The Beginning- The Dark Age

—Solara Palace. The Dark Age.—

The queen stumbled as she ran through the long corridor, adorned with intricate stonework. The flames of the candelabras flickered with every step she took, turning into a shadow play suspended between light and darkness. The blood flowing from the lower part of her body dripped onto the stone floor, leaving a trail behind. A trail that wrote a tale of sorrow, in stark contrast to the honor reflected in the majestic faces of the ancestral portraits lining the walls.

Her lungs burned with pain, her breath tore from her chest in ragged gasps. But there was no time to think about any of it. She ignored the bloodstains she left behind—there was only one purpose in her mind. The newborn princess, clutched tightly in her arms, had to reach her son. The princess… the future of the kingdom, her last hope.

Each step on the ground became a desperate song echoing through the hall. The doors loomed in the distance like silhouettes, but the queen pushed forward, drawing strength from her weakening body.

The corridors, though illuminated by countless candelabras, were ensnared in gloom, as if they understood the meaning of this cursed day. Shadows cast upon the walls slithered in secret, as if defying the presence of light. The muffled screams from behind and the occasional explosions mingled with the queen's hurried footsteps, forming a sorrowful melody.

With each step, the stone walls seemed to sigh under the weight of the past, whispering an elegy for the glorious days of the old dynasty. Yet, she paid no heed to the mourning song of the palace. She pushed her body beyond its limits, determined to save the tiny life she carried.

The queen felt her lungs burn with every breath. Her gasps were erratic, echoing like a broken melody. The tiny body she held in her trembling hands was both a burden and salvation. That innocent face was their only hope, the last savior of the dynasty—perhaps even of the entire kingdom. Because she knew, the time ruling this land was coming to an end.

The palace trembled and shuddered like a pit of hell. Rising screams shattered the once-majestic silence of the palace, while the blazing fireballs turned every corner into an inferno. The paintings on the walls turned to ash, the ground quaked, and chaos devoured every corridor and chamber. The colossal pillars cracked in places, signaling the downfall of an era—the castle was living its own demise.

"Just hold on a little longer, my love," the queen whispered, her voice as light as a feather, as desperate as a prayer. The baby's delicate cries echoed through the corridors, rising above the clamor of battle. It had only been an hour since she had given birth; her body still bore the exhaustion of labor and blood loss. Each step grew heavier with the blood draining from her veins, each breath came weaker than the last.

But she couldn't stop. If she did, she would lose both her own life and the fragile life in her arms. The unyielding instinct of a mother kept her moving, driving her forward even as her legs trembled. Her blood marked a crimson trail on the cold stones, a reminder that death was creeping closer. But if something had to die tonight, it would not be her—it would be the grandeur of the past she was leaving behind.

If the blood loss didn't kill her, the Astaroths would soon catch her scent and hunt her down. She could already hear their hunger-filled growls ringing in her ears, making her skin crawl. Death? No, that would be mercy. For the Astaroths, killing was merely an option. A far worse fate awaited her—being delivered, alive, to the Dark King.

"Obsidian…" The queen barely managed to whisper the name. Her breath was shallow, the words trembling as if they struggled to pass through her throat. "How did we end up like this?"

There was something in that question—a fracture, a presence lost on the edge of an abyss. Her voice carried despair, but more than that, it carried something deeper—regret. A sorrow so profound it echoed like the wail of a spirit lost in the shadows of the past.

The queen exhaled, pain searing through her body. The blood loss was making her weaker by the second. Her legs barely obeyed her will, and she knew she could collapse at any moment. But one thought burned brighter than all else—she had to reach the western tower. That was where her son awaited. That was where she believed the princess would be safe.

"We're almost there, my love…" The queen's voice trembled with exhaustion, each word barely escaping her lips. She tried to mask the sorrow, to keep it from reaching her child.

As she turned the corner, her eyes landed on the staircase engulfed in darkness. The steps seemed to stretch endlessly, multiplying with every second that passed. She had no choice—she had to climb. Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the first stair.

Pain shot through her abdomen like a burning dagger, intensifying with every movement. Her white gown was drenched in blood, her life spilling onto the stone steps. The agony was beyond words—every breath, every heartbeat, was a battle against death itself. Yet, she climbed. Because she had no other choice.

At the top of the stairs, she knew her son was waiting. The weight of finality settled in her heart—this would be her last moment with her daughter. The realization made her movements slow, her breath turn shallow. This was the moment time stood still.

As she reached the top, a silhouette emerged before the grand doors cloaked in darkness. Recognition struck her heart like a blade.

Her son. The Crown Prince. The heir to a kingdom doomed to fall because of her.

"Mother…" Without hesitation, the boy rushed forward, catching her before she could collapse. His eyes immediately fell on the baby cradled in her arms. "My sister…" His voice was a whisper of wonder and worry.

"She's safe…" The queen cut him off, her tone sharp with urgency. There was no time for farewells, no time for hesitation. With trembling hands, she pressed the baby gently into his arms. "Is everything ready?" Her voice cracked, but her gaze remained firm.

