Tragedy

The palace buzzed with anticipation as wedding preparations reached their peak. With cooks from across the kingdom arriving for the grand feast, Erchid seized the perfect opportunity. Disguised as one of the hired chefs, his once-recognizable silver hair now dyed black, he blended seamlessly into the bustling kitchen staff. For weeks, he studied the castle's layout, memorizing the guards' patrol routes, identifying blind spots, and waiting for the moment to strike.

That moment arrived on the night of the engagement ball.

Dressed in a servant's garb, he maneuvered through the opulent ballroom, a tray in hand, his sharp assassin's eyes scanning the crowd. Nobles and dignitaries from across the continent mingled, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Then, a hush fell upon the room as the royal announcer's voice rang out.

"Presenting His Majesty, King Vendrid Von Arinthix III."

A towering figure stepped into the hall, golden hair and golden eyes exuding both age and unwavering authority. The guests bowed in respect. Following him, the second prince of Triaxin, Beliard Tarlin, entered. With his sculpted features and stark white hair, he carried himself with the commanding presence of both a prince and a war hero. The noblewomen whispered amongst themselves, their eyes lingering on the famed warrior.

Then came the moment everyone awaited.

"Announcing Her Royal Highness, Princess Eve Von Arinthix."

A figure appeared at the grand staircase, draped in a flowing black gown adorned with golden embroidery. Her face remained concealed beneath a sheer veil, an air of mystery surrounding her. Rumors whispered through the ballroom—some claimed she was so beautiful that no man could resist her charm, while others believed an illness had marred her face. Even after weeks inside the palace, Erchid had never seen her without the veil.

He watched intently, studying every movement as she greeted nobles with careful grace before taking her place beside the king and Prince Beliard. Though this was merely a private gathering, tomorrow's engagement ceremony would host the most powerful figures on the continent, including the king of Triaxin himself.

As the night progressed, Erchid fulfilled his role, moving through the crowd as a waiter. But then—his instincts screamed at him. A presence. Someone was watching him.

He subtly scanned the room but found no obvious threat. Was it just paranoia? No. He had survived too long in the shadows to ignore his senses.

Then, the princess rose to leave. With two royal knights escorting her, she exited the hall, heading toward her quarters.

Erchid knew this was his chance.

Slipping away from the ballroom, he followed the trio through the dimly lit corridors, his hand steady over the hidden dagger beneath his uniform. As they neared a secluded hallway, another armored guard approached from the opposite direction.

One of the knights turned to address him. "State your name and purpose."

Before the knight could react, the approaching guard struck—swiftly driving a dagger through the exposed gap in the knight's throat. Blood sprayed as the knight crumpled, lifeless. The second knight shoved the princess aside, drawing his sword. But Erchid, now unmasked in his skill, hurled a fine dust into the gaps of the knight's armor—blinding him. In a single fluid motion, he plunged his blade into the knight's neck, silencing him forever.

The princess stumbled back, terror flashing in her hidden eyes. She turned to run—but it was too late. Erchid lunged, his dagger striking twice, its poison seeping into her bloodstream.

Then, she whispered a name that froze him in place.

"Erchid…"

His breath caught.

As her body weakened, he instinctively caught her before she hit the floor. A trembling hand reached for her veil. He pulled it away.

Golden hair spilled out, framing a face of ethereal beauty—a face he knew better than his own. Pale skin, delicate features, eyes brimming with pain and sorrow.

"…Vanessa?"

Blood trickled from her lips as she weakly smiled. "Erchid…"

Her eyes darted to the scar on his neck—a relic from a past battle she had once traced with her fingers. Recognition flickered in her gaze, her lips parting in weak amusement.

"You… look good in black hair."

A soft chuckle escaped her, though it quickly turned into a cough, blood staining her lips.

His mind reeled. His heart pounded against his ribs.

This wasn't possible.

It was a lie.

"Vanessa! No, no, no—stay with me!" His voice cracked as he cradled her in his arms, his dagger slipping from his grip.

She coughed weakly, moving a trembling hand to his face, wiping away his tears. "I'm sorry… for not coming that night…" Her voice wavered. "I didn't… want to put you in danger. They would have searched the entire continent for us."

"No," Erchid shook his head, voice breaking. "We could have run. We still can—just stay with me."

Tears welled in Vanessa's eyes. "I love you, Erchid… I loved every moment with y—"

Her final breath left her lips.

Her body went limp.

A tear traced its way down her pale cheek.

And then—Erchid screamed.

The sound of pure agony echoed through the palace halls, a wail of grief, rage, and devastation.

"VANESSA!!!"

Footsteps thundered toward him. Dozens of armored guards poured in, weapons drawn, their eyes landing on the scene before them—their princess, lifeless in the assassin's arms.

Erchid barely noticed as he was seized, forced to the ground, hands wrenched behind his back. He didn't struggle. His world had already shattered.

The king and Prince Beliard arrived, their faces shifting from confusion to horror.

The king staggered forward, dropping to his knees beside his daughter's body. His hands trembled as he reached for her, eyes wide with grief.

"My daughter…" The great Vendrid Von Arinthix III wept. "My dear, dear daughter…"

Prince Beliard, his fury like a roaring storm, seized Erchid by the collar. "WHO SENT YOU?!" His voice was thunderous, fists colliding with Erchid's face again and again. But Erchid barely reacted, his lips only whispering one name.

"Vanessa… Vanessa… Vanessa…"

The king, eyes dark with rage, stepped forward. "Look me in the eye." His voice trembled with grief. "How do you know my daughter's name?"

Erchid's gaze lifted, empty with sorrow. "She told me."

