the faint scent of sulfur filling the space. The old man's heart sank as the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed behind him.
"I see you've been busy," came a deep, guttural voice, resonating with unearthly malice.
The old man turned slowly, his eyes widening as the Demon Lord emerged from the shadows. Clad in black, his crimson eyes burned like embers, and his sharp, inhuman grin revealed fangs glistening in the dim light.
"I should have known," the Demon Lord said, his voice dripping with venom. "Your meddling has not gone unnoticed."
The old man clutched a talisman around his neck, lifting it as if to ward off the monster before him. The Demon Lord let out a dark, mirthless laugh.
"Do you think your petty gods can save you now?"
The air around them howled as a violent wind swirled through the room, scattering the old man's sacred relics. The Demon Lord moved faster than the eye could follow, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
"No prayers can save you, old fool."
The old man screamed as the Demon Lord's claws tore into his chest. With monstrous strength, the Demon Lord ripped his head clean from his body, the sound of snapping bones echoing like a sinister melody. Blood sprayed across the room as he flung the head into one corner, his eyes glowing with rage.
The lifeless body slumped to the ground, but the Demon Lord wasn't finished. He tore into the old man's torso, his claws carving through flesh and bone. He ripped out the organs one by one, tossing them aside like discarded refuse. The room reeked of blood and death, the once-sacred space now a scene of unspeakable horror.
The Demon Lord straightened, his blood-soaked figure a terrifying sight. He looked down at the mutilated corpse, a twisted grin playing on his lips.
"Let this be a lesson to all who dare defy me."
With a final, haunting laugh, the Demon Lord vanished into the darkness, leaving the gruesome scene as a grim reminder of his wrath.
*
The sun dipped below the horizon as Tristan rode back to the small cottage, his heart heavy with guilt and grief. He had failed to protect Ariadne, his own mother, and the weight of that realization crushed him. As he arrived, the neighborhood was already gathering. A few villagers, having noticed the commotion earlier, had come to lend a hand.
Tristan dismounted, his eyes hollow, and wordlessly began organizing the burial. He instructed a few men to dig a grave near the old oak tree behind the cottage—a spot Ariadne had often admired.
Maria, returning from her errands, arrived just in time to see Ariadne's lifeless body being laid to rest. She let out a piercing cry, rushing toward the grave.
"No! No, this can't be!" Maria sobbed, clutching at Tristan's arm. "How could this happen? Who could have done this?"
Tristan avoided her gaze, the truth lodged in his throat like a blade. "It was... an accident," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Maria's cries drew in more neighbors, and soon a small crowd surrounded the grave. Many wept openly, mourning the loss of a kind and gentle woman who had been like a mother to many in the village.
As the grave was sealed and the crowd dispersed, Tristan remained by the freshly turned earth, his knees sinking into the dirt. Maria stayed a short distance away, her tear-streaked face filled with questions she didn't dare voice.
That night, the cottage was silent except for the sound of Maria's soft weeping in the next room. Tristan sat by the window, the moonlight illuminating his haunted expression. His mind raced with thoughts of Ariadne's sacrifice, the looming threat of the Demon Lord, and the painful knowledge that Theodora, with whom he felt an undeniable connection, might also have to die.
As dawn broke, he rose with newfound determination. He would not let Ariadne's death be in vain. He decided to bury the old man's book of secrets in a place the Demon Lord would never think to look. Grabbing a spade, he made his way to the riverbank. The soft sand by the water's edge would serve as the perfect hiding spot.
After burying the book, he mounted his horse and rode toward the palace.
At the palace gates, the guards crossed their spears, blocking his entry.
"I need to see the King," Tristan demanded.
"You and every other peasant," one guard sneered.
"It's about the Demon Lord!" Tristan's voice rose, urgency cutting through the morning air. "If you don't let me in, this kingdom may fall."
The guards exchanged uncertain glances before stepping aside. Tristan entered the palace, where chaos reigned.
The halls were filled with whispers of loss and betrayal. Servants rushed about, and the air was thick with tension. Tristan soon encountered the Chief Advisor and the Queen Mother, both newly released from the dungeon. Their faces were pale and streaked with tears.
"They released you?" Tristan asked, surprised.
