NAELİTH ARVEN

CHAPTER ONE

Diana Emery... That was me. I was the eldest and only daughter of Avalon’s most respected and noble knightly family. The little girl who followed in her father's footsteps... At eighteen years old, it had been a full four years since I joined the legion to prove that I was stronger and smarter than men.

And now, here I was. Captured in the war with Valyria. Me... Avalon’s sole female knight... How had this happened? Why hadn't the cavalry arrived? Or... for what purpose had they really sent us there? My brothers... my comrades... those men I had served beside for years, whose families I had met... All of them... All of them had died heroically as martyrs. Not for a single moment had they shown fear; not once had they fallen back.

So why hadn't the cavalry unit arrived? Why hadn't I managed to die there? I should have died rather than be taken prisoner. I should have died... with my honor.

TEN DAYS AGO

It was the anniversary of my father Andrew Emery’s death. My father was always an honorable man. He valued his principles and moral virtues; he was known as a merciful, just, and respected knight. He was sharp. I remember his intellect in particular. On the battlefield, he didn't rely solely on his sword; he knew how to read people, how to discern an army's intent before it even moved. I had learned everything from him. At least, as much as I was capable of learning...

Five years ago, during a mission to respond to a Valyrian raid, he was killed in action by the Valyrians due to a coordinate error. Today, all his brothers-in-arms had gathered here to commemorate him. My father’s name was never forgotten; neither was the grief.

Lord Longman, whose name was implicated in that incident, had somehow managed to carry on with his life without receiving any punishment. My father's case was given a superficial review and closed. No matter how hard I fought to have the investigation reopened and re-examined, the file was never opened again. They dismissed me with simple excuses. Every single time, another pretext, another seal, another bureaucrat, another door... In the end, I was left alone with that cold, bureaucratic silence that leaves a person with nothing but their own rage.

Five years... Five long years. If you think the passage of years seals the wound of a loved one's death, you are mistaken. Because some wounds never close; a person simply learns how to live despite the pain. I had learned that the hard way. Or at least, I thought I had.

I asked myself repeatedly what more I could do for my father. In the end, I reached the exact same answer: Nothing. Five years had passed.

As I had envisioned, I had finally succeeded in following in my father's footsteps to become a knight. I had fought relentlessly for this. In Avalon, the presence of women in institutions and official ranks was neither accepted nor desired; women had no voice. Four whole years of striving to prove that a woman could be a knight...

I believed my father was looking down from above, filled with pride. My other three brothers wanted to be noble knights just like me—or rather, "like my father." However, my mother did not want us to become knights; I suppose she had still not recovered from the loss of my father. My mother had always been a distant woman with an authoritative nature. But after losing my father, I felt that the distance between us had widened into a vast chasm. In fact, during an argument one day, my mother snapped at me, saying I reminded her of my father, and locked herself in her room for days.

My mother wasn't truly that kind of woman; my father's loss had genuinely shattered her. Because I knew that the only person she ever truly loved in her life was my father. She hailed from an aristocratic family and possessed powerful connections, but unfortunately, as was well known, there was no place for women in Avalon.

While my mother tended to the arriving guests, I stepped out onto the balcony to catch my breath. The hum of conversation inside faded behind me. The cool air brushed against my face, briefly lightening my heavy mind.

At that moment, I spotted movement in the sky: a messenger falcon... Its wings spread wide, flying straight toward us. Since it was heading this way, I naturally assumed it was delivering a message to us. I took the parchment. Just as I was about to read it, Lord Longman snatched the parchment from my hand.

"This is for me. Did you read it? What did it say?" he asked. He appeared panicked. To mask his panic, he forced a strained smile.

Looking at him in bewilderment, I shrugged. "No, I didn't read it. I don't know what it says." "I see. Thank you," he said and quickly walked away.

I watched him leave. Something was wrong; I didn't know what it was, but that familiar unease stirred inside me once more. As I tried to recall what I had glimpsed, I seemed to remember seeing my father’s name faintly written on the parchment.

