NAELİTH ARVEN

CHAPTER ONE

Diana Emery...

That is, me. I was the eldest and only daughter of Avalon’s most respected and long-established knightly family. That little girl who had followed in her father’s footsteps... I was eighteen years old, and it had been four whole years since I joined the legion to prove that I was stronger and smarter than men.

And now I was here. I had been captured in the war against Valyria. Me... Avalon’s only female knight... How had this happened? Why had the cavalry not come? Or for what purpose had they truly sent us there?

My brothers... My friends... Those men I had served shoulder to shoulder with for years, whose families I had met... All of them... Every one of them had bravely become şehit. Not once had they been afraid; not once had they retreated.

So why had the cavalry unit not come? Why had I failed to die there? I should have died rather than be taken prisoner. With my honor... I should have died.

TEN DAYS EARLIER

It was the anniversary of my father Andrew Emery’s death. My father had always been an honorable man. He valued his principles and moral values; he was known as a compassionate, just, and respected knight.

He was intelligent. I especially remember my father’s intelligence. On the battlefield, he never relied solely on his sword; he knew how to read people, how to understand an army’s intentions before it made its move. I had learned everything from him. At least, as much as I had been able to learn...

Five years ago, during a mission in which he had gone to intervene in a Valyrian raid, he had become şehit at the hands of the Valyrians because of a coordinate error. Today, all of his brothers-in-arms had gathered here to commemorate him. My father’s name had never been forgotten; neither had the pain of his loss.

Lord Longman, whose name had been mentioned in the incident, had somehow managed to carry on with his life without receiving any punishment whatsoever. My father’s case had been examined superficially and closed. No matter how hard I tried to have the case reopened and investigated, the file was never reopened.

They brushed me aside with simple excuses. Every time, another justification, another seal, another official, another door... In the end, I was left alone with that cold, bureaucratic silence that leaves a person with nothing but their anger.

Five years... Five whole years.

If you think the years that pass after a person’s death will close the wound, you are mistaken. Because some wounds never close; a person merely learns how to live despite the pain. I had learned that the hard way. Or at least I thought I had.

I asked myself countless times what more I could do for my father. In the end, I always arrived at the same answer: Nothing. Five years had passed.

Just as I had dreamed, I had finally managed to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a knight. I had fought hard for it. In Avalon, the presence of women within institutions was neither accepted nor wanted; women had no voice. Four long years of striving to prove that a woman could become a knight...

I believed my father was looking down at me from above with pride. My other three brothers also wanted to become noble knights like me—correction, like my father. But my mother did not want us to become knights; I suppose she still had not recovered from losing my father.

My mother had always been a distant woman, with an authoritarian nature. But after losing my father, I felt that the distance between us had grown even wider, that an enormous chasm had opened between us. In fact, one day during an argument, my mother had grown angry with me, saying that I reminded her of my father, and had shut herself in her room for days.

My mother was not actually that kind of woman; losing my father had truly affected her deeply. Because I knew that the only person my mother had ever truly loved in her life was my father. She came from an aristocratic family and was a woman with rather powerful connections, but unfortunately, as was well known, there was no place for women in Avalon.

While my mother attended to the guests, I stepped out onto the balcony to get some air. The murmur of the conversations inside faded behind me. The cool air struck my face, lightening my burdened mind, if only for a few minutes.

At that moment, I saw movement in the sky: A messenger hawk... Its wings spread wide, it was flying directly toward us. Naturally, since it had come here, I assumed it had arrived for us.

I took the parchment. I was just about to begin reading it when Lord Longman swiftly snatched it from my hand.

“That came for me. Did you read it? What did it say?” he asked.

He looked panicked. He tried to force a smile in an attempt to suppress his panic.

I looked at him in surprise and shrugged.

“No, I didn’t read it. I don’t know what it said.”

“I see. Thank you,” he said and quickly walked away.

I watched him go. Something was wrong; I did not know what, but that familiar uneasiness inside me had begun stirring again. As I tried to remember what I had seen, I seemed to recall my father’s name appearing faintly on the parchment.

My father and Lord Longman...?

I repeated the same words to myself. What kind of information could Lord Longman possibly have about my father? What could a parchment bearing my father’s name have to do with him?

