The sunlight passed through the cracked stone of the window. It warmed the air in the first rays of dawn. The birds called to each other with light, quick chirps. Soft breeze moved through the room. Everything was still except for the movement of a body that would not stay quiet.
Rage's eyes opened. Light burned against his face. A low groan left his throat as he blinked away the haze. Memories hit him hard. The sharp pain in his foot. The smell of blood. The distant hum of voices barely held back under the weight of exhaustion.
This was the aftermath.
A war won but at the cost of everything he had left behind.
The realization sank in, heavy and suffocating, as his mind sharpened. Firekeep. The fortress.
His body, still too sore to move easily, but slowly becoming more familiar with the sensation of each bruise, cut, and fracture.
The previous days had bled together. A blur of faces, rough hands, and the gruff voices of the queen's men.
There had been no escape. No dignity. Just them, hulking, silent men who had tended to his wounds, carried him when necessary, and fed him when his own hands failed. But they weren't maids.
"If only they were those bunny girls in frilly maid outfits," he muttered under his breath, "instead I got brutes."
The image of their crude, calloused fingers digging into his ribs, tugging his clothes from his body, still made his skin crawl.
Naked. In front of them. The thought of it twisted his gut, but there was no denying the necessity of it.
Rage tried to gather some control over his body. His foot was still raw, still tender. Every movement felt like an insult, each step was a reminder of how his ignorance had gotten him here. He gritted his teeth together. Not even the sunlight coming in could ease the bitterness pressing under his ribs.
He shifted under the thin blanket, his muscles were stiff from days of forced stillness. They'd been careful with him. He wasn't sure if it was out of respect or simple pity. But the brutality of their hands didn't lessen with their kindness. It wasn't like they had asked, either. No, they just did in silence.
[SYSTEM] Garrick Lv.42
[SYSTEM] class : Armsman
[SYSTEM] loyalty : 79%
"Good morning, boy." A voice, low and gruff, cut through the haze of his thoughts. The man's voice was familiar now though Rage couldn't place the name.
Rage clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the heat of the room.
"Get it over with," he muttered. He didn't want to face it. The process. The degradation. But they had their duties, and he had his.
The man approached, as though he'd expected this response. His rough hands moved to check on him. One of the hands that had helped him before, now simply waiting for any sign of struggle.
Rage had recovered, at least enough to stand on his own. But the pain was still a constant companion.
"Just... just give me a moment," Rage grumbled, trying to will his limbs into action, to avoid the touch for just one second longer. His body was no longer weak, but it still screamed with every motion.
The man stepped back, giving him the illusion of space. Rage could feel the weight of his gaze as he struggled to stand, hissing as his foot protested with every inch of movement. His body, no longer the finely tuned machine it once had been, was a burden now.
He stood, holding onto the bedpost for balance. The pain in his leg shot through him with every shift of weight. There was a nagging awareness at the back of his mind that he wasn't in control.
Not here.
Not yet.
"You're not a prisoner here, King," the man said.
Rage's gaze shifted to the window. He hated how the world still turned without him. No matter how far he fell, the world kept going.
But for now, for today, it was just him and the remnants of his pride.
With a deep breath, Rage pushed himself out of bed and started walking. His foot throbbed with every shift of weight, but he forced himself to ignore the pain. One step, then another. His body, shaky but determined, moved toward the door.
The man still stood by. Ready to catch if Rage faltered.
The door handle creaked as Rage grasped it fully despite the pain.
***
Rage stepped outside. The fresh air was cool and crisp. The sunlight made him narrow his eyes. The sudden brightness cut sharp shapes into the world.
The fortress he remembered, the muddied grounds, the clatter of armor, the stench of blood and sweat was nowhere to be found.
The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air. It mixed with the chatter of vendors. Children ran between market stalls. Their laughter cut through the quiet hum of conversation. Footsteps echoed on the cobbled streets.
Too clean. Too calm.
Rage exhaled slowly, his grip tightened at his side. The battle had ended. But standing here, surrounded by a peace he didn't belong to, it almost felt like he had lost.
He made his way toward a stone bench, its edges were worn and chipped from years of exposure to the elements. The cold stone bit into his skin as he sat, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the constant pain in his leg.
The man followed, his heavy footsteps sounded behind him, never far. He still watched, still ready.
Rage sat in silence. The man lowered himself onto the bench beside him.
"I had a son." The man's voice was low and rough. "Would've been about your age now."
Rage flicked a glance at him, but the man wasn't looking his way. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, locked onto something long gone.