My father and Lord Longman?.. I repeated the sentence in my mind. What kind of information could Lord Longman possess regarding my father? What connection could a parchment bearing my father's name have with Lord Longman? Besides, I never liked the man. No matter how much of a paragon of virtue he appeared on the outside, I harbored an inexplicable, instinctive distrust and resentment toward him. It was as if something was inherently wrong with him; my instincts were screaming it at me. My instincts were rarely wrong.

"My father... and Lord Longman...?" I repeated the question silently. And I decided to investigate the matter. Since the authorities were not conducting an investigation into my father's death, I would carry out this inquiry on my own.

When I brought this up to my brothers, they laughed it off. They claimed I was imagining things, overly attached to our father's death, and that even if I investigated, I wouldn't find anything after five years.

"You're right, I won't investigate," I said. But I was going to. My instincts warned me that I had to look into this, and I couldn't ignore them.

Thereupon, I began my inquiry. I requested the necessary documents from the relevant authorities through official correspondence. With persistence and pressure, my request was reluctantly accepted. Shortly after the necessary documents arrived, before I even had the chance to read them, an operational order arrived for me from the Ministry of War.

The parchment stated that Valyria had raided one of our border villages and taken the villagers captive. It specified that my two-hundred-man legion team and I were to be deployed there to bring the situation under control. It was explicitly emphasized that cavalry units would be dispatched right behind us as reinforcements, ensuring we would not be alone.

I packed my bag. My mother had read the contents of the parchment. I said my goodbyes to my family. Would you believe it—my mother embraced me for the very first time. As if I might never return... As though she knew something I didn't, she held me tightly. She tried to conceal a single tear falling from her eye, though she wasn't very successful.

"Come back, my daughter. Do not make me endure the same pain again," she said. Her anxiety and fear were palpable. Surprised to see my mother show her emotions so openly for the first time, I smiled and nodded to reassure her.

"Don't worry, Mother. I will survive and return. I promise!"

Taking my pack, I rejoined my legion. Together with my legion brothers, we rode toward the assigned coordinates. For the first few hours, everything was normal: the rhythmic galloping of the horses, the metallic clatter of our armor, the wind rushing past our faces, the brief glances the men exchanged... They were all ordinary parts of the military journeys I knew so well.

However, as the hours wore on, an unease began to grow inside me. The given coordinates felt less like Avalon’s border and more like Valyrian territory. And as we advanced, we saw no other units. I realized something was wrong; my sixth sense warned me that we shouldn't be there. I pulled lightly on my horse's reins, slowing the animal down and causing it to raise its head. I looked behind us. The horizon was empty; the cavalry was nowhere to be seen. I turned to the soldier beside me:

"How far behind are they?" The soldier looked at me: "I don't know, Commander."

I furrowed my brow; I didn't like this at all. We advanced a bit further. Then we spurred our horses again, breaking into a full gallop. Hooves battered the soil, throwing dry clumps of earth into the air. The scabbards of our swords struck against our armor, producing metallic sounds.

Then... something changed. As we drew closer to the border, I saw crimson poppy flowers encircling the perimeter like a wall. The red flowers swayed under the wind, but there were no birds in the sky, no sound of animals in the thickets. No human voice echoed from afar; there was only the wind and the heavy breathing of our horses.

My horse pinned its ears back and let out a sharp breath from its nostrils. The other horses were becoming restless too. Animals sense the smell of battle before humans do. Before I even saw the enemy, they understood that something was amiss. All my military instincts flared up at once. An ambush... I couldn't see it yet, but I could feel it.

"Halt!"

I pulled the reins, and my horse slowed down. 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 could have seen.

"RETREAT IMMEDIATELY!"

Even as my command echoed in the air, the first arrow appeared in the sky. It impaled itself into the chest of one of my soldiers. Then a second arrow, a third... Then the sky darkened.

"HOLD THE LINES!" My voice rose, cutting through the initial screams of battle. "SHIELDS! TAKE COVER!"

