PROLOGUE
“In the garden of sorrow, the Ice Beauty sleeps.
Her name is a riddle the darkness keeps.
Alone and hidden from a tyrant’s eye,
She whispers a curse from dusk till high.
‘You’ll never know joy, forever be alone!’
In the garden of sorrow, she rests like a stone.
Within her chest, no heart shall glow—
Just frozen silence, cold as snow.”
Honorian Tales – The True Story of the Ice Beauty
He had made peace with death long ago. Now, as the cold blade traced the skin of his throat, he was ready to die with honor, like a true warrior. His wife and son would weep, but one day their grief would soften. What mattered most was their safety. The safety of the entire land. He lay in the grass. No chance to fight back, yet he would not beg. He surrendered to the moment.
It was over. That knowledge brought more peace than fear. The clash of swords had ceased. Only distant cries lingered, fading until silence returned. He looked up to the sky—so calm, painted in a shade of steel-gray. Black birds circled low over the earth.
The land of Honore looked just as it always did, as if nothing had changed. He inhaled through his nose. Rain is coming, he thought, and just then, a single drop landed on his forehead.
One last time, he let his eyes admire the lilies swirling through the disturbed air. The breeze played with them, sending their colorful petals drifting down onto blood-soaked soil. He smiled. They floated like feathers across the battlefield, gently covering the lifeless bodies below. The war was won, so it no longer mattered that he would die. Peace would return to Honore. Nothing else was more important.
“How does it feel, knowing you’ll die in moments, even though you won this war, great Thomas Honore?” his enemy sneered.
Dark curls fell messily across the man’s bruised face. Tattered rags hung from his shoulders. His face bore the scars of war, and now burned with fury and helplessness.
Thomas smiled, slow and satisfied. “How does it feel to lose this war, and carry that shame for the rest of your long life?”
Hatred burned in the man’s eyes. “Goodbye,” he said, lifting his sword with grim determination.
Thomas closed his eyes. Not out of fear. He wanted to keep his last memory clean. He didn’t want the last thing he ever saw to be that man’s face.
He listened to the sounds of his homeland, the birds, the wind. He thought of his beloved wife. His son. His breath slowed into a steady rhythm. He could hear the soil singing beneath him—mournful, yet kind. It sang its lullaby to guide fallen warriors home.
At that moment, rain began to fall from the gray clouds above. It washed over their stained bodies, rinsing away the sins of battle. A perfect moment for dying. No one held power over him now, only he did.
He let himself drift into old memories as a soft wind kissed his face. He heard the sword slice through the air. He waited, waited for its sharp edge to pierce his heart.
But pain never came.
He opened his eyes.
His enemy knelt before him, blood dripping darkly from his mouth. His gaze was stunned, heavy with bitter realization. He knew this was the last thing he would ever see.
A final breath escaped his chest, followed by a broken gasp. Then his face sank into the grass. The lilies began to cover him gently.
Above it all stood a man with golden hair. When he moved, the light caught it with a dazzling gleam. Though the sky was dark and the rain still falling, his hair shone like a beam of sunlight.
He held a sword in his hands, blood trailing down the blade.
“Thank you,” Thomas breathed, in disbelief and relief alike. “What is your name, warrior?”
“My name is Leonus Libertas, sir. I come from the Sun Village,” he replied, helping Thomas to his stiff feet.
The two men shook hands with quiet strength. Their smiles were tired, but true.
That day marked the beginning of a long and loyal friendship. As they walked off the battlefield, the rain softened, and the scent of lilies filled the air.
That glorious afternoon, forever recorded in the Book of Honore, they returned to the fortress and celebrated their victory with roaring joy. Wine flowed freely, and before dawn, a vow was spoken—a vow that would change the fates of two families forever.
Two drunken warriors, elated by triumph, sealed their children’s future. They signed a contract with their own hands, and with it, chose the fate of those yet to choose for themselves.