"Lost him in a battle. One of Varka's raids." He paused just long enough for the words to sink in. "But... you ended him... Varkas. And for that, I'm grateful."
Rage blinked. There was no anger in his voice, no need for revenge. Just quiet finality.
The man finally turned. "That's why I'm still here."
Something stirred in Rage's chest. It was small and faint, like a thread tugging at the edge of his mind. Guilt? Gratitude? He could not tell. He did not want to.
His jaw clenched. He forced his expression into something unreadable, locking the feeling away.
"Don't make this about me," Rage muttered.
The man gave a low chuckle. "If my son were still alive," he said, "I'd have wished he'd be your friend and your companion. Especially if you ever married the queen."
He let out a laugh though the thought amused him more than anything.
Rage stared at him for a moment, not sure whether to be irritated or entertained.
The man's chuckle faded. His face grew serious. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice was quieter now.
"The king's throne is empty. And every suitor who's tried has been rejected." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No heir. No match. Firekeep stands strong today, but kingdoms without succession don't last forever."
His fingers curled into his palm, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "I've bled for this place. We all have. But without a king, without someone worthy to stand beside her, what happens when another war comes?"
Rage frowned, shifting slightly. "Why are you telling me this?"
The man did not answer at once. From the bench where they sat, he looked back into a window left slightly open to Rage's room where Balmung was kept.
"I've heard rumors," the man murmured, his voice almost distant.
Rage followed his line of sight.
Then, the soldier exhaled, his tone quieter now. "It chooses."
Rage shook his head, letting out a short and dry laugh to shake off the weight of the words. "Maybe if another queen shows up, we will finally have some luck?"
"HEY!"
A cheerful call echoed across the courtyard. The sound carried a sharp, playful authority.
In the distance, a woman stood. She wore a flowing dress in soft colors and her hair fell in waves down her back.
She was leaning down, patting a child's head. There was a certain warmth in her. But what struck Rage most was how familiar she looked. The stature, the height, the way she carried herself. It was unmistakable.
Queen Ignia.
This was no queen in her battle armor. This was a different version, one far removed from the fortress he had known her in. This was not a woman of command.
Rage squinted, his mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.
"Does the queen have a twin?" he muttered under his breath.
The man, who had been watching silently, stood. He saluted by stomping his foot, the sound was heavy and firm.
"That's the queen, boy," he said, his voice steady and proud.
Rage attempted to push himself up, but the familiar sting of pain shot through his leg.
"Never mind," he muttered, sinking back down onto the bench. "I'll stay here."
The queen walked toward them with a straight, firm posture. Each step was strong, her feet hit the ground with quiet authority. She moved with the posture of a man, without any attempt to appear delicate or graceful.
She stopped in front of them, a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she glanced down at Rage.
"So you're still alive?" she asked, her voice was light and laced with amusement.
Her gaze then shifted to the man, her brow raised slightly.
"Is he ready for another death?" she teased, her tone was playful, but with an edge that made it clear she wasn't entirely joking.
Rage, still nursing his pain, clenched his jaw but said nothing. His pride was too stubborn to let him show any sign of weakness. The soldier, however, answered for him.
"He can manage the basics," he said, his eyes shifted toward Rage as if seeking confirmation.
Rage shifted slightly. A small, crooked smile appeared on his lips despite the pain.
"If it's wax on, wax off, I can do one of those," he muttered.
The queen raised an eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with the words that had come out of his mouth.
She tilted her head slightly.
"Wax on, wax off?" She shook her head.
"Whatever you say," Her voice was firm. "I'll take that as a yes."
She straightened. "Tomorrow, you'll start."
Rage gave a dry chuckle. "Sure, I guess."
The soldier gave a sharp, snappy gesture to the queen, signaling that he would take his leave.
With a quick nod from the queen, he turned and walked away.
The queen looked at Rage.
"We will begin at first light," she said. Her voice was mixed authority and indifference.
"You will start dying by then." She gave a short laugh.
Rage didn't respond. He simply watched her turn and leave.
Once she was gone, Rage reclined on the bench. His body sank into the seat as he leaned back and stared at the sky.
The light spread across the clouds in soft shades of blue and white, a sharp contrast to the cold weight of the fortress behind him. The breeze was calm and soft against his skin.
The only sounds were the distant murmur of children and the rustling of leaves.
It was peaceful. Almost enough to make him forget.
[SYSTEM] Queen Ignia : Loyalty 78%
[SYSTEM] Corruption : 12.8%