Chapter 1: Ashes of Betrayal

The village burned.

The sky, once a canopy of silver stars and tender moonlight, had turned into a suffocating void, choked with smoke and ash. The heavens themselves had closed their eyes to the massacre below. Fire devoured the skyline—homes crumbling, towers falling like dying giants. The once-vibrant streets echoed with the shrieks of the doomed and the crackling roar of flames. Blood painted the cobblestones crimson, thick and fresh, trailing behind those who tried to flee and failed.

And at the scorched center of it all knelt Ruby.

Her hands were bound behind her back, wrists rubbed raw from the coarse rope biting into her skin. She couldn't feel her fingers anymore—only the dull throb of pain and the hot trickle of blood down her arms. Her gown, once ivory and pure, was now in tatters. It had once been a symbol of unity, the gown she had worn the day she had declared Arthro the rightful king. The same day she had pledged her life to him. That gown was now nothing more than a ghost of past hope, stained with soot, dirt, and betrayal.

The heat clawed at her lungs with every breath. Smoke coiled down her throat like a living thing, stinging her eyes and stealing her air. Yet the fire outside was nothing compared to the one within. Her chest ached—not from wounds or fatigue—but from grief. From rage. From heartbreak that threatened to split her in half.

All around her, the village that protected her was being erased.

Children cried in confusion, their tiny hands reaching for mothers already gone. Women begged, clawing at soldiers' arms as they were dragged away, their pleas lost beneath cruel laughter. Men—her knights, her people—fell with blades in their backs, cut down like livestock. Faces she knew, voices she loved, were silenced one by one.

This wasn't a war.

It was an execution.

And it was ordered by the man she had once called her heart.

King Arthro.

Her husband.

The boy she had loved since young—the bastard prince born of a palace maid, the third son who was never meant to rule. She had believed in him when no one else did. He had fought his brothers, spilled royal blood, and crawled from the ashes of disgrace to claim the throne. And she—Ruby—had been there through it all.

His lover. His wife. His confidante.

The strategist behind his victories. The mind behind his conquest. The soul he had sworn to protect.

But she had been wrong.

Deadly, heartbreakingly wrong.

When the whispers of betrayal thickened into shouts—when her name became a curse in Arthro's court—she fled. Not to hide from punishment. But to protect the life she carried.

She had run to the northern borders, beyond the reach of kings and armies, to a village too small for maps. A place called Deloot—a sleepy, snow-laced haven hidden beneath thick pine canopies. The villagers had taken her in with gentle hands and quiet compassion. They didn't ask questions. They offered warm bread, woolen blankets, and a place by the fire.

And Ruby had hoped.

Not for herself, but for her unborn child.

A faint, desperate hope that Arthro—no matter what shadows had overtaken him—would not burn the innocent for her sins.

She was wrong.

Deloot burned at dawn.

Ruby had stood at the edge of the forest, cloaked and trembling, her hand curled protectively over her swelling belly. She watched the soldiers descend like vultures. Watched as villagers—kind old women, children with frost-bitten cheeks, farmers with nothing but sticks and pride—stood between her and the soldiers.

They refused to surrender her.

They refused to kneel.

And for their defiance, King Arthro gave the order.

Flames swallowed the homes first—roofs igniting like dry parchment. Screams followed. Screams that Ruby would never forget. Smoke curled into the snowy skies, and the snow itself melted into mud thick with blood. She had wanted to run to them. To help. But her legs had frozen beneath her. Her heart had fractured with every death cry.

Deloot was gone by nightfall.

A ghost town. A blackened smear on the map.

Her only refuge had become her greatest wound.

When they finally found her among the trees, Ruby didn't resist. There was nothing left to protect. Nothing left to flee from. They bound her in chains, dragged her back through the snow like a beast.

Back to the center of Deloot

Back to him.