The legion sprang into action instantaneously. Shields were raised, horses reared. Instead of retreating, they charged forward, baring their teeth. They were warhorses; they had seen many battles alongside us and were as much warriors as any of us. The blood and noise, far from frightening them, only made them more aggressive.

The Valyrians attacked; in an instant, we were encircled. Swords were drawn from scabbards, shields slammed into one another. Arrows cut through the air with a sharp whistle. The neighing of horses, the shouts of soldiers, and the clash of steel blended together. Everything happened in a matter of minutes, and the cavalry was still nowhere to be found.

We fought. We fought to the last drop of our blood. Seeing the knights of Avalon fall one by one, the grief inside me turned to rage. Every single one of them was not merely a soldier to me; they were my brothers. My comrades-in-arms, my companions... The people with whom I shared meals at the same table, walked under the same rain, and trusted with my life. Every falling body broke something else within me, but I did not fall back.

Then I saw movement beside me. A soldier had noticed a spear hurtling toward me; I was too late to notice it myself. He threw himself in front of me. The spear pierced his chest and emerged through his back.

My eyes widened. "No!" I tried to catch him as he collapsed to his knees. I looked at his face; I knew him. Patrick... He was only nineteen years old. He was one of the youngest soldiers in the legion. He had married a year ago, and just a few weeks before taking to the battlefield, he had a daughter. He had told me her name: Luna. Whenever Patrick spoke of her, that same warm smile would appear on his face. He was always kind to people. Even in the thick of battle, he would carry a wounded comrade's shield or share his water with the thirsty. He was one of those people to whom death did not belong. Then again, death belonged to no one... Perhaps that was why it felt so heavy.

He looked at me... The blood flowing from his wound enveloped his body. "Lieutenant..." "Don't speak... Hold on, soldier, hold on for your daughter..." He shook his head slightly: "I have no regrets." His breath caught, and then he whispered with his last remaining strength: "My family... I entrust them to you." His face bore the tranquility of a soldier who had honorably fulfilled his duty.

My eyes filled with tears. "Patrick..." But he could no longer hear me. His head slumped, and the light in his eyes slowly faded. The blood dripping from the spear fell onto the earth, directly onto the crimson poppy before me. The delicate petal grew heavy with blood. The wind blew, and the flower bent slightly. Looking at that tiny flower, the agony inside my chest swelled until it choked my breath. A human life, a family, a war, an oath... All of it had merged into the soil in a matter of seconds.

I raised my head. The battle cry that tore from my throat was not merely the voice of one person; it rose like a cry splitting the silence of the heavens:

"FOR MY BROTHERS!" I raised my sword: "FOR MY HONOR!"

And I charged once more. I plunged into the Valyrian army, which outnumbered us nearly three to one. I brought one down, then another, then another... But every fallen Avalon soldier grew the rage inside me. Every lifeless body I saw buried the pain a little deeper. It was as if the entire battlefield were composed of gravestones.

I pressed forward, limping. The wound on my leg opened wider with every step. My arms grew heavy, my breathing shattered, yet I continued to fight. An enemy's sword grazed the wound on my leg once more. Searing pain burned through my entire body, and my vision went dark. My knees gave way, and I leaned on my sword to keep from falling.

For the first time... For the first time, the thought of being unable to continue fighting filled me with shame. I was an Emery. I was a knight. I was my father's daughter. I was my brothers' commander. And my body could no longer carry me.

A Valyrian advanced toward me. I wanted to raise my sword, but my arm would not move. Gathering my last ounce of 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 captured.

The Valyrian army did not shout cries of victory; they were silent. This silence was more chilling than shouts of triumph. The commander standing before me stared at me for a long time. There was no contempt or anger in his gaze; there was only a quiet respect felt for a fallen enemy who had fought bravely. Then, with a single gesture, he ordered his soldiers to chain me.

