𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨 | 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐈𝐈𝐈

If anybody asked her why she so vehemently chose to fight against the kingdom, she would reply that she did out of loyalty for Wolf—It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either.

It was out of anger, out of vengeance.

She pushed her dirty blond hair out of her face and entered a bar, settling herself at a table by herself as she waited for someone; She defied the kingdom with an underlying rage, as a reminder of what it had done to her and her country.

Her country had been razed to the ground by neverending flames and lost to history, remaining unarchived and unrecorded for eternity. There were no remains to speak of and none of Terruncius' denizens still lived on this earth except for her.

The first quarter had been buried under the mountains and the second swept by the amber sea. The third quarter had been overtaken by wilderness and the last used as the pillar of an even greater, so they said, empire—she felt the wood of the table underneath her fingertips, the ridges acutely carved out within her vision. This district—the largest in the kingdom—was built upon the vestiges of her home country.

A formerly glorious country had been burned down to extinction, never to be spoken of again outside of whispered stories that very little believed. Only she remained at the surface, the few who had survived alongside her doomed to peril within the depths of the abysses of the land of Fae. The royal kingdom refused to acknowledge them so she stood on the opposite side, alongside one of their greatest enemies.

She chuckled to herself at the unbidden thought, her gaze trained to the entrance of the bar as the person she was waiting for arrived.

No kingdom was without skeletons in its closet—not even the most righteous ones.