The Day Hope Became Nightmare

Sage Gritova and Princess Rinara hurried after the Hero, who looked lost and frightened in the midst of the bustling celebration. They finally caught up with him near a quieter gallery, where the noise of the festival faded to a distant hum.

The Hero's breath came in shallow bursts. He stared at his glowing blue-marked hand, confusion and dread battling in his expression.

Sage Gritova stepped in front of him, her manner gentle but firm. "Please, calm yourself," she said, voice warm and motherly. "This palace is the safest place in the empire tonight. The throne room—everyone there is the strongest among our people. There are knights, magicians, even the Emperor himself."

Rinara joined her, placing a comforting hand on the Hero's arm. "Yes—everyone inside is elite. A Royal Knight, High Priest, and above Class 7 Magician. My father, Sir Andreas, the best healers, and the bravest warriors. If anything happened, no force could break through them. You're safe with us, truly."

The Hero swallowed, casting nervous eyes around the corridor lined with laughing nobles and busy servants. "But… people… they… spreading," he answered, his accent heavy with fear. "I saw… some… already… infected… people dead… all of them will be DEAD!"

Sage Gritova met his gaze with steady determination. "I understand you're afraid. But there is nowhere safer in all of Chronoa. If what you say is true, then all the strongest will keep everyone else safe. You have our protection, and we—Humania—need your hope."

Rinara nodded, her eyes earnest. "For the sake of our world. Please, come back with us, even if just for a little while. You do not have to face this alone."

The boy hesitated, glancing back and forth, as if searching for escape. The festival music from outside filtered in through the window—happy sounds that felt strange in his ears. Slowly, seeing the calm confidence in Gritova's face and the pleading in Rinara's eyes, he nodded once, just a small movement.

"Okay… I'll come," he said, voice barely above a whisper and still slightly feeling reluctance.

A faint look of relief passed between the princess and the sage. Gritova offered a reassuring smile. "Thank you. You do not have to be the hero by yourself—not in this place, not tonight."

Just as they began to move away, a distant boom—low and unmistakably violent—broke the peace.

The palace wall shuddered. The quiet confidence of their small group faded as servants and nobles looked up in confusion. Smoke began to curl into the evening sky outside the nearest gallery window.

Rinara's sense of safety wavered, and for the first time since leaving the throne room, she wondered if even the strongest shields might not hold.

***

The distant explosion froze everyone around them. For a split second, the celebration's joy teetered on the edge of confusion. Then, a second, sharper blast rattled the window panes, and shouts of alarm rose from the far garden.

Smoke billowed up beyond the stone balustrades. Somewhere, glass shattered in a rain of cold silver. The servants all around them dropped their trays and bouquets, pale with shock.

From outside, festival music stumbled to a shaky halt. Cheers faded into frightened whispers as the crowd in the main square pointed up at the black plume of smoke twisting from the palace wall.

Sage Gritova's face was drained of color. She spun on her heel, moving with sudden, desperate energy. "Wait here!" she snapped at Rinara and the Hero. "If anything happens, run—do not look back. I must reach the Emperor and Sir Andreas!"

Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared down the stone hall, her staff tapping hurriedly against the marble, leaving Rinara and the Hero alone among a rising storm of questions and fear.

Time seemed to crawl. Around them, palace workers hurried in small groups, gossip turning to trepidation. Children peered around their mothers' skirts, worried by the sudden change in the adults' faces. Nobles pressed together, many concealing fear behind forced smiles.

The Hero remained tense, mouthing words Rinara could not understand, his fists clenched tight over the glowing blue crest on his hand.

Minutes trickled by. The smoke grew thicker. The cheerful lanterns fluttered as a dark wind swept through the gallery.

Somewhere in the distance, the screams began.

They didn't sound like cries of surprise or the shouts from an accident. These screams rose, shrill and ugly, bursting with true terror all over the palace—a kind Rinara had never heard. Panic surged in the air, more contagious than any fire.

"We… we have to find her," Rinara whispered, barely trusting her own trembling voice. "We must find out what's really happening. I can't… I can't just wait here while—"

The Hero held Rinara's shoulder to stop her, wincing as the echoes of violence grew louder. He put a trembling hand on her shoulder and, with a small, terrified smile, "Do-don't go… you… you will die…"

Hearing this, Rinara raised her voice for the first time, "But without confirming what happened… we will never know!"

"I know this will happen!" The young man scratched his hair in frustration, then looked around and took a spear from the castle armor display. He then said while trembling, "I'll go with you."

Together, they forced themselves forward, moving toward the familiar golden double doors that led back to the throne. Here, in the heart of the palace, the echoes grew. Banging, pleading, bodies running. A noblewoman rushed past, shoes lost, trailed by two frightened pages.

As they neared the throne room, the world Rinara loved transformed utterly. A single glance was enough to overwhelm her.

Blood. It was everywhere—splashed as though some beast had clawed through the peaceful order. The immaculate white marble of the palace was smeared deep red. Silver platters and gifts from the festival littered the floor, abandoned and trampled.

And the people—no longer guests, not guards or nobles, but something empty and broken—crawled and staggered through the carnage. Some bit down mercilessly on motionless bodies, others feasted greedily on flesh, rising with gaping wounds to join the dance of the dead.

Several, still human in voice but already too far gone, reached out to Rinara and the Hero as they entered the threshold. "Help… please, help us…" they rasped, their voices trembling with pain and confusion. Pale hands grabbed at Rinara's skirt, clinging desperately. For a moment, she bent down, meaning to comfort them—until she saw their eyes, milky and unfocused, faces twisted by fear and a gnawing hunger that seemed unnatural.

Suddenly, one of the nobles lunged, jaws snapping dangerously close. The Hero acted on pure instinct. With a single, swift motion, he drove the weapon forward, stabbing the now-changed noble in the head. The body jerked, falling still for only an instant and not moving anymore.

He held the spear tightly, staying alert, heart pounding as he prepared for what might come next. Each thrust felt heavy and hopeless, the acts of defense turning quickly into acts of sorrow as the reality of the nightmare settled around them.

Rinara's heart hammered in her ears. "Father! Sir Andreas! Sage Gritova!" she cried, her voice breaking against a wall of horror. "Where are you?!"

Silence answered, except for the low moans and the chittering, bloody teeth.

For one heartbeat longer, Rinara stood frozen. Then, behind her, the Hero gasped. Something lunged from the shadows, sinking its teeth deep into his arm.

He jerked, eyes wide with pain and resignation. Blood flooded down his sleeve. He tried to pull away, managed only a tragic, shaky smile—one full of terror and bitter acceptance.

"Told you… Running is the correct answer!" he whispered, and then his legs buckled.

As moaning figures swarmed closer, Rinara's desperate cry vanished beneath the rising storm of the dead. The last golden light of the festival blinked out, swallowed by darkness, leaving only horror in its wake.

That night, as the sky above Estevania turned black, not a single soul beyond the palace walls knew the truth of what had happened inside.

By morning, only whispers remained—rumors carried from trembling lips to busy market stalls and shadowed inns. Stories of screams that pierced the dusk, of fire and unnatural shadows in the royal halls, spread like wildfire through the empire.

But no one, not even those closest to the throne, could say for sure what fate had befallen Estevania.

And so, as hope crumbled behind closed doors, the world beyond clung only to rumors—and to questions that no one dared to answer.