Flashback – The Day She Waited
Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne
Flashback – The Day She Waited
Year 871 L.R., Guild Sector 9, Surface Level Subterraneum
The tunnels were cold.
Not the kind of cold that numbs your skin or makes you shiver.
This chill permeated the very air, creeping into Elira's bones with an eerie silence that enveloped her like a shroud, isolating her from the endless echoes that typically accompanied the subterranean depths.
She waited in a small, darkened niche, exactly where Seris instructed her to meet: a broken pipe that jutted out beneath a narrow waterway, its rusted edges glistening with moisture. The faint glow of the cracked rune stone caught her eye; it resembled a crooked star, its ancient symbol barely visible through layers of grime and decay.
Seated on the cold, damp ground, Elira remembered Seris's words, echoing in her mind like a comforting mantra amidst the haunting stillness.
"It's safe here," Seris had reassured her.
"I promise, I won't let anything happen to you."
Elira wrapped herself tightly in a threadbare coat, the fabric thin and frayed, barely holding any warmth as it hugged her knees. To occupy her mind and mark the passage of time, she began to tap a little melody on her wrist, counting the minutes in fours—four taps going up, followed by four taps coming down.
The rhythm was soothing, a lifeline in the thick silence that threatened to swallow her whole.
Each time fear swelled within her chest, a tide of gnawing uncertainty, she found solace in her sister's voice—soft and strong, like a beacon in the dark:
"I'll come back for you. No matter what happens. Just stay right here."
"I promise."
Elira kept her eyes trained on a flickering drainlight above her, its dim glow sputtering inconsistently—once every seventeen seconds it pulsed gloomily, marking time in an unforgiving way.
As the seconds dragged on, she began to sing softly into her music shard, her voice—gentle yet resonant—filling the air around her with notes of melancholy and hope.
Seris loved that song, its lilting tune a balm for restless nights. She always begged Elira to sing it when sleep eluded them, even on the worst of days, when chaos was swirling all around, and they were forced to flee from their latest hideaway.
Elira clutched the shard close to her heart, as if it were a sacred talisman—a prayer to the universe that her sister would return and everything would be alright.
The food pack Seris had entrusted to her was now a mere memory, its contents exhausted.
Elira's stomach growled with hunger, but she refused to shed any tears— not yet.
Instead, she turned to the rough surface of the tunnel wall, her desperation sparking a creative impulse. Though she lacked actual chalk, she found a jagged stone that could etch designs into the surface. With each scrape, she carved pictures despite the pain it inflicted on her fingers.
A skyship gliding through the air…
A lofty tower reaching toward the stars…
Two girls intertwined, holding hands in solidarity.
One girl had short, spiky hair and twin daggers at her sides—a warrior ready to fight against all odds.
The other had a music shard, her wide eyes sparkling with wonder and innocence.
Above them, she scratched a small star, a dream suspended in time.
"I promise, we'll fly," she whispered softly, as if the universe could hear her.
The silence deepened.
Days passed without footsteps.
No familiar voice pierced the thick veil of quiet.
No Seris.
Elira felt her breath trembling, her heart pounding wildly against the confines of her chest, panic beginning to creep in.
Yet she tried to sing once more, hoping to conjure the melody from her memories, but this time, the shard produced no echoes. Its memory crystal, once vibrant and full of laughter, was now overloaded and silent.
Even so, she persevered—her voice raising timbre, desperation giving strength.
"Starlight, skybright,
Carry me home tonight…"
But her voice cracked, splintering under the weight of her fears.
The silence that followed her song was deafening, an empty abyss swallowing every hopeful note.
She was jolted awake by the sound of booted footsteps echoing through the tunnel.
But they weren't the familiar, comforting footsteps of Seris.
Instead, a group of Guild officers stood over her—shadows in black robes trimmed with silver. Their faces were void of emotion, their eyes like dark hollows, cold and calculating.
"Target located," one officer intoned flatly.
A scream erupted from Elira's lips as survival instincts kicked in, and she tried to flee. But her muscles were weak from inactivity, and her legs buckled beneath her.
In a flash, one of the officers snatched the music shard from her trembling hands. With practiced precision, he examined it, then pressed play.
The joyous laughter of her sister echoed through the dark tunnel.
Her laugh.
The officer glanced sideways at her, devoid of empathy. "Echo-stable. Emotional density viable. Send her to Protocol Forge—Designation: Zero."
Elira's throat constricted as tears streamed down her face. She cried out in vain.
"Seris said she'd come back for me!"
"She promised!"
But her pleas fell on deaf ears, lost in the cold void surrounding her. The heavy door swung shut with a finality that stole her breath away.
They didn't end her life; no, they did something much worse.
They hollowed her out.
It wasn't a violent act; it was insidious—slow, methodical.
They subjected her to a barrage of footage—snippets of Seris, alive and moving, running through the streets, engaging in fierce battles, living freely, while she remained imprisoned in a world of shadows.
The officers fed her lie after lie:
"She traded you for something greater."
"She fled from you, abandoned you."
"She forgot you entirely."
And young Elira, only ten years old, consumed the deception whole, believing it desperately.
Because children—*children don't know how to survive betrayal*.
Even one that existed only in their minds.
They stripped her of her name, an identity washed away like footprints in the tide.
In its place, they branded her with a number, a series of digits that defined her unrecognizably. They asserted that any sign of weeping was a rebellion against their orders—it was disobedience that warranted correction.
Yet… in the darkest corners of her mind, when the despair became too much to bear, she would whisper the song into the silence:
"Starlight, skybright…"
Softly, so the overseers wouldn't detect her disobedience.
The engineers hummed busily as they activated her—**Protocol: SERAPHIM-00.
When she opened her eyes, the world met her with a harsh reality, stripped bare of warmth or joy.
No music to soothe her soul.
No memories of laughter or love.
Only the cold weight of the mission burdened her.
But amid the hollowness, one faint, hidden voice remained—a fleeting echo that refused to be erased.
"Don't forget me."
"I'll come back for you. No matter what."
"I promise."
The words clung to her spirit like a fragile thread, a stark reminder that, buried deep within the layers of darkness and duty, a flicker of hope still flickered, waiting for the day it would be reignited.
To be continued...