Besides, I had never liked that man. No matter how much he appeared to be the embodiment of goodness from the outside, there was an inexplicable distrust and resentment toward him inside me. As though something about that man was wrong; my instincts practically screamed it at me. I was very rarely wrong about my instincts.

“My father... and Lord Longman...?” I repeated my question inwardly.

And I decided to investigate the matter. Since the authorities were not investigating my father’s death, I would conduct the investigation myself.

When I brought the matter up with my brothers, they laughed it off. They said I was imagining things, that I was too fixated on our father’s death, and that even if I investigated, I would find nothing because five years had already passed.

“You’re right. I won’t investigate,” I said.

But I would.

My instincts were warning me that I needed to investigate this, and I could not ignore them.

So I began my investigation. Through official correspondence, I requested the necessary documents from the relevant authorities. With pressure and persistence, my request was eventually accepted. Shortly after the documents reached me, before I even had the chance to read them, I received an operation notice from the Ministry of War.

The parchment stated that Valyria had raided one of our border villages and taken the villagers captive. It said that I and my two-hundred-strong legion unit would be sent there and that we were to bring the situation under control. It was specifically emphasized that cavalry units would be sent immediately behind us as reinforcements and that we would not be alone.

I packed my bag. My mother had read what was written on the parchment. I said goodbye to my family.

Believe it or not, my mother hugged me for the first time. As though I would never return again... She held me tightly, as though she knew something I did not. She tried to hide the single tear that rolled from her eye, but she was not very successful.

“Come back, my daughter. Don’t make me suffer the same pain again,” she said.

Her worry and fear were unmistakable. I was surprised because it was the first time I had ever seen my mother display her emotions so openly. To reassure her, I smiled and nodded.

“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll survive and I’ll come back. I promise!”

I took my backpack and returned to my legion. Together with my legion brothers, we set out toward the coordinates we had been given.

During the first few hours, everything was normal: the rhythmic gallop of the horses, the metallic sounds of our armor striking against itself, the wind flowing across our faces, the occasional brief glances the men exchanged with one another... They were all ordinary parts of the journeys to war I knew so well.

But as the hours passed, an uneasiness began to grow inside me. The coordinates we had been given seemed to lie far more within Valyrian territory than along Avalon’s border. And as we advanced, we had seen no other units besides our own.

I realized something was wrong; my sixth sense was warning me that we should not be there.

I gently pulled on my horse’s reins. I slowed the animal and made it raise its head. I looked behind us. The horizon was completely empty; there was no sign of the cavalry.

I turned to the soldier beside me.

“How far behind are they?”

The soldier looked at me.

“I don’t know, Commander.”

I frowned; I did not like this at all.

We continued for a while longer. Then we urged our horses forward again and began galloping. Hooves pounded the earth, sending chunks of dry soil flying into the air. The scabbards of our swords struck against our armor, producing metallic sounds.

Then...

Something changed.

As we approached the border, I saw crimson poppies surrounding the area like a wall. The red flowers swayed beneath the wind, but there were no birds in the sky, no sounds of animals among the bushes. Nor was there a human voice in the distance; only the wind and the breathing of our horses...

My horse’s ears flattened backward, and it exhaled sharply through its nostrils. The other horses had begun growing restless as well.

Animals smelled war before humans did. Before I had even seen the enemy, they had understood that something was wrong. Every military instinct inside me rose at once.

An ambush...

I could not see it yet, but I could feel it.

“Stop!”

I pulled the reins, and my horse slowed. I raised my head and scanned the horizon.

A movement...

A shadow...

An arrow...

Anything...

There was nothing.

And that was more terrifying than anything I had ever seen.

“RETREAT IMMEDIATELY!”

Before my command had even finished echoing through the air, the first arrow appeared in the sky. It buried itself in one of my soldiers’ chests.

Then a second arrow, a third...

Then the sky went dark.

“HOLD THE LINES!” My voice rose above the first screams of battle. “SHIELDS! TAKE COVER!”

The legion sprang into action at once. Shields rose, horses reared. Instead of retreating, they bared their teeth and surged forward.

They were warhorses; they had seen many battles alongside us, and they were every bit as much warriors as we were. Rather than frightening them, blood and noise only made them more aggressive.

