Flames were devouring the city. The white walls of Farnese were white no longer. The stone outer walls of the royal palace, engulfed in crimson fire, cracked and crumbled under the barrage of thousands of arrows and exploding catapult rounds. Sparks danced upward into the dark sky before dawn. It was the most beautiful and most terrifying sight she had witnessed in her twenty-four years of life. Aria von Aldia turned back for just a moment from the grand hall of the palace. Her eyes held a deep brown calmness. Yet beneath that composure, there was unmistakably the sound of something shattering. The portrait of her father, King Ferdinand III, was already consumed by flames. The face of the white-haired king, elegantly coiffed, remained serene with compassion even as fire burned it away. A single tear fell from Aria's eyes as she gazed upon it. But there was no time to wipe away tears. "Your Majesty, please hurry!" the aide-de-camp soldier cried out. The voice of the aide-de-camp gripping Aria's arm was nearly a scream. In the smoke-filled hall, his face was blackened with soot, blood streaming from his forehead. He must have taken a blade from a Selvadian soldier. Yet still he stood, determined to protect the queen. "I'm going," Aria replied quietly. Her response was so composed it was almost frightening. On her left wrist gleamed a thin silver bracelet—the sole relic inherited from her father, proof of the royal house's legitimacy. Her black short hair swayed, her dark green cloak fluttering. Her slender frame appeared far too fragile for this place, yet her gait was utterly unwavering. She ran through the corridors. The interior of the palace, engulfed in flame and smoke, had become a labyrinth. The paths she once walked daily had transformed into passages leading to hell. Through the window on her right, she could see the Selvadian military flag. That hooked cross emblem now dominated the entire city. Three days ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable. When Aria reached the entrance to the underground passage, she stopped for a moment. "Your Majesty?" the aide-de-camp asked. "There is nothing," Aria said. It was as if she were speaking to herself. Aria descended the stone steps leading underground. It was dark. The stench of soot and blood filled the air. The remains of torches scattered across the ground suggested someone had already passed through here. Aria's eyes gradually adapted to the darkness. Following the edge of the stone steps, she descended carefully. The underground passage was a secret corridor that ran east to west beneath the first basement level of the palace. Her father had ordered its construction during the castle's building as "an escape route for emergencies." Built two hundred years ago, this passage had never been used until now. The moment of "emergency" had finally arrived. Beside Aria was another attendant—Beatrice. She was a court lady in her early forties who had served Aria since childhood. Her hair, grayed with age, was illuminated by the pale light of a flashlight. Her eyes were wet with tears. "Beatrice," Aria said. "...Yes, Your Majesty," Beatrice replied. "Don't cry. Not yet," Aria said. There was no gentleness in Aria's voice. Only a sense of duty. That made it all the harder for Beatrice. The lady-in-waiting bit her lip, desperately holding back her tears. They reached the exit of the underground passage about ten minutes later. Before the hidden eastern gate, Aria stopped. There were five palace guards there. Or rather, there had been. Now they did not move. Aria took a step closer. They were definitely corpses. All five lay on the ground. Their faces were pale and vacant. Considerable time had passed since their deaths. There were no signs of agony. Poison, perhaps. Or the work of an exceptionally skilled assassin's blade. Either way, it was evidence of Selvadia's advance preparations. Aria crouched down and looked at one guard's face. Rodriguez. He had been her protector since she was seven years old. When the young princess fell from her horse, he had shielded her with his own body. He had been the one to teach her swordplay. "...Who is it?" Beatrice asked. Beatrice could no longer hold back her sobs. Her shoulders trembled. She too knew these soldiers. She had spent five years in the court with them. Aria's expression hardened. It was the reflexive mask of a queen. At the same time, it was the beginning of a crack she herself did not yet perceive. "We move forward," Aria said. Beatrice followed her. Aria pushed open the hidden gate. A cold night wind blew in. The lights of Farnese were nearly extinguished. Only flames remained. Another attendant, Corin, was waiting. Corin was a young soldier in his early twenties assigned to Aria's guard detail. His eyes too were red and swollen. "Your Majesty. The horses are ready," Corin said. "We go," Aria replied. She mounted the horse. They headed east from Farnese. The three of them rode through the darkness of night. Looking back, the white-walled city grew smaller and smaller. **** In the wheat field ruins on the outskirts of Farnese, the three of them hid. Beyond the horizon, the white-walled city burned crimson. The sight was even more terrible than it had been in daylight. The Selvadian soldiers had set fires deliberately and systematically. Not