The approaching soldier bowed his head as he came near me. He moved so slowly and carefully that for a moment, I thought he viewed me not as an enemy, but as a soldier who had proven her worth on the battlefield. First on my hands, then on my feet, and finally around my neck, they attached the chains. The coldness of the iron seeped into my skin. As each chain found its place, the resulting metallic clink sounded terrifyingly distinct in the silence following the battle. One of the soldiers looked into my eyes, then lowered his gaze to the ground. None of them spoke; they merely signaled for me to walk.

And so I walked, taking heavy steps... In my mind, the same mantra kept revolving: "Martyrdom in captivity is paramount." They should not determine my destiny. All sorts of grim scenarios crossed my mind; thinking about what these barbarians might do to me made my blood run cold. Yet the silence of the soldiers was stranger than all my fears. I expected them to flaunt their victory in my face, but they simply walked. I walked among them. Finally, one of them leaned toward me:

"You will be brought before King Igor to be judged."

Igor... The King of Valyria. I knew nothing about him. My heart was racing: grief, fear, rage, anxiety... Perhaps hope? No, hoping was dangerous. I had to convince myself that the worst would happen.

When the giant mahogany doors of the throne room parted beneath the gilded ivy and dragon patterns engraved upon them, the heavy air inside hit my skin. Gold chandeliers adorned with emerald-green crystals hanging from high ceilings cast a cold light into the room. This light fractured across the dark gray dragonstone floor beneath.

I raised my eyes and looked further into the hall. On the right and left sides stood wooden tables and leather-upholstered chairs arranged for the Council members. There were approximately twelve members: generals, knights, legionnaires, dissidents, nobles... From what I could gather by their attire, representatives from almost every faction and land of Valyria were present. At the very center of the room, a magnificent throne carved from dark oak, decorated with golden dragon motifs and runes in the ancient Valyrian dialect, rose above the floor. I did not know the meaning of those inscriptions at the time.

King Igor... I was expecting a man in his late forties, perhaps approaching his fifties; mostly bald, with his remaining thin hair clinging messily to his temples, his belly protruding beneath his royal robes, possessing a harsh, broad, and crude face—a man who would look down on me with disdain, his gaze and words dripping with heavy, threatening expressions. The first thought that crossed my mind was clear: A barbarian.

However, as I drew closer, I realized that a very different man sat before me. He was approximately 1.95 meters tall. I hadn't noticed until I approached that his blue eyes were flecked with bronze; he had fair skin and straight black hair about a finger's length. His jawline and facial features were sharp, with a faint scar resting over his right eyebrow. The expression on his face and his gaze resembled that of a predatory animal; years on the battlefield had clearly forged him into a formidable warrior. The athletic build of his body explained this clearly.

His gold-embroidered, emerald-green royal robe, the black cloak draped over his shoulders, and the uncompromising authority in his posture were more than enough to overshadow the opulent grandeur of the palace. The guards standing at all four corners of the room wore armor of shimmering dark silver steel. Emerald-green cloaks hanging from their shoulders were fastened to their armor with dragon brooches, the symbol of Valyria. From what I could observe in the throne room, there were King Igor, the Council members, the guards, the scribes, and myself.

I stood before him, weighed down by the coldness of the iron shackles on my body and the humiliating burden of captivity. At that moment, I could feel that this magnificent hall had transformed for me into a silent battlefield rather than a courtroom. Because the man before me... his army... had taken away the people I considered my brothers. Patrick's face flashed before my eyes. The image of my brothers', my friends', my soldiers' blood-stained armor invaded my mind. The grief within me turned into a choking rage in my throat.

"Diana Emery." The coldness in his voice altered the atmosphere of the stone room. "An interesting coincidence... In enemy lands, as a prisoner of an enemy army in Valyria... Avalon’s only female knight." The dominant tone in his voice was unmistakably felt.

I thought it best to maintain my silence for now; I continued to observe and analyze 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 gritted my teeth and kept silent. Even for my life, I would not sell my honor or my homeland. However, after a short while, I realized that my strategy of silence would not be of much use. At least in my final moments, I could speak my mind and pour my rage upon them. After all, one way or another, death awaited at the end.