The Valyrians attacked; in an instant, we were surrounded. Swords were drawn from their scabbards, shields crashed against one another. Arrows sliced through the air with sharp whistles. The neighing of horses, the shouts of soldiers, and the scream of steel blended together.

Everything happened within a matter of minutes, and the cavalry was still nowhere to be seen.

We fought.

We fought to the last drop of our blood.

As I watched the knights of Avalon fall one by one, the pain inside me turned into rage. Every one of them was more than merely a soldier to me; they were my brothers.

My brothers-in-arms, my comrades... They were people I had eaten at the same table with, walked beneath the same rain with, entrusted my back to.

Every falling body broke something else inside me, but I did not retreat.

Then I saw movement beside me. A soldier had noticed the spear coming toward me; I had noticed it too late.

He threw himself in front of me.

The spear entered his chest and came out through his back.

My eyes widened.

“No!”

I tried to catch him as he collapsed onto his knees. I looked at his face; I knew him.

Patrick...

He was only nineteen. One of the youngest soldiers in the legion. He had married a year ago, and just a few weeks before going onto the battlefield, he had become the father of a daughter. He had told me his baby’s name: Luna.

Whenever Patrick spoke about her, the same warm smile appeared on his face. He was always kind to people. Even in the middle of battle, he would carry the shield of a wounded comrade and give his water to those who were thirsty.

He was one of those people death did not suit. Then again, death suited no one... Perhaps that was why it was so heavy.

He looked at me... The blood flowing from his wound was covering his body.

“Lieutenant...”

“Don’t speak... Hold on, soldier. Hold on for your daughter...”

He gently shook his head.

“I have no regrets.”

His breath faltered, then with his last strength he whispered:

“I entrust... my family to you.”

There was peace on his face, the peace of a soldier who had fulfilled his duty with honor.

My eyes filled with tears.

“Patrick...”

But he could no longer hear me. His head fell, and the light in his eyes slowly faded.

The blood running down the spear fell onto the earth, directly onto the crimson poppy before me... Its delicate petals grew heavy with blood. The wind blew, and the flower bent slightly.

As I stared at that tiny flower, the pain inside my chest grew until it nearly stole my breath.

A human life, a family, a war, an oath... All of it had become one with the earth within a few seconds.

I raised my head. The battle cry that tore from my throat was no longer merely the voice of a person; it rose like a wail tearing through the silence of the heavens:

“FOR MY BROTHERS!”

I raised my sword.

“FOR MY HONOR!”

And I attacked again.

I plunged into the Valyrian army, which outnumbered us by roughly three to one. I struck one down, then another, then another... But every Avalon soldier who fell only fed the rage inside me.

Every lifeless body I saw buried the pain a little deeper. It was as though the entire battlefield were made of gravestones.

I limped forward. The wound in my leg opened a little more with every step. My arms were growing heavy, my breathing was breaking apart, but I was still fighting.

An enemy sword struck the wound in my leg again. Pain burned through my entire body, my vision darkened. My knees gave way, and I leaned on my sword to keep myself from falling.

For the first time...

For the first time, the thought that I could no longer continue fighting filled me with shame.

I was an Emery. I was a knight. I was my father’s daughter. I was the commander of my brothers.

And my body could no longer carry me.

A Valyrian came toward me. I wanted to raise my sword, but my arm would not move.

Gathering the last of my strength, I drove Ardor into the ground. I sank to my knees. I did not bow my head, but I no longer had the strength to fight.

And that moment...

Was the moment I was taken prisoner.

The Valyrian army did not shout in victory; they were silent. That silence was more unsettling than any cry of triumph.

The commander standing before me stared at me for a long time. There was neither contempt nor anger in his gaze; only the silent respect one warrior held for an enemy who had fought.

Then, with a single gesture of his hand, he ordered his soldiers to chain me.

The approaching soldier bowed his head as he came to me. He moved so slowly and carefully that, for a moment, I thought he saw me not as an enemy, but as a soldier who had proven herself on the battlefield.

First they fastened chains around my hands, then my feet, and finally my neck. The cold iron seeped into my skin. Each time another chain fell into place, the metallic sound it made rang horribly clear in the silence left behind by the battle.

One of the soldiers looked into my eyes, then lowered his gaze to the ground. None of them spoke; they merely gestured for me to walk.