The Chief Advisor nodded solemnly. "It cost us more than you know." His voice cracked, and the Queen Mother turned away, unable to speak.
As Tristan walked further into the palace, he spotted Theodora in the distance, confined to the shadows. She appeared fragile and unaware of her mother's death. Guilt gnawed at him, but he couldn't afford distractions.
Finally, he stood before the King in the throne room. Bowing deeply, he began recounting his journey to the old man, the secret of the Demon Lord, and the cost it would take to end his reign.
The King rose from his throne, his face pale but resolute. "If it means the end of this madness, so be it," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "But my daughter must be saved, and the Demon Lord must perish—even if it costs me my life."
Tristan returned to his cottage and summoned a few trusted villagers to plan their next move. By nightfall, the room was filled with murmurs as the men huddled around a makeshift sketch of the Demon Lord's chamber.
"Here," Tristan said, pointing to the map. "This is the only way in. We'll need to distract him long enough to free Theodora."
The room was dimly lit by a single lantern. Shadows flickered on the walls, and the air was thick with determination. The men, dressed in simple yet sturdy clothes, listened intently as Tristan outlined the plan.
"We can't go in unarmed," one man said.
"We won't," Tristan assured him. "We'll use what little we have—arrows tipped with iron and fire."
As they discussed their strategy, Maria burst into the room. "I'm coming with you," she declared.
"Maria, no," Tristan said firmly. "This is too dangerous."
"I don't care!" she shot back. "Ariadne gave her life for this. I won't sit idly by while you risk yours."
After a heated argument, Tristan reluctantly agreed to let her join, though he vowed to keep her out of harm's way.
Far away, in the depths of his chamber, the Demon Lord sat on his throne, his eyes glowing with suspicion. Something was amiss. He could feel the faint ripples of rebellion in the air.
"Tristan..." he growled, his voice echoing through the dark halls.
He summoned his minions, dark creatures born of shadows, and ordered them to find Tristan. Day and night, they scoured the land.
*
The palace buzzed with activity as the King prepared his forces. The guards trained rigorously in the courtyard under the fiery orange glow of the setting sun. Every clang of swords and thud of shields echoed the gravity of the situation. This could very well be their last day on earth, but the soldiers were determined to protect the kingdom and etch their names in history.
"Remember!" shouted the Captain of the Guard, pacing among the ranks. "We fight not just for our lives, but for the legacy of this kingdom. This is our moment!"
The soldiers roared in response, their resolve unshaken.
Meanwhile, the Chief Advisor, cloaked in the shadows of the night, slipped out of the palace through a hidden passage. He rode to a desolate corner of the city where a group of hired assassins waited. The flickering light of a torch illuminated their faces, each marked with scars that told of countless battles fought in darkness.
The Advisor handed over a small pouch filled with gold coins. "The job you did on the Queen and the Shaman," he said in a low voice, "was exemplary. But there's more to do. Ensure that no one connects this back to me."
One of the assassins grinned, his teeth glinting like a wolf's. "Your secret's safe with us... as long as the gold keeps flowing."
The Advisor nodded and turned to leave, confident his dealings would remain undiscovered.
Unbeknownst to the Chief Advisor, the King had set a plan in motion to uncover the truth behind the murders of the Queen and the Shaman. He had sent three trusted highwaymen to track down any suspicious activity. The trio, experts in stealth and combat, shadowed the Advisor to his meeting with the assassins.
From a hidden vantage point, they watched as the Advisor handed over the gold and spoke to the assassins. "We've got him," one of the highwaymen whispered.
As the Advisor rode off, the highwaymen descended upon the assassins. The ambush was swift and brutal.
Swords clashed in the dim light as the highwaymen fought the assassins. One of the assassins lunged with a dagger, but a highwayman parried, driving his sword into the attacker's chest. Another assassin swung wildly, his blade slicing through the air, but he was overwhelmed by two highwaymen working in tandem.
The leader of the assassins, realizing they were outmatched, attempted to flee, but a highwayman shot an arrow that pierced his leg, bringing him to the ground.
When the fight ended, the highwaymen bound the surviving assassins and dragged them back to the palace.