The king's face twisted with fury. "You lie. That name was given to her by her late mother. She never used it."

"I loved her." Erchid's voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. "We were lovers."

A resounding slap struck his face. "Don't dare tarnish my daughter's name!" The king's voice cracked. "You… You are Mystique, the assassin. This is your doing."

He turned to his guards, eyes burning with vengeance. "Take him to the dungeons. Torture him. I will execute him publicly—to avenge my daughter."

The guards obeyed, dragging Erchid's motionless body away. But even as he was pulled into the darkness, his lips never ceased murmuring the name of the woman he loved.

"Vanessa… Vanessa… Vanessa…"

The dungeon was damp and reeked of rot. Chains creaked softly as Erchid hung upside down, suspended from the ceiling like butchered livestock. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, forming a dark pool beneath him. His body was riddled with holes, fresh crimson seeping over the dried stains of past agony. His face, once sharp and defined, was now unrecognizable—swollen, bruised, disfigured beyond recognition. One of his eye sockets was an empty void, his fingernails had been torn out, and deep lacerations marred his skin.

Yet, despite the torture, despite the unbearable agony, he had never once screamed.

The two guards stationed outside the cell watched him, shaking their heads in disbelief.

"The bastard's tough," one muttered. "Not once did he cry out. Not when we burned his flesh. Not when we pulled out his damn eye."

"Yeah," the other guard scoffed, his voice laced with unease. "All he did was mumble the same name over and over… 'Vanessa.' Even when his eyeball was yanked out, even when we crushed his fingers, he just kept whispering it."

The first guard shivered. "To think this is Mystique—the infamous assassin that made kings tremble. Now? Just a broken man, clinging to a name like a madman."

"He's lost his will to live," the second guard sighed. "It won't matter. He dies tomorrow."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. A woman in simple servant's robes stood before them, carrying a wooden bucket and rags.

"I'm here to clean up," she said softly, bowing slightly.

The guards exchanged glances before one of them unlocked the heavy iron door.

"Make it quick," he grumbled, allowing her inside.

As she stepped into the cell, the air grew heavier. Erchid barely stirred, his lips still moving in a faint whisper.

Then, the woman spoke in a hushed voice.

"Mr. Erchid… My mistress left you a letter. It was supposed to reach you, but it never did. I will read it to you now."

She pulled out a delicate, crumpled parchment and began reading.

Dear Erchid,

 I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I couldn't put you in danger.

The parties involved are way too powerful.

I know you would have searched for me at the barn and uncovered the truth. You would have wondered who I really was.

I never lied about my name. I am Vanessa Eve Von Arinthix, Princess of the Arinthix Kingdom.

Vanessa was my mother's name. But when she died, I stopped using it. I became Eve. That night I met you was the first time I had ever left the palace. I was reckless, careless… and yet, I met a man who piqued my interest. At first, it was curiosity. But as I came to know you, I fell in love with you, more and more each day.

But my role as a princess stood between us. I wanted to tell you the truth, but I knew that if I did, you would have tried to take me away. You would have fought, you would have bled, you would have sacrificed yourself for me. And I couldn't let that happen.

We would have been hunted, Erchid. We would have never been free.

I know you'll hate me for this… but I love you. I wanted you to live. To be happy.

I will always cherish what we had.

I love you, Erchid.

As the words faded into silence, Erchid's breathing grew ragged. His entire body trembled.

Then, a sound.

A guttural, broken cry.

It started as a whisper, then built into a raw, anguished scream. He writhed against his chains, thrashing violently as if trying to tear himself free—not to escape, but to claw away the crushing weight of grief.

His screams were inhuman, hollow, filled with a pain that surpassed physical torment.

The guards outside shifted uncomfortably as the wails echoed through the dungeon.

By the time the servant left, Erchid was no longer screaming.

His voice had faded into silence. His mind into madness.

The town square overflowed with people, their hushed whispers a murmur of anticipation. The execution platform loomed at the center, its wooden frame darkened by the stains of past deaths.

Atop the platform, Erchid knelt, shackled and battered. He barely resembled a man anymore. His head hung low, his filthy hair falling over his ruined face. The weight of his chains forced his shoulders down, but he no longer had the strength to resist.

King Vendrid Von Arinthix III stood at the forefront, his regal golden eyes dimmed by grief. Beside him, Prince Beliard Tarlin of Triaxin watched in cold fury, hands clenched at his sides.

A knight stood at the ready, a massive executioner's blade gleaming in the morning sun.

The crowd whispered.

"That's Mystique?"

"No… that's Erchid, the tavern owner! Who would have thought?"

"He's the assassin who killed the princess…"

Hidden among them, a cloaked figure trembled. Rodrick.

His fingers dug into his palms as he watched his master kneeling, awaiting death. His eyes burned with fury, but he did not look away.

The king stepped forward, his voice carrying over the crowd.

"Look upon this man," Vendrid announced. "A man who shed innocent blood for greed. A man who took my precious daughter—your princess—from us all. Today, I stand not as a king, but as a father. Today, I deliver justice for my child."

He turned to the knight.

"This is for you, my daughter. Proceed."

The knight lifted his sword.

Rodrick's breath hitched.

The blade came down.

A sickening silence filled the square.

The sound of steel cutting through flesh. The dull thud of a severed head hitting the wooden platform.

Erchid's head rolled, his lifeless eye staring into nothingness.

A gust of wind swept through the square.

For a moment, Rodrick thought he heard a whisper.

"Vanessa..."

Then—nothing.

The legend of Mystique had ended.

Or so the world believed.