And so I walked, with heavy steps...

The same mantra kept turning over and over in my mind:

“Under captivity, şehadet is essential.”

They should not be the ones to determine my fate. All kinds of terrible scenarios ran through my mind; merely thinking about what these barbarians might do to me froze my blood.

But the soldiers’ silence was stranger than all my fears. I expected them to flaunt their victory in my face, but they simply walked. And I walked among them.

At last, one of them leaned toward me.

“You will be brought before King Igor to stand trial.”

King Igor...

The King of Valyria.

I knew nothing about him. My insides were in turmoil: grief, fear, anger, anxiety... Perhaps hope?

No. Hope was dangerous. I had to convince myself that the worst would happen.

When the enormous mahogany doors of the throne room parted between their gold-gilded patterns of vines and dragons, the heavy air inside struck my skin.

Golden chandeliers adorned with emerald-green crystals hung from the high ceilings, casting a cold light across the room. The light fractured over the dark gray dragon-stone floor beneath them.

I raised my eyes and looked toward the far end of the chamber.

On both the right and left sides stood wooden tables and leather-covered chairs made for the council members. There were approximately twelve members: generals, knights, legionaries, opposition members, nobles... From what I could see, there was a representative from almost every faction and every part of Valyrian territory.

At the very center of the room rose a magnificent throne carved from dark oak, decorated with golden dragon motifs and runes in the old Valyrian dialect. At the time, I did not know what those inscriptions meant.

King Igor...

I had expected a man in his late forties, perhaps nearing fifty; most of his head bald, the sparse hair remaining scattered untidily around his temples, his belly pronounced beneath his royal robes, his face hard, broad, and coarse, a man who would look me over with contempt, with heavy and threatening expressions in both his gaze and his words.

The first thought that passed through my mind was clear:

Barbarian.

But as I drew closer, I realized that the man sitting before me was different from what I had expected.

He was approximately 1.95 meters tall. He had blue eyes flecked with agate, which I had not noticed until I came closer, pale skin, and straight black hair about a finger’s length long. His jaw and facial features were pronounced, and a faint scar rested over his right eyebrow.

The expression on his face and the look in his eyes were like those of a predatory animal; years spent on battlefields seemed to have made him an exceptionally powerful warrior. The athletic appearance of his body made that perfectly clear.

The emerald-green royal robes embroidered with gold, the black cloak over his shoulders, and the uncompromising authority in the way he sat were enough to overshadow even the ostentatious grandeur of the palace.

The guards stationed throughout the room wore steel armor gleaming a dark silver. Their emerald-green cloaks hung from their shoulders, fastened to their armor with dragon brooches bearing Valyria’s emblem.

As far as I could see, the throne room contained King Igor, the council members, the guards, the scribes, and me.

I stood before him with the cold iron shackles against my body and the humiliating weight of captivity upon me.

At that moment, I could feel this magnificent hall becoming, for me, less a courtroom and more a silent battlefield.

Because the man before me...

His army...

Had taken from me the people I had seen as my brothers.

Patrick’s face appeared before my eyes. Images of my brothers’, my friends’, my soldiers’ blood-covered armor crowded into my mind.

The grief inside me turned into anger knotted in my throat.

“Diana Emery.” The coldness in his voice changed the atmosphere of the stone chamber. “An interesting coincidence... In Valyria, on enemy soil, as a prisoner of the enemy army... Avalon’s only female knight.”

The dominant tone in his voice was unmistakable.

I thought it best to remain silent for now; I continued observing and analyzing my surroundings.

“Lieutenant Diana!”

I raised my head.

“As an officer of Avalon, what information can you offer me in exchange for your life?”

I clenched my teeth and remained silent. Even for my life, I would not sell my honor or my homeland.

But after a while, I understood that my strategy of silence was not going to work very well. At least in my final moments, I could say whatever I wanted and spit my anger at them. One way or another, death awaited me at the end of this.

King Igor’s gaze swept across my face.

“Silence is not a weapon that will save you, Lieutenant.”

He rose from his throne, his shadow falling over me.

“Speak, Avalonian!”

Impatience appeared on his face, his brows drawing together. He moved his hand to his waist and touched the hilt of his sword, his fingers closing tightly around it.