King Igor's gaze scanned my face. "Silence is not a weapon that will save you, Lieutenant." He stood up from his throne, his shadow falling over me. "Speak, Avalonians!"

Impatience appeared on his face, his brows furrowing. He reached for his waist and touched the hilt of his sword, his fingers gripping it tightly. I raised my head and looked at him. Delivering my final words, I raised my chin and straightened my back:

"I fight with honor, I die with honor! I consider it a privilege to be martyred for my homeland!"

There was defiance in my eyes; I would die standing tall, not bowing down. I prepared myself for the sword stroke. Deep down, like anyone else, I was afraid of not knowing what death would bring. "I should have died on the battlefield," I said to myself.

A moment of surprise... Followed by a reluctant respect that appeared in his eyes. Then anger spread across his face, and he withdrew his hand from his sword.

"To die for your homeland?" He smiled faintly. "Avalon’s selfless little warrior... How interesting you are." He stepped a little closer. "These are my lands, Lieutenant. Your life and your death rest between my two lips."

It was an indirect threat meaning I would be killed if I failed to provide information. I spat on the ground. King Igor did not look at the spit; he smiled without taking his eyes off mine. He understood that the gesture was an act of defiance directed at him.

"Brave, fierce... And honorable?" He stroked his chin with his hand. "Where do you get this courage, little knight?"

"From my honor!" I gritted my teeth fiercely. "Not that dishonorable barbarians would understand." I didn't actually enjoy using such harsh words, but the phrases had slipped from my mouth involuntarily.

King Igor's eyes narrowed dangerously. He took another step closer to me; only a few breaths of distance remained between us. He raised his hand... For a second, I thought he was going to touch me or strike me, but he refrained.

"Barbarian?" he muttered, his voice cold as ice. "I am no barbarian, Lieutenant. I am a king. And I am a far better king than most you will ever know. The one who makes the decision concerning you is me!"

"I have no need for your false mercy!" I shouted in anger. "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 right now, do you understand? Your identity in your homeland means nothing here." He drew even closer, coming very near to me. I felt trapped in a corner. "Defying me... brave and foolish."

For a moment, very different thoughts crossed my mind. Were they going to violate me by force? I wasn't going to sit around and wait to find out the truth of that thought. I made a direct accusation:

"Is your habit of violating your prisoners born of your barbarism, or does it come from your lineage?" I asked, making my discomfort with his proximity obvious.

King Igor clenched his teeth. He thought this woman was impossibly stubborn and brazen; his face flushed. He realized he had been misunderstood.

"Are you insulting my person? What audacity! Do you think me so devoid of honor as to touch a woman by force—me, the King of Valyria?!" he roared. The expression of regret on my face did not lessen his anger.

This resistance, this pride, these rebellious behaviors... She was different from the people of his own kingdom. His anger and curiosity were intertwined. "The blood of Avalonians like you has flowed aplenty in these lands. One more, one less... What difference does it make?"

I assumed he had passed the death sentence upon me. I began reciting the knight's anthem of Avalon aloud, though without shouting. This was the sound of resistance; a desperate struggle to quell my fear of impending death and courageously embrace my martyrdom.

Igor's face contorted with anger. He recognized the anthem; it had been etched into his ears on the battlefields.

"SILENCE!" he commanded, his voice echoing in the room. "You are in my domain! Are all Avalonians this disrespectful? I expect you to show respect to the glory of Valyria." "My 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, watching everything unfold attentively. I had expected everyone to be fanatics shouting "Kill her!" but the picture before me was different: an objective Council and a fair court... "I wonder if I will be surprised even more today," I thought.

King Igor tilted his head slightly to the side, examining me more carefully. Involuntarily, I had managed to capture his interest. "And how do you expect me to earn it, little knight?"

I paused for a moment, then spoke 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 off him. "A fair death."

The hilt my father's hand had held, the steel he had carried while fighting, his memory... I wanted to hold it in my hand one last time.