That night, under the pale light of the moon, the palace courtyard was transformed into a battlefield of justice. The surviving assassins knelt in the center, their faces bruised and bloody. The King stood before them, flanked by his advisors and guards. The nobles and commoners alike gathered to witness the spectacle, murmuring among themselves.
The King raised a hand, silencing the crowd. "These men," he began, his voice steady and commanding, "were caught conspiring with the very man who sought to destroy this kingdom from within."
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the Chief Advisor was brought forward, shackled and pale.
The King continued, "The assassins have confessed that the Queen and the Shaman were murdered under the orders of this man!" He pointed at the Chief Advisor, his face hard with fury.
The Chief Advisor shook his head violently. "Lies! All lies!"
But the assassins, under the threat of torture, revealed the truth. One of them, trembling, confessed, "It was the Chief Advisor... He paid us to kill the Queen and the Shaman... He said they were threats to his power."
The crowd erupted into chaos. Nobles whispered furiously, and commoners shouted curses.
The King's voice boomed over the noise. "Silence!" He turned to the Chief Advisor. "You betrayed this kingdom, your Queen, and your own blood. Do you deny it?"
The Chief Advisor hung his head, unable to respond.
The King's eyes burned with anger. "For your crimes, you will rot in the darkest cell of this palace until the gods decide your fate. And as for your accomplices..." He gestured to the assassins. "They will face the gallows at dawn."
The guards dragged the Chief Advisor away, and the assassins were hauled off to await their execution.
The crowd dispersed, the weight of the revelations heavy on their minds. The palace had suffered betrayal, but justice had been served. Still, the shadow of the Demon Lord loomed, and the kingdom's fight was far from over.
*
The Queen Mother's heart weighed heavy as she sat in her chamber, her tear-streaked face reflecting the brokenness she felt inside. Her body trembled, and her hands shook as the cruel realization hit her—everything she had loved, everything she had worked for, was slipping away. Her husband was a monster, her daughter was gone, and she was left in a kingdom that had turned into a suffocating prison.
The vial of poison she had hidden away for moments like this sat before her on the table, shimmering in the dim candlelight. It was the only escape from the unbearable pain that threatened to consume her. Her fingers brushed against it gently, feeling the cool glass against her skin, and she closed her eyes as a flood of memories washed over her—of her once happy family, her beautiful daughter, her hopes for the future.
But now, none of that mattered. The kingdom was lost. Her daughter was dead, and her husband, the king, had betrayed them all. She had no strength left, no will to continue. The suffocating darkness in her heart screamed at her to end it, to end the pain, to leave this world that had given her nothing but heartbreak.
With trembling hands, she uncorked the vial, the pungent scent of poison filling the room. Her lips quivered as she stared at the dark liquid, her heart pounding in her chest. This would be the end of it—the end of her suffering, the end of her failure.
"I am sorry, my child," she whispered, her voice thick with grief. "I could not save you. I could not protect you."
Her tears fell as she brought the vial to her lips. With a final, desperate breath, she drank the poison, the liquid burning as it slid down her throat.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The Queen Mother closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. She could feel the poison working its way through her body, numbing her, dulling the pain. She was ready to slip into oblivion, to join her daughter in the peace that death promised.
But as her vision began to blur and her limbs grew heavy, she heard a sudden knock at the door.
"Your Grace?" The voice of the handmaiden called through the door. The Queen Mother's vision began to fade, but she knew she had no strength left to stop her. Her body was already failing her, and she knew she would never answer again.
The handmaiden, unaware of what had just transpired, rushed into the room. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of the Queen Mother slumped in her chair, her face pale and her breathing shallow.
"Your Grace! No!" the handmaiden cried, rushing to her side. She tried to shake the Queen Mother awake, but the poison had already taken its toll. The Queen Mother's eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, and she looked up at the young girl who had served her faithfully.
"I… am sorry," the Queen Mother whispered, her voice barely audible. "There is… no way out."
The handmaiden's eyes filled with panic as she realized what had happened. "No, Your Grace, please! Don't leave us!" she begged, but it was too late. The Queen Mother's head fell back, her body limp, and her breath stilled. She was gone.
The room grew eerily quiet, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire. The handmaiden knelt beside the Queen Mother's lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably. She could do nothing but mourn the woman who had once been so strong, so regal, and now was nothing more than a victim of her own grief.