I raised my head and looked at him. I spoke my final words, lifted my chin, and straightened my back.

“I fight with honor, and I die with honor! I consider becoming şehit for my homeland an honor!”

There was defiance in my gaze; I would die standing tall, not bowing down. I prepared myself for the strike of his sword. Deep down, like everyone else, I was afraid because I did not know what death would bring.

“I should have died on the battlefield,” I told myself.

A moment of surprise...

Then I saw respect appear in his eyes despite himself. Afterward, anger spread across his face, and he took his hand away from his sword.

“To die for your homeland?” He smiled faintly. “Avalon’s self-sacrificing little warrior... How very interesting you are.”

He stepped a little closer.

“These are my lands, Lieutenant. Your life and death rest between my two lips.”

It was an indirect threat, meaning that I would be killed if I gave him no information.

I spat on the floor.

King Igor did not look at the spit. Without taking his eyes from mine, he smiled. He understood that the gesture was a challenge directed at him.

“Brave, wild... And honorable too?”

He stroked his chin with one hand.

“Where do you get this courage, little knight?”

“From my honor!” I clenched my teeth fiercely. “Dishonorable barbarians wouldn’t understand that, of course.”

I did not normally like using such harsh words, but they had slipped from my mouth involuntarily.

King Igor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He took another step toward me; only a few breaths of distance remained between us.

He raised his hand...

For a moment, I thought he was going to touch me or strike me, but he stopped himself.

“Barbarian?” he murmured, his voice like ice. “I am not a barbarian, Lieutenant. I am a king. And I am a better king than many kings you could ever know. I am the one who will decide what happens to you!”

“I don’t need your false mercy!” I shouted angrily. “If there hadn’t been a traitor in my army, we would be speaking under very different circumstances.”

“Your army?” King Igor laughed harshly. “You are a prisoner now, do you understand? The identity you held in your homeland means nothing here.”

He stepped even closer, far too close to me. I felt cornered.

“Defying me... Brave and foolish.”

For a moment, very different thoughts seeped into my mind.

Were they going to force themselves on me?

I was not going to sit around and wait to discover whether that thought was correct. I made the accusation directly:

“Does your habit of forcing yourselves on your prisoners come from your barbarism, or from your bloodline?”

I asked it while making my discomfort with his closeness obvious.

King Igor clenched his teeth. He thought this woman was unbelievably stubborn and insolent; his face reddened. He had realized he had been misunderstood.

“Are you insulting me personally? How dare you! Do you think me so depraved that I would force myself upon a woman—me, the King of Valyria?!” he thundered.

The regret on my face did nothing to lessen his anger.

This resistance, this pride, these rebellious actions... They were different from the people in his own kingdom. His anger and curiosity had become intertwined.

“The blood of Avalonians like you has flowed freely on these lands. One less, one more... What difference does it make?”

I thought he had passed a sentence of death upon me.

I began reciting Avalon’s knightly march aloud, though without shouting. It was the voice of resistance; a desperate struggle to suppress my fear of approaching death and bravely embrace my şehadet.

King Igor’s face tightened with anger. He knew the march; it had been seared into his ears on battlefields.

“SILENCE!” he commanded, his voice echoing throughout the room. “You are on my lands! Are all Avalonians this disrespectful? I expect you to show respect for the glory of Valyria.”

“Respect is something that must be earned.”

“Earned?” He laughed mockingly. “By a prisoner? Amusing.”

He let out a harsh laugh.

The council members and scribes did not interfere in the conversation; they watched everything that was happening with close attention.

I had expected everyone to be fanatics shouting, “Kill her!” but the scene before me was different: An objective council and a fair court...

“I wonder if I’ll be surprised even more today?” I thought.

King Igor tilted his head slightly to one side and examined me more carefully. Despite myself, I had managed to capture his interest.

“Then how do you expect me to show you respect, little knight?”

I fell silent for a moment, then said it directly.

“I want my father’s sword, Ardor.”

The expression on King Igor’s face changed.

“I want a fair knight’s duel,” I said without taking my eyes from him. “A fair death.”

I wanted to hold one last time the hilt my father’s hand had gripped, the steel he had carried into battle, his memory.