just the palace, but the merchant quarter, the noble estates—one building after another was consumed by flames. Aria tried to look directly at the sight. But again and again, her gaze wavered. It was not fear. The reality before her simply did not fit within her framework of understanding. In her twenty-four years, the education in governance Aria had received had never anticipated such a situation. There was only one thing her father, King Ferdinand III, had taught her: "Justice and loyalty are the armor of a ruler." Aria had lived by those words. If she governed justly and remained loyal to her subjects, the kingdom would be protected. Military might was less important than winning the hearts of the people, her father had said. But now, none of that mattered. In the shadow of the withered wheat in the field ruins, Aria and Beatrice huddled together. In the narrow darkness, their shoulders touched. Aria noticed Beatrice was about to cry again. Impulsively, Aria took the other woman's hand. It was not the action of a princess. It was the action of one human being sharing the same fear with another. This small contact functioned as the moment when Aria consciously crossed the distance between ruler and ruled for the first time. "It will be all right," Aria whispered to Beatrice. "...Your Majesty," Beatrice replied. "If you want to cry, you can," Aria said. Perhaps those words were truly meant for herself. Beatrice rested her head on Aria's shoulder. The withered wheat enfolded them both. In the distance, the capital burned. Corin was scouting the surroundings. Until he returned, Aria and Beatrice remained as they were in the darkness. **** The night was long. Aria could not sleep. She lay on her back, gazing at the night sky. Stars were visible. The same stars shone in the same positions as always. That very fact made the irrationality of reality all the more stark. Before dawn, Aria lay awake watching the burning remnants of the capital, turning her father's words over in her mind. "Justice and loyalty are the armor of a ruler." But those words now rang hollow. The armor had not protected the palace. Justice had not sustained the army. Loyalty had not saved the guards. Had Rodriguez died because he was loyal? Or because loyalty was not enough? What was happening within Aria was not a rejection of her beliefs. It was a more profound question. If her father's philosophy was not wrong, then what was lacking? That question gnawed at her heart. Aria stared at her mud-stained palms. The silver bracelet proving the royal house's legitimacy. That alone was her anchor now. But she no longer understood what it meant. Was the mission to reclaim the throne a tribute to her father? A responsibility to her people? Or merely an attachment to her own legitimacy? Aria realized she could not distinguish between these herself. This opacity of self-understanding defined the complexity of her inner world. Dawn came. When Corin returned, his expression was grim. "Your Majesty, grave news," he said. "What is it?" Aria asked. "Selvadian forces are systematically establishing checkpoints along all major roads. If we attempt to head west—" Corin paused. "Travel by unconventional routes becomes essential. However, for that we would need—" he continued hesitantly. "A guide. Someone who knows the hidden paths of this continent," Corin said. "Can such a person be found quickly?" Aria asked. Corin hesitated further. "Your Majesty. There is a mercenary known in the underworld," he said. "A mercenary," Aria repeated, a note of rejection coloring her words. "Raven-hunter Ivan. A man without a family name who does not choose his contracts. He has completed dozens of jobs—from assassinating key figures in the Garesta Trading Consortium to intervening in border conflicts," Corin explained. "Can this man be trusted?" Aria asked. "No. Quite the opposite," Corin said quietly. "This man is motivated by money. Only money. That is what they say of him. Your Majesty, we have no other options," Corin said. Aria wanted to refuse immediately. But the words would not come. Why? Her body already knew what her mind had not yet accepted—that none of the governance philosophies she had learned contained an answer to this desperate situation. Justice and loyalty could not cut through this despair. That realization tightened her chest. Silence stretched on. Behind them, the flames of the capital still burned. Beatrice waited for Aria's decision. Corin waited for his sovereign's words. Aria gripped the seal more tightly. In that moment, her eyes hardened slightly. "Where is this man?" Aria asked. It was not a declaration of choice. It was a question that confirmed options while leaving an escape route. But the reader understood it was already an answer. Aria von Aldia had taken one step beyond her own convictions. It was still a small step. But this single step would become the beginning of a long journey across the continent to the west—though she did not know it yet. The flames of Farnese continued to stain the sky red. Before night fell again, dawn and dusk would repeat many times over. During that time, the queen named Aria would face her own beliefs again and again in the days ahead. But for now, no one knew what lay beyond. The silver bracelet Aria held caught the morning light and gleamed faintly.