Outside, the kingdom remained unaware of the loss. The Queen Mother had taken her own life, a final act of surrender to the pain and torment that had haunted her for so long. And as her body lay still, the kingdom's fate remained in the hands of those who remained—both the living and the dead.
Her death marked the end of an era.
*
The palace trembled with tension as the final battle neared. The citizens had heard the dreadful news and began to pray, their voices rising in unison for Tristan's survival. Those who could offer prayers gathered, desperately wishing for the fate of their kingdom to change. The guards prepared for battle, a bomb planted secretly around the demon lord's chamber, ready to set off in the most crucial moment.
Tristan stood at the entrance of the chamber, staring down the dark, ominous path that led to the heart of the demon lord's lair. The air was thick with anticipation, and with each step, Tristan's heart pounded louder. As he crossed into the chamber, his eyes locked on the demon lord, whose twisted grin only fueled his rage. The demon lord rose slowly, his presence suffocating and overpowering.
"You think you can defeat me, human?" the demon lord sneered, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. "You are nothing but a fleeting shadow, while I am eternal."
Tristan's voice was laced with fury. "You are selfish, cruel, and beyond redemption. All you care about is power, and you've killed without mercy to maintain it. But not anymore. This ends tonight."
The demon lord chuckled darkly. "You speak of morality, but you do not know the pain of eternal existence. To live forever is to become numb, to watch the world change while you remain the same. You cannot comprehend the torment of it."
As Tristan and the demon lord circled each other, preparing for their battle, the air crackled with tension. Tristan's anger swelled, but so did his confusion. He could feel his heart pounding, not just from the fight, but from the pull toward Theodora, who was lying unconscious in the corner of the chamber.
Then, without warning, the demon lord flung a small, wicked knife toward Theodora. It struck her arm, and blood began to seep from the wound. Theodora gasped, a faint cry escaping her lips as she was thrown to Tristan's feet.
Seeing the blood, Tristan's hunger for revenge clashed with the surge of desire. The demon lord's laughter echoed in the chamber. "How delicious. You want her, don't you? You can't stop yourself."
Theodora, weak and barely able to move, whispered, "Tristan, I... I want to help you. Kill me, take my blood. End this madness. I don't deserve to live, not while he continues to harm the heavenly realm. Please, I know you love me, and you can end this pain. Do it..."
Tristan stood frozen, torn. His heart shattered as his emotions battled within him. He could not bear to lose her, yet he knew the only way to defeat the demon lord was to take her blood. He took a long, deep breath, his hands trembling. Finally, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he leaned down, pressing his lips to her neck. He sank his teeth into her flesh, the sweet, warm blood flowing into him.
The moment she died, the demon lord's laughter rang out, filling the room with mockery. "You've killed her. How pathetic. You've sealed your fate, boy. Now you will die alongside her."
But Tristan, consumed with rage and grief, stood up, his eyes blazing with determination. "I will never let you win. I will never let you control me again."
The fight between them was brutal. Tristan's fists collided with the demon lord's chest, his body moving with a fluidity born of both desperation and raw power. The demon lord retaliated with vicious strikes, claws raking across Tristan's skin, but Tristan did not relent. He fought with everything he had, fueled by the death of the woman he loved and the desire to rid the world of this monstrous tyrant.
Minutes passed, and the battle raged on, each moment growing more intense. Then, the ground beneath them rumbled. Tristan's eyes widened as the bomb, planted earlier, detonated. A blinding light filled the chamber, and the sound of the explosion shook the very walls. Tristan's voice rang out, "You think you can fight me? You prefer to die alongside me than live in defeat."
The bomb's explosion shattered the demon lord's defenses, and as the sun's rays pierced the chamber, the demon lord's body began to disintegrate. The blinding light burned him away, and with one final scream, he was consumed by the sun's fury.
But as the light died down, Tristan collapsed to his knees, exhausted and battered. His tears fell freely as he looked over to Theodora's lifeless body. He had won, but the price had been unimaginable.
The guards and the palace workers, who had been preparing for the worst, rushed into the chamber. They found Theodora's body, but to their shock, there was a faint pulse. She was still alive.
Theodora was carried out of the chamber and rushed to the palace for treatment. It was not over yet. Hope was not lost.