King Igor’s eyes narrowed; the proposal was unexpected. He thought for a moment. Defeating a warrior might satisfy his ego, but the person before him was a woman.

Even so, he wanted to see my combat abilities. After all, being in the army as a woman, especially serving as a knight in the legion, was difficult. The fact that I was the only woman alone showed how extraordinary it was.

“A knight’s duel? You are brave. But what do you think a duel will gain you?”

“I want one final chance to fight with my honor,” I said without taking my eyes from him. “To die blazing with my honor.”

After all, I was now in enemy territory I knew nothing about. Everyone knew what generally happened to those captured in war: They became slaves, were tortured, raped, starved and deprived of water, left to suffer.

At least, those were the stories I had heard.

And I would not die that way; never.

I wanted a clean and honorable death.

A mocking smile appeared on King Igor’s face.

“To die blazing with your honor?”

He shook his head slightly.

“I admire your courage, little knight.”

Thinking he would reject my proposal, I recited the legion march again to provoke him, suppress my fear, and prepare myself for what was to come:

“FROM ASHES WE ARE BORN, SOULS FORGED IN FIRE!

THE LAST SWORDS RISE, HEROES STANDING AGAINST FATE!

FOR THE HOMELAND, THIS FINAL BREATH IS SACRIFICED,

IN OUR HEARTS, AVALON’S UNCONQUERED VOICE.”

This time, I recited the march more sorrowfully, as though preparing myself for a dark death. I did not show it, but I was tensing every muscle in my body to keep myself from trembling with fear.

I could not be afraid...

I must not be afraid.

The words of the march echoed through the chamber. King Igor’s eyes darkened. Those words must once again have taken him back to old memories; he remembered his first battles against the Avalonians.

A corner of his pride had been wounded. These were Valyrian lands, I was a prisoner, and reciting that march here was a grave discourtesy.

Even though he was shocked by this woman’s faith and loyalty and admired it despite himself, that did not change the fact that it was infuriating.

“You’ve said enough.” His voice was harsher now. “You will have the right to one final battle. I will arrange the duel, and I will be your opponent.”

He paused for a moment.

“But remember... This is your choice.”

I looked at King Igor with gratitude and surprise.

“This man is honorable,” I thought.

I would use this opportunity for a certain death.

When I left the throne room and stepped onto the path leading toward the dungeon, the grandeur of the palace gave way to a cold silence embedded in its dragon-stone walls.

A heavy emerald-green carpet embroidered with yellow hair-like threads stretched across the floor, swallowing the sound of my footsteps. Though these vivid colors tried to soften the gloomy face of the stone, they failed.

Guards clad in dark-silver armor stood along the corridor. The emerald-green cloaks hanging from their shoulders rippled in the wind filtering through the partially opened windows.

They stood with such flawless and rigid discipline that one might have mistaken them for stone statues that had guarded this fortress for centuries rather than living soldiers. It was almost impossible even to tell that they were breathing.

The great oak doors we passed along the way drew the eye with elegant vine and dragon motifs carved into their dark-brown surfaces.

The high arched windows revealed the unparalleled magic of the sunset. Outside, Valyria’s horizon, alive with all the vitality of the newly arrived spring, surrounded the fortress like a magnificent painting beneath a sky painted orange, purple, and crimson by the setting sun.

Pink-white clouds drifted slowly along the horizon, and part of a vast, roaring, magnificent waterfall could be seen. The forest overflowing with fresh greenery and the enormous ancient trees swaying in the wind seemed to defy time itself in the midst of this fortress.

I could not help but hesitate for a moment.

What if I had been here under different circumstances?

I slowly shook my head and banished the thought.

There were no different circumstances, no other day. An end was coming, and I needed to prepare myself for it.

We descended several floors by the spiral staircase at the end of the corridor.

The dungeon we finally reached was far removed from the terrifying dark pits I had imagined. On the contrary, its dragon-stone walls were clean, and the air was kept surprisingly decent.

The dungeon’s single barred window allowed the final glimmers of daylight to filter inside.

A deep melancholy and sorrow filled me. How ironic that fate had dragged a person into this place they called a dungeon.

A knight being held in a dungeon...

All the blood, sweat, and tears I had shed had now lost their meaning.

The guard opened my cell door and gestured for me to enter.

