"They say fire purifies. But what purifies vengeance?"
The flames had long since died, but their smoke still lingered — clinging to Daemon's cloak, filling the Queen's lungs, and staining the night with a scent no one would forget: burnt blood and shattered dreams.
The trio moved through the dense forest. Twigs snapped beneath their feet. Every shadow looked like a sword. Every rustle sounded like death.
Daemon's grip on Edgar's sword never loosened. He hadn't spoken for hours, but his silence screamed louder than any battle cry. His senses were sharp — trained on everything. A wrong breeze. A distant crow. The rhythm of the Queen's tired breath.
"We need to rest," Antonia whispered, clutching the infant tightly.
"There's no rest," Daemon replied. "Not yet. Not until we're far from this land. Orion's men will scour every stone, search every stream—"
Suddenly—
Whhhiiiip!
An arrow whistled past his cheek, slicing the air with deadly grace. It buried itself in the bark beside him.
Then chaos erupted.
Shadows broke from the trees — hunters dressed in black, faces marked in red war paint. Orion's Night Stalkers.
"RUN!" Daemon shouted, shoving the Queen behind a tree as he lunged into the fray.
Steel clashed. Blood sprayed. Daemon fought like a beast torn from chains. He struck down two, then three — each kill brutal, unmerciful. But there were too many.
One Stalker lunged at the Queen — dagger raised.
Before he reached her, Daemon hurled his sword — it spun mid-air and buried itself in the assassin's skull.
Antonia screamed. Blood splattered the baby's blanket.
The child wailed, and the sound — that sharp cry of innocence amidst slaughter — froze everyone.
Daemon grabbed a fallen blade and snarled, eyes wild. "You want the heir? You'll have to step over my corpse."
One Stalker smiled cruelly. "Gladly."
Meanwhile, miles away, Orion stood atop a black horse, surveying a bloodied map under moonlight.
"They've slipped the net," Songar growled. His arm was now wrapped in iron, covered in scars.
"Good," Orion said calmly.
"Good?"
"It means they're running. And when people run, they leave trails. It's only a matter of time."
He stared into the distance.
"Let them suffer. Let them feel hunted. That's when their hope will begin to rot."
Back in the forest, Daemon bled from three deep cuts. The Queen trembled, pressing the baby to her chest. Around them, six bodies lay dead.
Only one Stalker remained — a massive brute with gold rings through his ears and two blades glinting with poison.
He charged.
Daemon, unarmed and gasping, braced for death.
But Antonia screamed, "NO!" and threw a sharp rock, hitting the brute's temple.
He stumbled.
It was enough.
Daemon leapt and plunged a shattered dagger into his throat, twisting hard.
The man choked, then fell. Dead.
Silence.
Just the wind. And the baby's soft breathing.
They staggered deeper into the trees. Blood on Daemon's hands. Dirt on Antonia's face. But the child… he looked up at the stars, calm, as if unaware he carried the weight of an entire kingdom.
Antonia turned to Daemon.
"What now?"
He looked ahead. Firelight flickered in the far distance — a village, maybe. Or another trap.
He wiped the blood from his face and said, "Now… we disappear. Until the world forgets us. Until the time is right."
She held the child closer. "And when that time comes?"
Daemon looked at the baby.