And Arthro stood before her, cold and regal in his crimson robes, a crown heavier than his soul. At his side, dressed in silver and smiling like a snake, stood Shithal—

Ruby's own stepsister.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she traced lazy fingers along Arthro's arm, whispering sweet poisons into his ear. Poison that had already blackened his heart.

"Burn them all," Shithal had purred earlier. "Erase everything that ties her to this world. Only then will she truly be gone."

And like a mindless puppet, Arthro had obeyed.

Ruby's body trembled. Not from the fire, nor the cold, but from the sheer, unbearable weight of betrayal.

Arthro had promised her, as they stood victorious together, that once he was king, he would make her his queen. The words had filled her with a burning hope, a hope that one day they would rule together, side by side. She had fought for that promise, given everything to see it fulfilled. For Ruby, the throne was not just a symbol of power—it was a representation of all the sacrifices she had made for him.

But no one could have predicted the devastation that would follow.

As they had fought side by side, Ruby had never once suspected that Arthro's heart had been swayed by someone else, someone who had always been a shadow in her life. Shithal, her bastard-born stepsister, had always been a thorn in Ruby's side. Shithal had been cruel, vindictive, and manipulative, ever since they were children. She had never loved Ruby, and Ruby had always viewed her with disdain. Shithal had been a constant reminder of everything Ruby had lost—her father's love, the warmth of family, the sense of belonging.

What Ruby didn't know was that Shithal had been working behind the scenes, poisoning Arthro's mind with lies and deceit. She had slithered her way into his confidence, wrapped herself around him like a serpent, and whispered false promises of loyalty and love. It was Shithal's venomous words that had twisted Arthro's heart and set the stage for the ultimate betrayal.

The very woman who had been by his side, the woman who had believed in him, had fought for him, had bled for him—was the one who was cast aside. Ruby had been so blinded by her love for him that she had never once suspected that the man she had trusted most would turn on her. And it wasn't just Arthro who betrayed her; it was her stepsister, the one who had never stopped making Ruby's life a living hell, who had stood by Arthro's side, ready to destroy everything Ruby had built.

The betrayal cut deeper than any blade ever could.

It was not just a betrayal of love—it was a betrayal of everything Ruby had sacrificed, everything she had believed in.

Ruby was nothing more than a shadow in his eyes, a relic of the past he no longer cared for.

She had spent every waking moment thinking that, one day, Arthro would see her as something more than a means to his success. But in truth, she had been a stepping stone, nothing more.

Ruby had seen it all—the way he had looked at her with affection, then dismissed her with cold detachment. The whispered promises that had been forgotten. The way he had allowed Shithal to poison his mind, to turn him against the woman who had loved him unconditionally.

But she had still believed. Until now.

The soldiers forced her to her knees. The dirt beneath her was warm—soaked in the blood of those she had sworn to protect. Her fingers dug into the earth, weak and trembling, but she refused to fall completely.

Arthro stepped forward.

His golden crown gleamed in the firelight, but his eyes—once filled with warmth whenever they met hers—were empty.

"Arthro," her voice broke like glass. "Please…"

For the first time in her life, Ruby begged—not for herself, but for the fragile heartbeat fluttering beneath her ribs.

She stumbled forward, one hand clutched over her stomach, the other reaching out. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed in the dirt before him. Tears carved tracks through the blood smeared on her cheeks.

"Our child," she whispered, trembling. "If there's even a fragment of the man I loved still inside you… spare the child. Please, Arthro."

Silence.

A breeze stirred the ash in the air, the acrid scent of smoke curling through the charred ruins of what had once been her home.

For a moment—just one—his hand faltered on the hilt of his sword. Something flickered in his eyes. Doubt? Regret? A memory of who she used to be—of who they had been?

And then—

Laughter.

Low, serpentine, venomous.

Shithal stepped from the shadows, hips swaying, her lips curved in cruel delight. Her crimson gown dragged like blood behind her, her voice thick with mockery.

"Oh, darling," she purred, trailing a gloved finger along Arthro's jaw. "Do you truly believe it's yours?"

