Chapter Text
prologue
c. year 835
An engulfing inferno — tangerine and scarlet tendrils wrapping around walls and banisters. It was a scene not meant to be admired despite sharing the same palette as the setting sun. Sparks flew as pillars toppled down like the dynasty residing in the Victorian house. Torches lit up the dusky sky, another rain of fire coming down onto the woodwork that was home to three children with separate dreams. Laughter morphed into screams of terror. Dreams turned into a paralysis demon creeping around the corner. Orders were thrown to uniformed men, time ticking by until every crevice of the house became black snow fluttering against the wind.
A man with deep lines embedded on his face scowled. His back was straight and ramrod, proudly showcasing his position as the commander of this group of men. He watched the breaking house with a grim expression, transparent hatred in his eyes, and hand crumpling the document in his hand. His scowl made way for a sneer, “Burn everything to the ground! Make sure no one survives!”
“Yes, sir!”
The man spat, “They think they can hide, huh? These motherfuckers — parasites . They should’ve been dead a long time ago, along with those Ackermans.”
Hooves pounded on the dirt. Pants created puffs of moisture in the air. Scarlet zipped by the countryside plains. A green cloak of wings billowed through the wind torrents.
A young soldier frantically made a salute — a fist on his heart. “Sir, we’re missing someone.”
The commanding officer felt the air run cold. His eyes widened a fraction. “What?”
The horse showed no signs of slowing down.
“Vee, you’re going too fast!”
In an impossible feat, the person named Vee veered their horse to defy the laws of nature and almost flew towards the burning estate. It was but a minuscule blob of orange paints on the countryside’s canvas and yet it ignited something primal within them. Words weren’t replied to the person riding behind but Vee’s silence was enough to let the others know this growing loathing ran deeper than their anger for the humanoid man-eating monsters outside the walls. Silent glances were exchanged by Vee’s companions and they could only increase their speed to catch up to the fastest soldier known to man, whether it be soaring through the air or galloping by horse.
“Who are we missing?” The commanding officer with the darkest heart dangerously drawled.
The younger man avoided the senior’s glacial glare. All he could focus on was a toy soldier lying on the grass by his boot. It made bile rise to his throat. He was a murderer. Of an acquaintance’s family. There was no going back now. He had to pay the price. “The oldest daughter.”
“Damn it!” The one who always examined the pieces on the chessboard bellowed loud and clear at the young soldier, “Find whoever is missing! Bring her here and make her kneel for what her family has done against the crown! Shoot her if you must. We must honor the name of the sacred monarchy who gave us our lands.” He nodded at the weapon strapped on the soldier’s back. “I expect you to not fail, cadet.”
A shaky nod was all the young man could muster. He took the gun from his back and clicked it with his eyes still trained on the toy soldier. Was this what he signed up for? He only hoped to be closer to the walls for a safer route — to be with the woman that he loved. His posture was tense as he realized that the most perfect shade of red stained his pristine trousers, the same color on the head of the boy that he watched burn in the manmade hell behind him. His screams echoed in the soldier’s mind like the ringing bell in the churches of the phony religion he now saw while going to work. “Yes, sir.” Despite the turmoil his mind fabricated, the young man stood straight and walked with a purpose towards his fellow cadets. “We have to find her,” was his only statement to them and a search party began.
Galloping horses came from everywhere all at once.
The small group of three finally reached their destination.
Horror was painted on all their faces at the sight.
Before this tragic event, these warm shades were reminiscent of the sunset touching the horizon whenever they were doing their adventures in the outside world. It was a symbol of hope for them.
Then, a blood-curdling scream tore through the twilight.
“Vee!” The brown-haired bespectacled person in their trio swiftly turned around. “Erwin, protect her!”
Without telling twice, a sturdy pair of arms instantly wrapped around the middle of the Vee person, who threw herself off her horse to scramble towards the estate of embers. Anguished wails pierced the suffocating smoke. It was almost animalistic — how Vee desperately longed to go into the fray. “Let go of me, Erwin!” She continued screaming, starlight dripping down her cheeks in a continuous waterfall. The gold irises that were once described as the sun blazed with a hatred brighter than any luminary. “Let go of me. I have to go to Mom and Dad! Daphne and Alistair are there, too. Just let me go — FUCK!”
Erwin Smith grunted every time the girl in his hold dug her elbow deep into his stomach. His chest ached at his friend and all he could do was tighten his arms around her as she screamed for her family’s names with all the air that she could breathe. It captured the attention of the remaining soldiers, who only remembered of the spitfire that managed to escape the clutches of this massacre by joining the military. Erwin met gazes with the cold commander, recognition flashing in the blue flecks of the former’s eyes.
Military Police .
“Those bastards.” The brown-haired person placed a firm hand around the sobbing girl’s arm.
“They will pay,” the girl glowered at the commanding officer. The ache inside her chest spread a hundredfold when she saw how the authority figure puffed his chest. They won. What did she do for them to slaughter every single one of her family members? What did her family do? She kept struggling in Erwin’s arms until her brown-haired friend appeared in front of her, their hands keeping her face in place. She could see her reflection on their glasses. That was all it took for the anger to dissipate and for the agony to prevail. She just lost her family . A whimper made its way through her throat, “Hange.”
