Prologue
The castle is dark, calm and quiet. Hushed, quicked steps are the only thing that can be heard, aside from the light snoring of the palace guards. The owner of the steps is hidden by a heavy, travel cloak, which hem is pattering on the marble floor.
Only a few more steps. Only one more turn, and you’ll be there.
The petite figure under the cloak is shivering, wiping their sweaty palms in the creases of their cloak, but it’s pointless. Every once in a while, they ensure, by tapping on the bag hidden under the cloak, that it’s content is still safely in there.
The moonlight is reflecting on the marble walls and columns, making them glisten magically. Stopping in the middle of the corridor, they let out a relieved breath and look around nervously, before grabbing the nearest porch and turning it to the side.
The wall before them quietly opens and reveals abrupt stairs leading into the heart of the castle. They don’t wait for anything and quickly begin theirs descend, holding onto the smooth wooden railing. They’re tripping over and killing themselves certainly wouldn’t help their plan, and not to mention what a pathetic death would that be. The wall goes into its place behind them, creaking dangerously loud. They can only hope that none of the useless guards will hear it.
The way down seems endless. More and more steps are appearing in the dark, and the air is getting fustier. The stairs are bumpy and made from real stone, indicating they were here long before the perfect, stainless, shiny marble palace was built on the remains of the First palace.
As they proceed with their never-ending descend, they think about the consequences their doing will cause.
Traitor, people will say. Blood traitor, a traitor to the crown and their own people. Shame. Horrible. How could someone do something so unthinkable? And collude with an enemy on top of that? The faces of their family, friends, fellow warriors appear in their mind. What will they say? They will never forget them.
They will be a traitor to everyone, without anyone knowing the whole truth.
They could never return home. They will become a reinfur - the forbidden. Someone, who is not welcomed in their own country, their own home anymore. But did that actually matter to them? Weren’t they doing this to break free?
The thoughts are flowing confusedly in their mind, when they finally see a flicker of light in the infinite darkness surrounding them. A torch. They are close. After a few final steps, they are standing on a solid ground again, the damned stairs finally behind them. They are sweating so much it’s like they just got out of a bath.
“It took you long enough,” someone spits from the dark, voice raspy and low. “Do you’ve got it?”
“I have.” Traitor, traitor, traitor. The guilt is eating on them, it’s like acid, like burning and twisting knife in their stomach. It’s too late to step back now.
“So what are you waiting for? Come on, you lazy brat. We have a lot to do. This,” the man in the dark points at the bag bumping against their hip, “is just the start.” The man laughs. It’s a hideous laugh. “Or the end depends from what angle you look at it.”
Two shadows disappeared through the ancient, long forgotten corridor away from the castle, from Megarit. But not for long. After their plan will start, they will be back.
And this time, they will use the front doors.
