“I’m sorry,” she muttered, but the screams of the dying eclipsed her words.
The streets were aflame.
Barlama, the capital of Charlgia, was once a beautiful and historic waterfront city known as the pearl of the kingdom. Now its white walls lay in ruins, its splendid architecture reduced to rubble and ash. Citizens flung themselves into the city’s magnificent canals to escape the flames, and now their bodies filled the waterways. The clouds, stained red by the fires, were like crimson blossoms, and the stench of death permeated the air. Amid the carnage, enormous figures moved like shadowy wraiths.
Chasseurs d’Acier. These beautiful yet terrifying humanoid weapons dominated the stage of war that Barlama had become. A single girl stood at a ruined window of the royal palace, taking in the horrifying sight of the city below.
Steel bodies clashed and sparked, filling the air with a sound like thunder. The Chasseurs were fighting.
Barlama had been invaded by a force of over one hundred Chasseurs. Innocent lives were cut short with each swing of their colossal swords and spears. When they cast auramancy, the flames incinerated the girl’s beloved city. Her eyes had long since dried of tears, and all she could do was watch. She was obligated to see this outcome through to its bitter end, no matter how awful it became.
That was the girl’s punishment, for this was her crime. It was because of her that these events had come to pass.
“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”
Her golden hair billowed and shimmered in the gusts made by passing Chasseurs. Not far away, a jet-black titan sliced at its foe. There was a roar of tearing metal, and the hostile unit buckled, releasing a spray of blood-like lubricant as it toppled to the ground.
The jet-black Chasseur, however, was not unharmed. The strain of constant battle had taken its toll, and it was a wonder the unit could still move. The pilot had already disabled many of the core’s secondary features to save power, and most of the Chasseur’s weapons had been lost.
Yet even now, the aura knight did not tire. All the friends and loved ones he had sworn to protect were gone, and the love of his life was dead. His only choice left was to devote himself to slaughter. The young man abhorred turning his weapon upon fellow humans, but on that night, tens upon hundreds of thousands had died at his hand. His name struck fear into the enemy, and it was all due to the role the girl had forced upon him.
“I’m sorry, Ras… Please, forgive me…”
The girl voiced her wish knowing it to be futile. She could never be forgiven for what she had done, but perhaps…next time. Next time…it could be different.
Enveloped by the blaze, the royal palace crumbled, tossing the girl from the balcony upon which she stood. Just before hitting the ground, the very last thing she saw was the jet-black Chasseur, wreathed in crimson, launching itself once more into battle.
When the girl awoke, her eyes were wet with tears. She was Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana, fourth royal princess of the Kingdom of Charlgia.
As Tishna gazed up at the canopy of her bed, a maid by her bedside called to her. She was a little older than Tishna, with raven hair and spectacles.
“Are you awake, Your Highness?”
Despite her status as a member of the royal family, Tishna’s private villa was not overly grand or sumptuous. Even so, her bedding was of the highest quality, and the bed’s construction matched the fine architecture of the building itself. It was a testament to Charlgia’s long history as a center of the arts.
“Good morning, Emma-Leonie… I was dreaming.”
Sitting up in bed, Tishna smiled at her attendant.
“You were moving around quite a lot, Your Highness,” the maid replied. “Was it a nightmare?”
“Please don’t worry. I was simply remembering…the past. It happens all the time.”
“Is that so?”
Emma-Leonie nodded politely, without a single change to her expression. The two had not known each other long, but Tishna had already taken a liking to this stone-faced maid. She appreciated that Emma-Leonie continued acting the same way even after finding out about Tishna’s mischievous nature. She only wished she could have met the girl earlier, so that the two could have shared a deeper relationship.
“Any news to report?” asked Tishna. Despite her unsociable nature, Emma-Leonie was always quick to learn of any happenings, not only in Tishna’s villa but at the royal castle, too. She was a great source of information, and a big helping hand to Tishna’s schemes.
“Prince Auriol’s visit has been moved forward, Your Highness.”
“Prince Auriol… Of the Argyll Empire, you mean?”
“Yes, Your Highness. It was originally planned for next week, but it seems he has decided to arrive in four days’ time instead. He has requested that no special arrangements be made for this late change in plans.”
“Well, that won’t do at all. I wonder if sending Ras back was a little too much.”
Tishna spoke the name of Argyll’s Guardian of Silver with far more familiarity than was warranted. Emma-Leonie narrowed her eyes warily. In return, Tishna looked up at her favorite maid and smiled.
“You need not worry,” she said. “I am not having second thoughts at this stage. Everything will proceed as planned. We cannot afford any further mistakes, after all.”
With that, Tishna cast her gaze out the window of the villa, toward the ivory city that sat on the banks of the lake. Today, as always, Barlama’s streets were as busy as they were beautiful. Nobody would believe that in just a few days, those noble streets would be plunged into the fires of war. For now, at least, there was still time.
“I’ll be counting on you…Fiarca.”
Most likely, Tishna had not intended to mutter those words aloud. However, when she spoke the name of the empire’s dead princess, the maid by her side did not so much as blink.