The Princess of Wrath

Chapter 1 - Part IV: Argus Ithryl, the Forsaken King

"Impossible!"

That single word left Asura's mouth almost instantly, charged with justifiable skepticism.

There was no way in which she could believe that this decrepit old man was the legendary Argus Ithryl.

The guardian of the Shield City Shogun III. The one who slayed five hundred Riverian soldiers alone, entrenched in an abandoned castle in enemy territory. The de facto and last King of Zamor Ichalia, saving thousands of civilians before the fall of the nation.

The man who rejected the throne of the Empire to leave it to his only daughter, Nibia, only to die a short time later in the most private of silences...

Asura had the fresh image in her mind of Argus' sword, towering and majestic in the Iron Graveyard, as a testament to those deeds that were sadly overshadowed by his outrageous decision.

How could that old man be that hero of legends? Someone who had died more than fifty years ago?

What Asura could not deny was that the Curse of Wrath coursed through his veins; she felt its influence emanating from him, colliding with her own spirit as if it were a symbiotic connection.

And yet... Believing in it was still a very difficult task for her.

"You cannot be Argus Ithryl," the Princess said quietly, her brittle voice betraying the uncertainty in her words. Right hand still stretched out, she took a few steps in his direction, transfixed and guided by an inexplicable momentum. "There's no way..."

The old man chuckled, the wrinkles and curves of his face showing a slight hint of gentleness that was quite difficult to appreciate between that menacing expression of permanent weariness that he had.

"A dead man tell no tales, huh? I understand: I also had a hard time believing that, of all the people that could have reached the End-World Peninsula, it was someone who shared blood ties with me. It's comforting but, given the background of these lands, tragic at the same time..." He extended his hand to hers as well, inviting her to take it. "By fortune and ancient efforts, the grace of our family is so great that it surpasses any barrier. Take my hand and you will see that I speak the truth."

And she did it without a second thought, closing the distance and feeling those skeletal fingers against hers.

It was there that Asura felt her wounded spirit being enveloped by the winds of grace that were all too familiar to her. It was a long second that made her travel hundreds of thousands of miles north, to the heart of the Empire, the corridors of the Silent Keep and the Throne Room, and feel again the greatness that her ancestors had left in those corners before ascending to the Halls of Exilia.

"Oh... This..."

The Princess could not resist the urge to cry and closed her eyes momentarily, searching for the strength not to break before that bittersweet remembrance.

To feel the absence of everything she had lost, inviting her once again to give up on life...

Now it was a fierce struggle between the desire to die and the force of the truth; that old man was blood of her blood and there was nothing that could deny it.

There was only one question left that was to trigger a very long conversation, and the extent of her torment:

"How is it possible?"

At that moment, Asura began to hear a combination of sounds that made her hair stand on end: the rumble of drums and wild, guttural chants, coming from a place not too far away.