THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

In the grandeur of the Lady's hall, shadows played across the arched ceilings, weaving through the intricate chandeliers and pooling around the obsidian uniforms of the gathered executioners. They stood solemn and foreboding, two disciplined rows of masked figures whose presence commanded a deep, reverent silence. The air was charged, heavy with anticipation and the quiet hum of loyalty and unspoken power.

Angelica stood at the towering double doors, the cold metal of the handles pressing against her fingertips. Her gaze strayed past the line of executioners, fixing on the dais where Elder La Muerte sat on her high, ornate seat . Her eyes then shifted to David, standing tall and resolute by the Elder's side.

How did he do it? How did he convince her to let me go?

she wondered, a flurry of emotions tightening her chest.

From ancient tradition, an executioner was dismissed only through an honourable ceremony when transferred to another qualified superior. This ritual was sacred, a passage marked by pride, fear, and loyalty. Angelica would be relinquished to the last son of the Earl, David De Gor—a man who was once scorned but now stood transformed. The entire affair felt surreal.

"Come forth, my rose," Elder La Muerte's voice called out, smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade. Angelica straightened, steeling herself as she stepped forward, the weight of tradition pressing on her with each step. The hall seemed to shrink around her, the gazes of her masked kin boring into her, their silence louder than any roar.

Reaching the dais, Angelica knelt with practiced grace, her head bowed low. Elder La Muerte rose, her dark robes cascading around her like a storm. She descended from her high seat, her heels echoing against the marble floor. With a touch as cold and final as a death sentence, she commanded Angelica to stand. The elder's gaze softened momentarily—a fleeting moment of tenderness masked by the poised power of a viper ready to strike.

"Today, we lose a rose," Elder La Muerte began, her voice resonating through the hall, "but not in battle." Her words drew sharp, startled breaths from a few of the masked figures, who shifted uneasily. With deliberate care, she placed a hand on Angelica's shoulder. "You are dismissed from your rank," she declared, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade through silk.

A collective murmur rippled through the ranks, eyes widening beneath the shadowed masks. This was no ordinary dismissal; it was unprecedented. The hall, filled moments ago with stoic silence, now seemed to hum with restrained surprise.

Elder La Muerte took Angelica's hands in her own, leaning in until her lips brushed close enough to whisper, "I have kept my promise. You may now serve David De Gor." A faint blush dusted the elder's porcelain cheeks, a rare show of emotion that only Angelica could see. Angelica's breath caught, heart pounding as the weight of those words settled into her bones. It was freedom, not from duty, but from the chains that had bound her to blood and shadow alone.

Among the executioners, eyes shifted to David. Some watched in confusion, others with open disdain. One broke the silence, his voice a sharp hiss under the mask, "What's that trash doing here?" His companion, eyes darting nervously, gripped his arm tightly. "Do you wish to invite death upon yourself?" he whispered fiercely.

The first executioner frowned, baffled. "What? Why, what's happened?"

A third figure stepped closer, lowering his voice to a grave whisper, "You must have been away too long on a mission. That is not the David you remember. He has surpassed expectations—he stands at a level where even king-ranked swordsmen would hesitate to face him. He may be 'Master Swordsman' in title, but his true prowess is far greater."

The realization struck the first executioner, eyes wide as he swallowed hard, a lump of fear caught in his throat. The once-dismissed heir, the forgotten son of the Earl, now commanded power that none of them had anticipated.

Elder La Muerte released Angelica, her expression reverting to its usual unreadable mask. "Serve him well, my rose, and let the legacy of De Gor Le Rosa live through new hands," she said, stepping back and allowing the ceremonial moment to conclude.

David met Angelica's eyes, a silent promise passing between them. Amidst the murmurs of surprise and the guarded gazes of the executioners, Angelica straightened, her heart steady with newfound resolve. This was her path now—not just as a rose of the blood-stained De Gor Le Rosa but as something more, bound not by orders but by choice.

