In the vast halls of the Nightshade Kingdom, shadows loomed longer than usual.
The once-proud city of twilight, with its towering blackstone spires and dark pirple lights woven through the trees, was now tense with hunger, unrest, and uncertainty.
It had once been a place of mystique and quiet strength—hidden deep within the dark forested veils and mountains, thriving in secret—but now that very secrecy was becoming its prison.
The grand market squares stood quieter than they had in years. Food stalls were empty. Soldiers patrolled more frequently, not for order, but to stave off unrest. And whispers—resentful whispers—drifted through the alleys like venom.
"It's because of those cursed refugees...They have now cursed us with their fate"
"The blasted draconians wouldn't have bothered with us if it wasn't for them..."
"Their king is starving us, and the bloodburners the reason..."
Citizens who once extended kindness to the refugees of Bloodburn were now starting to shift.
Kindness gave way to weariness. Weariness to resentment. The supplies had run dry. Merchant routes had been cut off by Drakar's forces. What few friends the Nightshade Kingdom had—small tribes, distant merchants, neutral territories—were either bribed or threatened into silence.
To make things worse, dangerous and foreign beasts had begun appearing in the forests beyond the kingdom. Twisted, frenzied things that bore the foul stench of unnatural breeding—Drakar's work, undoubtedly. The kingdom was fending off enemies not just of steel and sorcery, but claws, poison, and madness.
How could they not feel resentment when they were starving, forced to take up dangerous quests to survive...only to die.
It would have been somewhat okay if they were at least able to return alive from the quests they had taken. But so many elderly had lost their young and abled sons and daughters to the quests that had exponentially become dangerous due to the sudden and shocking changes the humans had somehow forced upon them.
Those who managed to survive the supposedly "Child's Play" quests returned as failures, only to tell the rest that the humans they fought were monsters who never grew tired.
They just kept using their most powerful abilities again and again, as if they had endless mana.
How were they supposed to win against such humans? And as if to make things worse, they were getting sent to a different world to fight the humans...a world that was far different from the one they usually fought the humans on.
It was a world filled with powerful Hunters...a world filled with nightmares...a world from which one would need a devil's grace to return alive.
And watching and knowing all this suffering with a clenched jaw was Rowena.
Her hand gently resting on her rounded belly, the swell of her child now way more pronounced, a living symbol of all that she had lost—and all that she still had to protect.
But she would not falter. Not now.
-
In the cold meeting hall, the air was tense with the weight of burdened decisions.
At the long, dark yet ornate table sat the key figures of what remained of two kingdoms—Rowena, King Lakhur, Isola, Esther, and finally Jael Valentine, now Lord of House Valentine, after the treachery of his mother and the death of his father, Vernon.
Maps were spread across the table—territorial lines, blocked routes, beast-sighting zones. All marked with red ink, black arrows, and sigils of danger.
"We're hemmed in from all sides," Lakhur muttered, voice low as his dark gaze scanned the maps. His shoulders were taut with stress, and his long fingers tapped the table in restless rhythm. "Every route we relied on has gone silent. No trade. No diplomacy. We're bleeding slowly."
Rowena remained still, fingers laced over her stomach, her pale face set in a calm, yet resolute mask. "It's because of me. Because of my people."
Lakhur looked up sharply. "Don't say that."
She didn't flinch. "It's the truth. Drakar wouldn't waste this much time or effort unless it was to finish what he started. Your people are suffering... because you chose to shelter us. It won't be long before they won't be able to endure it any longer."
Isola lowered her gaze, saying nothing, though her silence spoke volumes. Esther's expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the flames dancing in the hearth. Jael only exhaled slowly, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.
Rowena continued, "If worse comes to worst... I will not let your kingdom fall with mine. I've already thought of several possible places to go into hiding. We'll leave. Quietly. Without notice. And we'll draw Drakar's attention away."
Lakhur's fist struck the table with a loud thud.
"I will not cast you out," he said, voice sharp with emotion. "Not like this. Not in your condition. I won't abandon your people, Queen Rowena. I—" He hesitated, something flickering in his eyes. "—I owe your ancestors that much. And even if I didn't...I still won't."
Rowena's lips softened, her cold expression melting for a moment as she looked at him. "You've already done more than enough. You saved my life when I had nothing left. You gave shelter to those who had lost their homes. For all that my people and I will forever be indebted to you. But we both know Drakar won't stop. He won't rest until everything tied to Bloodburn is wiped clean from this world."
She turned toward the others. "I will not stand by and watch another kingdom fall."
Esther spoke up, finally breaking her silence. Her voice was cold but laced with weary acceptance. "She's right. The signs are undeniable. The attacks will grow worse. The pressure will increase. And... eventually, he will force our hand."
Jael nodded slowly with a grim look, "If it comes to war... Nightshade won't last. We're already running on borrowed time. Perhaps hiding is the only path left."
Isola softly nodded and said, "Yes. We would rather not be the cause of the death of so many poor souls."
Lakhur's shoulders sank, his pride and heart at war. He opened his mouth, about to argue again—when a loud knock interrupted the moment.
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