All hope inside Maeve Chevalier vanished at the hair-raising gunshot reverberating from the woods within the estate.
Then another gunshot. And another. Then, a scream. A gunshot. Until the crows flew from the treetops. Finally, there was silence.
A woman with tresses of scarlet hair felt the scratches on her cheek drip sunbeams. This was supposed to be a normal afternoon of tea and scones, where the family should be welcoming home their little soldier from her current expedition. Not a day for bloodshed. The last thing that happened before the military raided their home was her little brother playing with the baby in her arms. Her baby. The woman looked down without slowing her run. Hair as red as blood and face that looked like hers, the woman felt her tears cascade down her cheeks. Her darling daughter who deserved the beauty and wonder of the entire world, who would someday become a brilliant mind that would help liberate the people in their kingdom, who was her pride and joy the moment she wailed her first cry.
She was a mother and to Hell with her life — she would do anything for her child.
Hope came in the form of a cart sitting idly at the side of the dirt trail.
The red-haired woman gazed down at her sleeping daughter and marveled at how the infant stayed calm throughout the series of unfortunate events. With her feet crumpling the leaves on the forest floor, the woman peeked through the back of the cart and found some crates with fragile belongings wrapped around in thick cloth. The woman’s eyelids flickered with hesitance. Movement from the bundle in her arms snapped her out of her reverie. Her baby opened her eyes and two pairs of gold met for the last time.
The mother brushed her lips on the baby’s forehead, tiny hands patting her chin. Her bottom lip quivered, the thought of separating with her child weighing down like the sky. Then, the sound of shouting was getting nearer and nearer. Instead of putting her daughter inside the crates, she tightened her embrace around her. She didn’t want to part with her.
The first gunshot acted like thunder in the foliage.
“I know she’s not far!”
She bit her lip to prevent the sob from coming out. One look at that beautiful faerie smile and the woman felt her heart stutter. “ Are you going to Scarborough Fair? ” Her voice cracked as she heard the horses lessening their distance from her. “ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme . I don’t want to leave you, my little sunrise.” She composed herself to finish the song. She hoped that this would stay within her daughter’s memories, even if all the girl could see in the future was a blurry silhouette of a wailing woman desperately clinging on to the last thread connecting them. “ Remember me to the one who lives there .” Her little song was about to end and she placed her forehead on the baby’s. “ For once he was a true love of mine .”
Another gunshot landed on the tree a few feet away from the cart and the horses in front of the vehicle made a fuss.
The woman jumped, breath hitching. Time is of the essence and she had no choice but to tenderly place her daughter on one of the crates of painting supplies. She backed away from the cart with her hands pressed tightly on top of her heart. Feet became meters and now she was too far away from the cart to see it over the brushes.
The pain of losing her family washed over her, her knees giving out from under her skirts. She witnessed her husband get shot a dozen times on the chest, protecting her and telling her to run to get their daughter. She watched on as her mother and father got slit in the throat with the daggers they paired with their guns. At that point, the air was too much for her to intake. All she could do was clutch her baby close to her chest, praying for the gods to show them mercy — to make her wake up from her nightmares. But they never listened. Then, it was her little brother — poor, brilliant Alistair. He got the worst of it. He was trapped under the inferno that tickled Hell with its fingers. The woman couldn't get his screams out of her head as his golden skin became charred. Before she knew it, she was a spirit bringing the news of the dead. She screamed and screamed until her voice became hoarse, so unlike the dulcet one she used to sing a lullaby a few moments prior.
Behind her, the horses came to a stop. A gun was cocked and pointed at where her heart was.
The woman looked at the front, now silent and eyes devoid of life.
“This must be done. All Chevaliers are enemies of the throne and crown. This is for the King of the Walls. So, stop running and accept your fate.”
The young soldier who was appointed to kill the woman took a shaky breath, a single tear dripped down on the apple of his cheek.
“ For once he was a true love of mine .”
A heart stopped and the baby cried inside the cart.
The fall of a dynasty was now a frequent thing for the history books — a dynasty that was thought to be unshakeable that not even the heavens could topple down. Just like all heroes, it fell down with only a mourning vengeance left behind — a heartened resolve to steel herself from preventing another familial slaughter. Ethereal gold was smeared on every wall of the house and shrubs of the forest. A family lost and a name forgotten.
Until a painter from the southernmost city opened her door to receive the supplies she ordered from the inner walls.
A miracle sent down by the heavens was found within the crate of her jar of paints and brushes. A baby of the most beautiful shade of scarlet greeted the painter’s vision, a beacon in the abysmal night — a dawn of another day. The painter fell in love at first sight with a single angelic dimpled smile, a constellation of light freckles covering the baby’s cheeks. A breath of awe came out of the artiste. She knows that this baby would grow up to be loved by all who meet her. An embroidery caught her attention, poking through the back of the blanket that safely wrapped around the baby girl. She carefully unfolded the material and smiled at the name she was about to call the little miracle. The painter turned back to the baby, who was cooing at her with her chubby arms outstretched. Brushing a finger against her cheek, the painter now became a mother.
“Welcome to your new home, Aurora.”