61 lines
No EOL
3.8 KiB
Markdown
61 lines
No EOL
3.8 KiB
Markdown
**The palace was dying.**
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The walls themselves seemed to groan beneath the weight of falling legacy. With every strike of the battering ram against the inner gate, dust rained from the vaulted ceiling. Cracks spread like veins through ancient stone. The mosaics lining the high galleries—once telling tales of Talpian glory—shivered with each impact. A corner of the southern arch collapsed in a gasp of rubble.
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**Telaryn ran.**
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Not alone. Behind her came a knot of loyalists—bloodied guards, a limping scribe, a half-conscious bannerman clutching a shattered standard. **Lord Devard**, one of her father’s old war-councilors, stumbled beside her, pressing one hand to a spreading stain beneath his ribs. His breath rattled. He hadn’t cried out when the bolt struck him on the staircase—he’d only gritted his teeth, torn it free, and kept moving.
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Ash clung to them like a second skin. Somewhere above, the screams of servants and soldiers echoed through the broken halls.
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The **Hall of Kings** loomed ahead—dark, ruined, sacred.
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They burst into it like intruders. Once, this hall had held feasts and coronations. Now it stank of smoke and shattered memory. Statues lined either side of the great chamber: stern-browed monarchs carved from black stone, cloaked in dust, their eyes sightless. Snow flurried down through holes in the ceiling, mixing with the ash.
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“Here!” cried **Halven**, the steward, pointing with his torch. “Behind the First Throne—there was a passage, sealed long ago.”
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They reached the dais. The seat of the first Talpian monarch, carved into the wall itself, loomed above them. It bore no cushion, no ornament—only a bare stone slab, flanked by the sigil of the **forgotten queen** whose name had been erased from the royal line.
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At its base, partially hidden by a fallen tapestry, lay a **carved circle** of ancient stone. A seam. A buried promise.
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“Clear it!” Telaryn shouted.
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They tore aside debris—splintered benches, shattered tiles, a crushed ceremonial shield. The iron ring was still there, rusted, embedded in the floor like a wound. Two guards gripped it, grunted, and wrenched it upward with a metallic shriek. A square slab of stone groaned open, exhaling **cold breath from the deep**.
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A stair spiraled down, narrow and slick with ancient frost.
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**“Everyone down,”** Telaryn ordered. “Now.”
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The soldiers obeyed first. Then came the wounded, half-carried, half-crawling. Halven and a bannerman took Lord Devard’s arms. He resisted, weakly, blood trailing from his mouth.
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As they helped him toward the stair, he looked up at Telaryn—not quite seeing her.
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“You know what this place is, don’t you?” he rasped. “She walked these stones before you… the one they buried in silence.”
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Telaryn froze. “Who?”
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Devard smiled with cracked lips. “The blood returns. Just like she said it would.”
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Then the moment passed, and he sagged between them, coughing blood, descending with the others into the dark.
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One guard stayed above to pull the door shut behind them, fingers trembling on the hilt of his sword. The battering ram struck again—closer now. The whole hall shook.
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Alisha caught Telaryn’s arm just as she turned to follow.
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“You’re not leaving me behind,” she said, eyes burning. “Not after all this.”
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“Alisha—” Telaryn’s voice faltered.
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“I swore to follow you,” she said. “Don’t make me break it now.”
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Another crash—louder. Closer. The **palace gates were nearly breached**.
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Telaryn reached for Alisha’s hand. Squeezed it once. Then stepped onto the first stair, heart hammering like a war drum.
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Below them, only silence waited.
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But above—above came the roar of broken doors, the thunder of legion boots, and the beginning of the end.
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**She did not look back.**
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The door slammed shut behind them, sealing the Hall of Kings once more in shadow. |