"The Sapphire Promise"

The road from Gothia to Lumeria was a ribbon of dust and despair. Roland rode hard, a grim knot of determination tightening in his throat with every league that passed.

Three months. Three months he had spent immersed in the viper's nest of Gothian politics, trying to soothe ruffled feathers and broker peace between the Duke and the throne of Lumeria. He had parried accusations, dodged veiled threats, and offered concessions.

All for nothing.

He and the king had been fools. Pawns in a game far more intricate and deadly than he had ever imagined. The simmering discontent in Gothia, the Duke's carefully cultivated grievances... it had all been a meticulously crafted distraction. A lie.

The truth, when it finally reached him, carried on the wings of a breathless, near-dead messenger, was a cold arrow to his heart.

Edward. Prince Edward. The serpent was sleeping beside the king, coiled and ready to strike. A coup. Not a border skirmish, not a rebellious duke, but a calculated, ruthless power grab from the very heart of Dunkel.

Roland spurred his horse when he learned of it, leaving behind the convoluted politics of Gothia like a discarded shroud.

Lumeria was bleeding. His king, his friend, was in mortal danger. And Roland, the "Shield of Dunkel," the "Supreme Commander," had been lured away, played for a fool by a prince's ambition and a web of deceit.

He urged his exhausted mount onward, the image of Leah's worried face, her unexplained illness, a wave of guilt in the darkness. He had to return. He had sworn to protect the kingdom.

He had failed in his duty.

But he would not fail completely; he would take some heads with him.

When the distant, smoke-stained towers of Lumeria finally pierced the horizon, a horrifying symphony reached his ears. Not the trumpets of welcome, nor the cheers of a grateful populace, but the clang of steel, the screams of soldiers, the roar of a collapsing city.

That night, the civil war had begun. And Roland was already too late. He was arriving in the middle of a bloodbath.

Meanwhile, further ahead, in the midst of the chaos of war, Leah gritted her teeth, the sharp pain in her belly competing with the clangor of battle around her. For six months, she had hidden her secret. Now, in the eighth month, the forbidden fruit of an impossible love, growing beneath layers of bandages and tight corsets, was already visible.

Amid the chaos of civil war, nature demanded its due. Every thrust, every parry with the rapier, sent waves of agony that made her double over.

She fought for her father, for the kingdom, for a future that suddenly seemed incredibly fragile, but she felt, with each contraction, that the most important battle was about to begin.

"Elara!" she hissed, her voice strained with pain. "I need... I need to get out of here." She shouted.

Elara, her dark eyes wide with concern, barely hesitated. Loyalty to the princess had always been her mantra, but now loyalty to her friend and the new life she carried was even more urgent.

With a firm nod, Elara forced her way through the panicked crowd, her sword a silver blur cutting through the air.

"Hold on, Leah," she murmured, her voice tense. "The west tower. It's close. We can barricade ourselves there." Leah nodded, clinging to Elara's arm.

Each step, a torture; each breath, a superhuman effort. The baby, her baby, was coming. And the battlefield was no place for a royal birth.

They both burst into the room, and there was a maid.

"QUICK! Go find anyone who can help with a birth!" Elara ordered.

The woman burst through the door at the sight of Princess Leah's face and ran off to find a soul who could help, and after a few minutes, found a midwife hiding from the chaos of war in the tower's kitchen.

Further south, near the gates, Roland pushed his way through the battle alleys of great Lumeria, his battle aura exploding, showing the true divine power of a Neumond at his peak.

He asked all the subjects around the palace if any of them had seen the princess. Until one reported that he had been saved by the princess minutes ago and saw her running towards the west tower. Roland then dashed towards Leah.

The wind howled like a werewolf that night; the clash of swords could be heard from afar in that tower. Inside, in the almost empty and dimly lit room, Leah Winters fought her own battle. The beautiful and sweet Leah, the Neumond swordswoman maiden who enchanted everyone, was drenched in sweat and blood. Life was slipping away from her with each painful breath.

The midwife moved around her, her worried and urgent voice talking to Elara. Leah's moans danced across the stone walls, mingling with the distant screams of battle still echoing from outside. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain subsided. The sharp cry of a baby mingled with the chaos of that night.

"A boy," announced the midwife, her voice hoarse with fatigue. She cleaned the worried little child; the boy had been born with difficulty; Leah fought bravely, even in labor. She wrapped him in clean cloths and checked him.

Leah reached out, her fingers trembling like blades of grass in the wind. "Let me... let me see him," she whispered, her voice no more than a thread of breath.

The midwife placed the baby in her arms. Leah looked at her son's little face, love and sadness flooding her ice-blue eyes. "Beautiful," she murmured. Outside, the clang of steel against steel suddenly stopped. The battle was over; Edward had won and usurped the crown.

"They'll be here soon," said Leah, a trace of fear in her voice. Her eyes fixed on the baby, a new hope was born in her heart.

The heavy running steps of armored boots approached. The door to the room opened, and the imposing figure of Roland Silverback crossed the archway, his haste reduced to confusion. The young Supreme Commander, still stained with the dirt and blood of battle, ran to the side of his dearest beloved.

"Leah!" The alarm in his voice was palpable. He knelt beside the bed, his hand finding hers, his warmth contrasting with hers, cold and damp.