King Igor's eyes narrowed; this proposal was unexpected. He pondered for a moment. Defeating a warrior would satisfy his ego, but his opponent was a woman. Still, he wanted to witness her combat skills. After all, being in the army as a woman, especially as a knight in the legion, was difficult. In fact, the mere fact that I was the only woman demonstrated just 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 honor," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on his. "To die shining with my honor."

After all, I was currently in an unfamiliar enemy land. What generally happened to those captured in war was obvious: they became slaves, were tortured, violated, deprived of food and water, and left to die crawling. At least, those were the stories I had heard. And I would not die that way; never. I wanted a clean, honorable death.

A mocking smile appeared on King Igor's face. "To die shining with your honor?" He shook his head slightly. "I admire your courage, little knight."

Believing he would reject my offer, I recited the legion anthem once more to provoke him, suppress my fear, and prepare myself for what was to come:

"We are born from ashes, souls forged in fire! The final swords rise, heroes standing against fate! THIS LAST BREATH IS SACRIFICED FOR THE HOMELAND, THE UNBEATABLE VOICE OF AVALON IN OUR HEARTS."

This time, I recited the anthem with a more mournful tone, as if preparing for a dark death. I didn't show it, but I clenched every single muscle to keep my body from trembling with fear. I couldn't be afraid... I must not be afraid.

The words of the anthem echoed through the room. King Igor's eyes darkened. These words must have transported him back to his old memories again; he remembered his first battles with the Avalonians. A part of his pride was wounded. This was Valyrian land, I was a prisoner, and reciting that anthem here was a grave insult. Even if he was shocked and reluctantly impressed by this woman's faith and loyalty, it did not change the fact that it was infuriating.

"You have said enough." His voice was noticeably harsher now. "You shall have one last fight. I will arrange the duel, and your opponent will be me." He paused for a second. "But remember... this was your choice."

I looked at King Igor with gratitude and astonishment. "This man possesses honor," I thought. I would use this opportunity to secure a definitive death.

When I stepped onto the path leading toward the dungeon after leaving the throne room, the grandeur of the palace gave way to a cold silence that had seeped into the dragonstone walls. On the floor stretched a heavy, emerald-green carpet embroidered with yellow horsehair that absorbed my steps. Although these vibrant colors attempted to soften the gloomy surface of the stone, they failed to do so. Along the corridor stood guards clad in dark silver armor. The emerald-green cloaks draped over their shoulders billowed in the wind filtering through the partially opened windows. They stood with such flawless and rigid discipline that one might mistake them for stone statues guarding this castle for centuries rather than living soldiers. It was impossible to even tell if they were breathing.

The large oak doors passed along the way caught the eye with intricate ivy and dragon motifs elegantly carved into their dark brown texture. The arched windows high above revealed the unique magic of the sunset. Outside, carrying all the vitality of the newly arrived spring, the horizon of Valyria was wrapped around the castle in a magnificent canvas beneath a sky painted in shades of orange, purple, and crimson by the setting sun. Pink and white clouds drifted slowly on the horizon, while a portion of a lush, grand waterfall was visible. The forest overflowing with fresh greenery and the massive, ancient trees swaying in the wind seemed to defy time in the very heart of this castle.

I couldn't help but pause for a moment. What if I were here under different circumstances?

I shook my head slowly and banished the thought. There were no different circumstances; there was no other day. An end was coming, and I needed to prepare myself for it.

We descended a few flights down the spiral staircase at the end of the corridor. The dungeon we finally reached was far removed from terrifying, dark pits. On the contrary, its walls made of dragonstone were clean, and its air was kept surprisingly pleasant. The single iron-barred window of the cell allowed the final glimmers of light outside to filter in. A deep melancholy and sadness settled over me. How ironic it was that fate dragged a person to this place called a dungeon. A knight held in a cell... All the blood, sweat, and tears I had shed had lost their meaning.

The guard opened my door and signaled for me to step inside. Throughout the journey, I had never been touched or spoken to. Insults, humiliations, threats, harassment... I had expected all of these, but none occurred. The guard removed my chains with a slight hesitation. The shackles on my feet, neck, and hands fell to the ground with a clatter. The guard gathered the chains from the floor, stepped back a pace, closed and locked the heavy iron door, and went to stand guard at the entrance of the dungeon. He hadn't said a single word.