****

The crisp evening air wrapped around David and Angelica as they stood outside the towering, iron-wrought gates of Elder La Muerte's manor. The massive structure loomed behind them, dark and foreboding, its shadow stretching far across the cobblestone path.

Angelica's gaze darted to the two carriages waiting for them. The first carriage, grand and ornate, bore the De Gor family crest, flanked by a contingent of knights astride proud horses. Their armour gleamed under the dying sunlight, and the knight at the front held the De Gor banner high, the dark emblem fluttering like a battle cry against the breeze.

The second carriage, in stark contrast, was humble—a simple coach with only a driver perched atop, reins in hand. The two starkly different vehicles painted a clear picture of duty and secrecy.

The creak of a carriage door broke Angelica's thoughts. From the grander of the two emerged Seraphina, her raven-black hair glistening like polished obsidian, cascading over her black, nearly revealing mage dress. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the two figures standing by the gates before settling on David. "David," she called out, a note of urgency lacing her voice, "the others are growing nervous. Are you done here, or shall we wait longer?"

David inclined his head in acknowledgement, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "I'm done," he said, gesturing to Angelica beside him. "But before you leave, there's someone you should meet."

Seraphina's dark eyes shifted to Angelica, who met her gaze with a composed stare. The subtle tension between them was palpable, as if the air itself crackled with unspoken words. "This is Angelica, an executioner of De Gor Le Rosa and now under my service," David said, his voice steady and proud. "She'll be scouting with you and offering protection."

A moment of silence passed as Seraphina sized Angelica up, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. The recognition that flickered across her face revealed more than words ever could—Angelica might soon be more than just a protector.

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"I see," Seraphina said, tilting her head slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Angelica." Though her voice was calm, an unreadable glimmer in her eyes hinted at her thoughts.

Another one, perhaps?

she wondered, understanding David's influence all too well.

David reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder, pulling out several tomes, each bound in dark leather and etched with ancient runes. The weight of their history seemed to thrum in the air. He handed them to Seraphina, who took them with a mixture of curiosity and awe. "These contain complex techniques and spells," David said. "Study them well. Next time we meet, we'll be preparing to raid Terranon's Eye."

Angelica's eyes widened, a sharp intake of breath barely audible.

Terranon's Eye?

The name alone was enough to send shivers down her spine. But she held her silence, observing as Seraphina's fingers brushed over the tomes. Her expression was a mix of wonder and suspicion. These were not just any books; they were ancient, powerful, and dangerous.

"Where did you get these?" Seraphina whispered, almost to herself. She knew the value they held and what it meant for David's lovers to wield such power. A determined light flared in her eyes—these would make them stronger, stronger than anyone could have anticipated.

"Prepare well," David repeated, his voice grave. Seraphina nodded, her resolve set. Without another word, she and Angelica climbed into their carriage, the driver's whip cracking as the horses reared and began their journey toward the capital of the empire.

David turned back to the manor, only to feel a slender hand wrap around his neck, clasping something cool and metallic against his skin. He blinked, fingers brushing over a necklace—a delicate, ancient chain with a pendant carved into a serpentine design. He glanced over his shoulder and met the golden eyes of Elder La Muerte.

"You've gathered quite the group of lovers," she teased, her voice soft and velvety, making David chuckle nervously.

"This necklace will summon me for thirty minutes," she said, her tone shifting to one of rare sincerity. "If you ever find yourself in a situation you cannot handle, use it." Before he could respond, she pulled him into a fierce embrace. The weight of their shared history and unspoken emotions pressed between them.

"Thank you," David whispered as he pulled away, his eyes searching hers for a fleeting moment. She nodded, a rare warmth glistening in her eyes before she stepped back.

David mounted his own carriage, and with a sharp nod from the lead knight holding the De Gor banner, the convoy set off, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the night.

As the manor's shadow swallowed her once more, Elder La Muerte watched them fade into the distance, her fingers clutching the fabric over her heart. "Mekala," she whispered, the name like a prayer, "may my actions atone for my sins." The wind carried her words away, leaving only the echo of her hope lingering in the cool air.