Ruby's breath caught.

"You're lying." Her voice shook. "He knows you're lying."

But the seed was planted. And doubt—noxious, parasitic—took root in Arthro's already blackened heart.

His gaze shifted. His jaw clenched. The flicker in his eyes turned cold.

The blade gleamed.

"No," she whispered, panic lancing through her. "No, Arthro, wait—"

Too late.

The steel plunged into her belly.

Through flesh. Through bone. Through the small, innocent life that had never even drawn breath.

The scream that tore through her throat never left her lips.

She refused to give them that.

Pain roared through her like fire, searing, all-consuming. She crumpled to the earth, her trembling fingers soaked in her own blood. It gushed from the wound in thick, hot rivulets, staining the ground a violent red.

Her vision swam, but she would not cry. She would not scream. She would not give them that victory.

Not Shithal.

Not him.

Not the man who had once whispered forever into her hair, who had once kissed her scars and promised a kingdom built on love.

He was gone.

Dead.

Murdered by ambition and lies.

She looked up at them—Arthro with his hollow eyes, and Shithal with her satisfied smirk—and something inside Ruby shattered beyond repair.

Not her heart.

Her soul.

And in that hollow ruin, something else stirred.

Rage.

Dark and ancient, born from betrayal deeper than death. It surged through her veins, wrapping around her bones like shadowed flame. Her fingers dug into the scorched dirt, blood seeping through her clenched fists.

"Even if the heavens will not hear me..."

Her voice, though choked and raw, echoed through the stillness like a curse.

"...then let hell claim me instead."

The air thickened. The flames twisted, spiraling unnaturally, writhing as if responding to something unseen.

The wind screamed.

The earth groaned.

And the blood leaking from her wound no longer soaked into the dirt—it pulsed. It glowed. It moved, as if alive.

Ruby dragged herself upright, inch by inch, her body broken but her spirit blazing. Her eyes, once filled with love, now brimmed with something terrifying—unyielding will, wrath deeper than the oceans, colder than the void between stars.

She looked up at them, her bloodied mouth curling into a grotesque, defiant smile.

"Arthro." Her voice was low, guttural. Not her own. "Shithal."

They both froze.

"You will not die as kings and queens. There will be no legacy for you. No songs sung in your name. Only silence… and screams."

The sky cracked like splintering bone.

She crawled forward, leaving behind a trail of luminous blood, her limbs twitching with unnatural life.

"You will beg for death. And when it finally comes…" Her eyes gleamed with inhuman fire. "It will be slow. It will be cold. And it will come from me."

A scream pierced the air—not Ruby's, but the land itself.

The ground split open beneath her, the flames roaring as if feeding on her fury. The wind shrieked. Trees bent. The stars above blinked out, one by one, like candles snuffed by a jealous god.

Shithal stumbled back, her smirk faltering. "What… what is this?"

But Arthro couldn't move.

He couldn't speak.

Because the blood staining the soil—her blood—was forming symbols, ancient, unholy. They glowed beneath his boots, radiating a darkness deeper than night.

The curse was no longer just words.

It was a pact.

A promise.

And it had been heard.

Ruby's head snapped up, her hair fanned out by a sudden gust of wind that spiraled like a vortex around her.

"You thought you could bury me."

The voice came from everywhere—and nowhere.

"You thought your betrayal would be the end of me."

Her body spasmed. Her eyes rolled back. The flames surged higher, howling in sync with her heartbeat.

"But I am death now. I am the curse that clings to your name, the nightmare behind every shadow."

She slammed her blood-soaked fist against the ground.

The world shook.

A blinding light burst from the symbols beneath her, and a howl—inhuman and eternal—ripped through the skies.

Then—

Silence.

She collapsed, her final breath barely more than a hiss through her teeth.

"I will return."

And the moment those words touched the air, the fire died.

The wind stopped.

The earth sealed shut.

And the ruins were still.

But beneath the soil, the curse pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Ruby was gone.

...