Throughout the entire journey, no one had ever touched me or spoken to me. Insults, humiliation, threats, harassment... I had expected them, but none came.

The guard somewhat hesitantly unlocked my chains. The chains around my feet, neck, and hands fell to the ground with a clatter.

The guard picked them up from the floor, stepped back, closed and locked the heavy iron door, then went to stand watch at the dungeon entrance.

He had said nothing.

This silence was beginning to disturb me even more.

Were they putting on an act for me, or were they playing some kind of game?

I looked around the cell. A wooden bed large enough for one person had been mounted to the wall, with a small blanket laid over it.

Was this truly a dungeon?

When I looked into the other cells, I saw the same things. This man treated even his prisoners with respect. And the strange part was that there was no one else in the dungeon but me.

Against my will, a secret admiration and curiosity toward this society—and most of all toward King Igor—began to awaken inside me.

As the hours passed, the guards offered me hot soup, water, and fresh bread. My mouth fell open; I was shocked by such proper treatment.

I was beginning to think that we Avalonians, who called these people “barbarians,” did not even come close to their civilized behavior, and that thought disturbed me.

Only now was I beginning to realize that they had not removed my helmet or armor because they respected my privacy. For that reason, they had not seen my wounds either.

Once the chaos of everything that had happened finally subsided, I began to feel the aches and wounds throughout my body.

The sword wound in my leg throbbed deeply and burned. It was about to become infected, or perhaps it already had.

When I noticed my head throbbing, I removed my helmet. My black, wavy hair, reaching down to my waist, spilled over my shoulders.

When I raised my hand to my head, I discovered a split just above my hairline. Because I had been unable to remove my helmet all this time, the wound had not bled, but my hair had stuck to it. It stung whenever my salty sweat touched it.

I dampened the area with some of the water I had been given and softened my hair. Since it was impossible to wear a hair clip inside a helmet, I used to tuck my hair inside it.

I ate my meal. This level of civilization still left me utterly bewildered.

“Maybe it’s poisoned,” I thought, but no, it was not poisoned; on the contrary, it was fresh and delicious.

Eating had made me feel better. A voice inside me told me I would be surprised even more, but a bitter truth stood before me as plainly as daylight:

Tomorrow would be my last day.

This time, I did not suppress my fear.

Like every human being, I was afraid; it was normal, it was human. Even though I did not show it, I was very afraid.

To comfort and calm myself, I knelt before the wooden bed.

Now the Creator and I were alone.

Tomorrow, I would be another name carved into stone...

Just one last time...

I began to pray in a low voice. My voice trembled, breaking into a thin pitch. My breathing came in ragged bursts; it seemed caught in my throat like a lump.

I held my hands against my chest, directly over my heart, and closed my eyes:

“When calamity befalls heroes, they say: ‘We belong entirely to the Creator, and surely to Him we shall return.’ It is they upon whom the Creator’s blessings and light rest. And they are the ones who sacrifice their lives upon the righteous path...

Do not think those who give their lives for righteousness have ceased to exist. They have found life in the realm of paradise. They dwell in peace with the blessings bestowed upon them...”

Praying made me feel better, but my tears flowed in spite of me.

I lowered my head a little further.

For the first time, I had let go of that hard face I always wore. I was not trying to be a knight, nor to look brave, nor to prove anything to anyone...

I was simply a girl who still had not accepted her father’s death.

A girl who had left her brothers behind on the battlefield...

And a girl who would die tomorrow.

But amid all of it, still a human being who wanted to live...

As I prayed, my breathing slowed. Though my tears did not stop, the knot inside me loosened slightly. By reciting these and similar prayers again and again, I found a measure of peace.

I rose and lay down on the wooden bed.

The dungeon was silent.

I closed my eyes; I had accepted what would happen tomorrow. I had finally managed to embrace death. I would be reunited with my late, beloved father, whom I longed for, and with my brothers-in-arms.

Even if I lost the duel, I would still win. Because I would fight my final battle in the way I had chosen and end everything standing tall.

With that peace, I slept for the last time.

Sleep slowly drew me in, wrapping around me like a compassionate mother.

Tomorrow...

I would face King Igor.

I did not know it yet, but...

That duel, which I believed would be the final battle of my life, would in truth be the first day that would change the rest of it.