The boy swallowed, nodding stiffly. "Yes," he murmured, his voice reluctant, as if speaking the word solidified their grim reality. His golden hair glowed under the dim torchlight, a stark contrast to the blood staining his mother's fingers. His blue eyes—once an inheritance, now a curse—were clouded with sorrow.

Without hesitation, the prince took the fragile infant into his arms. He held her carefully, his fingers brushing against her soft face. A faint, bittersweet smile flickered on his lips. "She's beautiful," he whispered, as if raising his voice would shatter the fragile moment. Yet, his eyes held a silent grief, an unspoken understanding that beauty would not be enough to protect her from what was to come.

The queen's gaze lingered on her daughter's tiny face, and a deep sorrow settled over her features. "She will be extraordinary…" she murmured, but her voice was swallowed by pain. Her lips trembled. She would never see her daughter grow. She would never witness her first steps, hear her first words. The weight of that truth crushed her.

The prince saw it—the silent devastation in his mother's eyes. His hands clenched into fists. If only he had been stronger… braver… perhaps he could have protected them. But here, within these collapsing walls, all he could do was run. And the knowledge of his own helplessness gnawed at his soul like a beast.

"Do you want to say goodbye?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The queen hesitated. Was there still time?

The queen leaned forward with slow, heavy steps, her trembling hands reaching for the baby. Carefully, she pulled back the swaddling cloth, revealing her daughter's face. Her eyes, as if witnessing the most sacred moment of her life, locked onto that tiny face. The newborn's golden hair stood on end, her fragile yet strong presence radiating innocence. Her eyes remained closed, concealing the dark and safe veil of dreams beneath her delicate lashes.

Even in the midst of such chaos, the fact that she could sleep... It planted a seed of hope in the queen's heart. If she could remain this peaceful, perhaps one day, everything would be alright. Maybe this little girl would be the light piercing through the darkness of their ruined world. But for now, she was just a small miracle, belonging only to her mother. If the queen weren't so exhausted, she might have believed that this moment could last forever.

The queen looked at the baby's tiny face once more. Her delicate eyebrows were barely visible, her lips slightly pursed. Her tiny fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, forming small fists. A faint sound escaped her lips, like the purest melody in the world. Even in a moment when everything was falling apart, this little being was a miracle. As the queen watched her, a lump formed in her throat. How could such an innocent face grow up in such a dark world?

The queen whispered, "Taçmin..." Her voice was so gentle that the name lingered in the air. "My beautiful girl. I'm sorry." Her trembling voice was an echo of the sorrow she carried. She felt her hands shake slightly, yet she still pressed a soft kiss to the baby's forehead. It was the purest symbol of a mother's love and farewell.

As she handed the baby back to her son, her fingers hesitated with a heavy reluctance. With a determined expression, she removed the delicate chain from her neck—a necklace bearing one of the ancient symbols of the dynasty. "This will be hers," she said firmly. With unsteady hands, she fastened the necklace around the baby's tiny neck, her tears falling in silent streams. Then, she gently took the baby's soft, small hand in her palm. She kissed those tiny fingers lightly, leaving all of her hope and love within that fragile grasp.

"This necklace will guide you back to where you belong, my baby..." the queen whispered, her voice a mixture of fragility and unshakable determination. Her tears now flowed freely, cascading down her cheeks like an unstoppable river. Every word she spoke bore the weight of the agony inside her.

Her sobs intensified as she turned to her son, her gaze carrying a sorrow deeper than words—a burden only a mother could bear. "Take her," she said, her voice shaking. Then, almost pleading, she added, "Before I change my mind… take her."

Her son swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. As his trembling hands reached for his sister, a faint wave of energy flickered between his fingertips. The moment he moved his hand through the air, a soft blue light surrounded the small baby. The glow defied the shadows of the dark balcony, radiating a fragile sense of peace.

The baby, warmed by the light's embrace, slowly opened her eyes. For the first time, her gaze met her brother's—a striking, brilliant blue, piercing through his soul. But those eyes, as if yielding to the magic's will, soon dulled and shifted into another color. The prince felt his chest tighten. He didn't know when—or if—he would ever see those innocent blue eyes again.

"Allan! They're here, hurry!" The queen's terrified scream echoed from the doorway, shattering the prince's heart into pieces. Without wasting another second, he clutched the baby tightly and rushed toward the edge of the balcony. He took another step, but then—a horrifying scream tore through the air behind him. His heart nearly stopped.

He turned, his eyes catching the monstrous figures emerging from the darkness. The Astaroth demons had seized the queen. Their massive, shadowy forms surrounded her, engulfing her in their grasp. For a moment, the prince froze, paralyzed with helplessness.

One last time, he looked at his baby sister. A dagger of sorrow plunged into his heart.

"See you in Orindor, little sister," he whispered, his voice trembling.

And with that, the prince released the princess into the void.

That day, the Kingdom and Dynasty of Solara La Da Serenity La'Veluntag were slaughtered and obliterated by the Dark Empire—D'vallaron Ed Te L'ombre. The empire took the people as hostages and slaves, and the lands were annexed into its domain.