This silence began to unsettle me even more. Were they playing a role with me, or were they playing a game?

I looked at the cell. Mounted on the wall was a wooden plank large enough to fit a person, placed there as a bed, with a small blanket left upon it. Was this truly a dungeon? Looking at the other cells, I saw the exact same setup. This man was respectful even toward his prisoners. And the strangest part was that there was no one else in the dungeon besides me. Unintentionally, a secret admiration and curiosity awoke within me toward this society... and most of all, toward King Igor.

In the hours that followed, the guards offered hot soup, water, and fresh bread. My jaw dropped; I was shocked by such proper treatment. I began to think that we Avalonians didn't even come close to the civilized behavior of these people we called "barbarians," and that thought made me uncomfortable.

I was only now realizing that they hadn't removed my helmet and armor out of respect for my privacy. For this reason, they hadn't noticed my wounds either. Once the chaos of events subsided, I began to feel the aches and injuries across my body. The sword wound on my leg throbbed with a deep, burning sensation. It was on the verge of becoming infected, or perhaps it already was. Noticing the throbbing in my head, I removed my helmet. My long, wavy black hair falling to my waist cascaded down over my shoulders. When I reached my hand to my head, I discovered a laceration just above my hairline. Because I hadn't been able to remove the helmet all this time, the wound hadn't bled out, but my hair was stuck to the injury. It stung whenever my salty sweat touched it. Using the water given to me, I wetted the area slightly to soften my hair. Since it was impossible to wear a hair tie inside the helmet, I used to tuck my hair inside it.

I ate my food. This level of civility still left me quite bewildered. "Perhaps it's poisoned," I thought, but no, it wasn't poisoned; on the contrary, it was fresh and delicious. Having eaten made me feel better. A voice inside told me I would be surprised even more, but a bitter truth stood plainly before me: tomorrow would be my last day.

This time, I didn't suppress my fear. I was afraid, just like any human being; it was normal, a human thing. Even if I didn't show it, I was terrified. To comfort and calm myself, I knelt before the wooden plank on the wall.

Now, the Creator and I were left alone. Tomorrow, I would be just another name carved into stone... Only one last time...

I began to pray in a quiet voice. My voice trembled, breaking into a frail tone. My breath was ragged, catching like a lump in my throat. Holding my hands over my chest, right above my heart, I closed my eyes:

"Heroes, when a calamity befalls them, say: 'Indeed, we belong to the Creator, and indeed to Him we shall return.' Upon them are blessings and light from the Creator. These are the ones who give their lives on the righteous path... Do not think of those who gave their lives for righteousness as lost. They have found life in the realm of heaven. They are at peace with the blessings granted to them..."

Praying felt comforting, yet my tears flowed stubbornly against my will. I bowed my head a little lower. For the first time, I let go of that stern face I always wore. I wasn't trying to be a knight, nor to appear brave, nor to prove anything to anyone... I was simply a girl who still hadn't accepted her father's death. A girl who had left her brothers on the battlefield... And a girl who would die tomorrow. But amidst all of this, a human who still wanted to live...

As I prayed, my breathing slowed. Although my tears didn't stop, the knot inside me loosened a little. By reciting these and similar prayers repeatedly, I found some solace. I stood up and lay down on the wooden plank. The dungeon was silent. I closed my eyes; I had accepted what would happen tomorrow. I had finally succeeded in embracing death. I would be able to reunite with my beloved late father and my comrades-in-arms whom I missed dearly.

Even if I lost the duel, I would still be the victor. Because I would fight my last battle in the manner of my own choosing and end everything standing tall. With the tranquility of this thought, I fell asleep one last time. Sleep pulled me in slowly, wrapping around me like a compassionate mother.

Tomorrow... I was to face King Igor.

Little did I know then... that duel, which I believed to be the final battle of my life, would actually be the first day that would alter the rest of my existence.