THE LAST QUEEN

Centuries ago, in a time when peace still breathed in the wind and the world was young, the land now known as Aethel flourished. It was a realm of breathtaking beauty-where emerald forests stretched for miles, rivers gleamed like liquid crystal, and mountains rose like ancient gods into the heavens. The people of Aethel were hardy and harmonious, living in tune with the rhythms of nature. They sang songs that echoed through the trees, crafted wonders with their hands, and gave their hearts to King Eldric-a wise and just ruler whose strength lay in compassion.

But peace, as fragile as a butterfly's wing, seldom endures.

Across Aethel's borders lay a kingdom ruled by King Torin-a man as ruthless as he was ambitious. To him, Aethel was not a neighbor to be respected, but a prize to be seized. Its fertile lands and abundant resources stirred a hunger within him. Whispering promises of glory and plunder, Torin rallied his armies, forging them into a storm of steel.

King Eldric, though a man of peace, understood that there are moments when even the gentlest heart must rise in defiance. He summoned his warriors, stood before his people, and vowed to protect the land they loved.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, an orange glow blanketed the battlefield. The clash of steel began-a dirge of war echoing through the forests. Clad in armor that shimmered like morning light, Eldric raised his sword high.

"Today, we fight not just for land," he cried, "but for the soul of Aethel-for our songs, our homes, and the beauty we have built together!"

His words ignited a fire within the hearts of his people. They surged forward, fearless and united. Across the field, Torin watched, his lips curled in a cruel smile. He saw Aethel as already his. But he had underestimated the spirit of a people who fought not for conquest, but for love.

The battle raged for days. Eldric, ever the tactician, used the land to his advantage. The forests became allies, offering cover for ambushes and secret movements. Though outnumbered, the people of Aethel fought with relentless courage, their resolve as unyielding as the ancient stones beneath their feet.

In the thick of the battle, the two kings finally met. Eldric, bruised but unbroken, faced Torin with unshakable resolve.

"You seek to conquer through fear, Torin," he said. "But our strength is not in our weapons-it lies in our unity, and in our love for this land."

Torin sneered. "Love will not save you. Power is the only truth."

Their swords clashed, a thunderous ring that echoed like fate itself. Around them, the battle spiraled into chaos.

Though Aethel's warriors fought valiantly, Torin's relentless tide proved too much. The capital fell. Its walls, once proud, crumbled under the weight of war. King Eldric fought to the last breath-but an arrow found his heart. With his fall, the light of Aethel dimmed.

Now under Torin's iron rule, the people of Aethel bent their knees to a foreign crown. As a final act of domination, Torin commanded that Eldric's daughter, Princess Elara, be brought before him.

Far from the battlefield, Queen Charlotte-Eldric's beloved wife-stood upon the castle battlements, the wind tearing at her hair. She saw the enemy approaching. Her heart pounded-not with fear for herself, but for her children.

She raced through the halls, breathless with urgency. Bursting into her son's chamber, she found little Quinn playing with his toy soldiers, innocent and unaware.

She swept him into her arms, clutching him close.

"We have to go, my love," she whispered. "Now."

She led him into a hidden tunnel, known only to her, Eldric, and their children. The walls were damp and cold. Her son trembled.

"Mother, I'm scared."

"I know, sweetheart," she said, kneeling before him. "But you must be brave. You're strong-just like your father. I need you to run, as fast as you can. Don't look back."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kissed his forehead. "Go, my love."

Quinn ran into the shadows, the darkness swallowing his small figure. Charlotte watched until he vanished, then turned and sprinted back into the castle.

A scream shattered the silence-Elara.

Charlotte followed the cry to the throne room. There, she found her daughter in the grip of soldiers, her eyes wide with terror. Torin stood before them, his expression one of cold triumph.

With a flourish, he threw a sack at Charlotte's feet. It tumbled open, and Eldric's severed head rolled onto the stone floor.

Charlotte collapsed, a scream torn from her soul. She crawled to her husband's remains, her fingers trembling, her wails echoing like a lament through the chamber.

"Father!" Elara screamed, her voice raw with agony.

But there was no time to mourn.

Charlotte surged to her feet. "You will not take her!" she shouted, defiance blazing in her eyes.

Torin stepped forward and pressed his sword to her heart.

Elara thrashed in the soldiers' grip. "No!"

Charlotte gasped as the blade pierced her. She fell, blood blooming across her gown like a crimson rose. Her hand reached out, trembling.

"Find... Quinn," she whispered. "Mother loves you..."

Her voice faded. Elara's scream rose like thunder, fury and anguish consuming her. She broke free, only to be dragged back.

Torin watched her with grim satisfaction. "Your journey is only beginning."

He turned to his captain. "Search the palace again. There's another child."

The captain bowed. "Every room has been checked. No one else remains."

But Elara knew the truth.

Quinn had escaped.

As the soldiers hauled her away, a storm brewed in her soul. Her grief had turned to flame. A vow was born in that moment-fierce, unbreakable.