"Land..." she sighed, barely managing to form the word. Her eyes fixed on his face, imploring. She lifted the baby a little higher, her gaze alternating between the child and her safe haven friend. "His name... is Leonard Winter."

A stunned silence fell over the room. The revelation hit Roland like a blast of winter wind, stealing his breath. He looked at the baby, his mind reeling; he barely knew Leah was pregnant.

Leah squeezed his hand with a strength that belied her fragility. "You have to... protect him. Edward will never let him live... I saw, Land, I saw Leonard; he will be the Weize..." Tears streamed down her face, leaving clean trails in the dirt and blood. "Promise me, Land. Promise me you'll keep him safe. He is the hope of Humbra."

Roland's gaze moved from his dying friend to the child in his arms. The promise she was asking for was heavy, laden with danger and deceit, but he couldn't deny her; he loved her, even if secretly. "I will protect him," he promised, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll keep him safe. I promise."

A small smile flickered on Leah's lips. "Promise me... Land... Leo is the fut—" she whispered once more, her voice becoming inaudible, too weak. The light in her blue eyes dimmed, then she closed them. Her grip on his hand loosened, and with a long sigh, she faded.

"Leah!" Pain ripped through Roland's heart, the cry choked in his throat. He bent over her body, grief consuming him. And then, like a divine breath of relief, he heard her heart beating.

Elara rushed to Roland's side, and he, with a gesture of his index finger, signaled that she was alive.

Roland's attention was regained when the child stirred in his arms. He composed himself; Leonard's tiny hand gripped his rough finger.

He looked at the baby, at Leah's son, the last descendant of the Winters line. To Leah, he was a Weize. A Neumond spoken of only in legends, stories of hope for children to sleep to.

A grim resolution settled in his heart. He would honor his promise. He would keep the child safe, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

"I promise," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion but firm in his heart. He held the baby close. The newborn opened his eyes, revealing the deep and unmistakable secret of his heritage—the clear, translucent sapphire of a Neumond Winters' eyes. The wind still howled outside, like an urgency to save the birth and life of a hidden king.

Roland handed little Leonard to Elara and took Leah in his arms. He needed to act, to get them out of there, and fast.

The silence around the castle was almost as terrifying as the death cries of battle.

The gates were being patrolled, their cold, suspicious gazes sweeping the area. Amid the palpable tension, Roland struggled to control the tremor in his hands.

His eyes met the familiar figure of Noah, the royal stablehand, cowering near a cart, his face pale and anguished.

Urgency gripped Roland. "Noah! The cart! We need it now," he hissed, his voice low and tense.

"They were wearing Fulgor's colors, my lord," said Noah, his voice trembling, as he prepared the cart, "but I heard... I swear I heard... they were speaking our language. And laughing... laughing at Fulgor."

Roland put the pieces together: Edward had staged a Fulgor attack to blame the neighboring kingdom for his father's death and seize power.

But there was no time for explanations; a look at Leah, writhing in silent pain, said it all. With a trembling nod, Noah handed over the reins, his eyes fixed on a point beyond Roland's shoulder.

With the strength of a bear, Roland helped lift Leah into the cart. "Take her far away from here!" he whispered to Noah, his voice thick with emotion. "North! To the healers' village, near Besen! And don't look back."

His orders given, Roland drew a small, golden amulet from his pocket. Inside was Leah's portrait, the image he cherished most. The miniature captured a vibrant, timeless beauty. It was a gift, one he now knew he would never be able to present to her. He tucked the amulet into one of Leah's pockets, a final, silent farewell, then turned and walked away, knowing he would never see her again.

Elara, with the silent determination that characterized her, positioned herself at the back of the cart. Besides everything, Elara was also a skilled Neumond.

"Go, Roland," she murmured, her eyes meeting his for a brief but intense moment. There was a spark of defiance in them, a silent promise.

A Neumond captain of Edward's, with the usurper's crest gleaming ominously on his armor, intercepted the fleeing cart. His experienced gaze lingered on Leah, huddled and vulnerable, and a cruel smile crept onto his lips.

Elara, sensing the imminent danger and knowing there was no time for negotiation, jumped from the cart in an act of pure sacrifice. The sword, a silver flash, appeared in her hands.

"Stop! Usurpers!" she shouted, her voice surprisingly strong.

The captain, surprised, drew his own sword and activated his ELEV, running towards the gate away from the cart. Elara also released her ELEV and charged at him, a muffled cry of fury echoing.

Roland felt a knot in his throat. He knew. She knew. It was a suicidal distraction, a sacrifice to give Leah a chance to escape. Something didn't smell right.

As both swords met further ahead, a rain of arrows covered Elara's position. It was a trap.

That night, the Neumond Elara saw the four moons of Humbra being covered by arrows; the world turned dark, and she was swallowed by the projectiles.

There was no more room for arrows on her body; it was a raw and torturous scene to see Elara dead but still spasming, riddled with arrows.

"Go, Noah! Now!" He ordered, his voice strained but firm.

The cart sped off, lurching dangerously. Roland saw, out of the corner of his eye, Elara fall under the guards' trap, liters of blood staining the cobblestones.

He stood back, paralyzed for an instant, the pain of loss ripping through his chest. Deep down, he liked Elara and her sarcasm. But there was no time for grief. He needed to report, to blend truth into the shadows, and pretend nothing happened that night.