~Part 6b~

Persephone knew something was wrong when she reached the security checkpoint and found no guard present. This position was supposed to be manned twenty four hours a day. The iron door across the room was left just a few inches open. Another shout of pain echoed from beyond; Persephone pushed down her fear and apprehension and passed through the door.

About halfway down the dungeon hallway, she saw a flicker of torchlight coming from one of the cells. As she approached, she could hear a chillingly familiar voice.

“What did you tell her about me?” said Sir Anwir.

There was a beat of silence, followed by another shout of pain. It sounded like Melchior.

“We can do this all night, Gestoll dog. Answer me!”

Persephone reached the light, and saw that it was the cell that had been converted into a torture chamber. Stretched out on a table or rack of some kind, his hands and feet tied to either end, was Melchior. A number of small cuts on his body bled, joining the bruises from his capture. Standing over him, his back turned to the hallway Persephone watched from, was Sir Anwir. He held a familiar dagger in his hand, and it dripped with fresh blood.

Sir Anwir grabbed Melchior’s hand, forcing him to extend his crooked middle finger. “Still bear the mark of the lesson I taught you when we were young, do you? Maybe you need reminding…” He held his dagger to the finger, preparing to sever it.

“Stop it!” Persephone shouted.

Sir Anwir froze, then slowly looked back at her. “Princess,” he said, with a cutting edge to his voice. “You shouldn’t be here. I suggest you return to your room for the evening; this does not concern you.”

Persephone began to sweat. To think, just a few days ago, it was Melchior she had feared and pleaded with. Just a few days ago, she had not realized who the real villain was.

If you want your happy ending, girl… then you’re going to have to earn it.

Persephone took a deep breath, and drew her longsword. “That is enough, Anwir. You have no authority to torture my father’s prisoners, and you have no right to threaten me. Leave. Him. Alone.”

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to resist all but the sharpest swords. The silent standoff stretched on for nearly a minute, during which time neither Persephone nor Anwir moved. Then, Anwir smiled, and severed Melchior’s finger.

Melchior screamed in pain. Anwir let him go, leaving him tied up, and drew his own weapon. “It’s so unfortunate,” he said in a disturbingly calm voice. “The Dark Lord Melchior escaped his cell and took Persephone captive once again. I chased him back into the dungeons and killed him, but I was too late to save the dear Princess’s life. The city will mourn, your father will mourn, and in their hour of need, with no apparent heir to the throne, they will turn to me, the fiance of the late Princess Persephone. That’s a lovely narrative, don’t you think?”

With a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, Persephone knew that Anwir would have the advantage of speed against her longsword. She adopted the Plow Guard stance, holding the hilt of her sword down by her waist and raising the tip towards her opponent. Anwir held his dagger close to his chest and directed his sword towards her. Persephone watched his eyes, waiting for him to reveal himself.

Sure enough, there was a flash of emotion just before he lunged at her, sword outstretched. She was prepared, and parried his sword downwards. She moved in to strike, but he deflected her sword with his dagger. She backed away just as he swung his sword at her, trying to keep him at an optimal distance to take advantage of her longer blade. He moved in aggressively; she parried his blade again, but this time his dagger found purchase, slicing her cheek just beneath her left eye. She swung wide, driving him back for the moment.

The cut stung, and she could feel a trickle of warmth drip down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Anwir smiled sadistically, and moved in on her again with both weapons. She was forced to retreat, backing out of the torture chamber and into the hallway. He pursued her, striking a flurry of blows in her direction, not letting up for even a moment. She managed to deflect the more deadly strikes, but suffered a cut to her arm and shoulder. Following the movements of a sword was challenging enough, but that dagger kept catching her off guard.

Finally he relented, returning to a defensive stance but already looking for his next opening. Persephone was already feeling fatigued, and her wounds were not helping. She lowered her guard, letting the tip of her sword rest on the ground.

“Last chance, princess,” said Anwir. “Forget this happened, and we can live happily ever after.”

“If you can even call a life by your side happy,” Persephone remarked.

Anwir’s eyes flared, and he moved in for the kill. Anticipating this, Persephone raised her sword at just the right moment, and momentum carried Anwir into the blade. It penetrated his stomach and stopped him dead in his tracks. He dropped both his weapons in shock, grabbing Persephone’s blade and forcing it out of him. She drew it back quickly, cutting both of his hands, and delivered a quick slash across his chest. He collapsed to the ground without another word.

Persephone took a moment to catch her breath. She checked her wounds; they bled, but appeared to be shallow enough that they wouldn’t slow her down much. She took two steps towards the dungeon’s exit, but stopped short when she saw Melchior. He appeared to be conscious, but with the way he was bleeding after Anwir cut off his finger, he wouldn’t last long without help. With a couple of quick slashes, she cut the ropes that bound him to the rack. She sheathed her blade and helped him to his feet.

His hand bled profusely. Persephone was no doctor, but she remembered hearing something about applying pressure to a wound. She grabbed a handful of rags from a nearby shelf and pressed them against where his finger used to be. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.

“I know it hurts,” she said, “but keep the pressure on the wound.”

“Thank you, Persephone,” Melchior said weakly.

“I’m getting you out of here. Do you think we can make it to your castle?”

“Gestoll Keep will certainly be watched; we can’t go there. I might know of a place we can lay low, if it hasn’t been discovered yet.”

“Then let’s go, before someone finds Sir Anwir.”

Persephone led Melchior through the dungeons, past the (still empty) security checkpoint, up the stairs, and down the hall to the hidden side door, only having to stop and hide from a patrolling guard once along the way.

Once outside, the princess and the dark lord fled the city under the cover of the new moon. They did not know what the future held for them, but they both knew that their past was no longer safe.

---

The End (for now).

~Stories by Sol

~Part 6a~

(TW: torture)

From the window of his guest suite, Sir Anwir looked out over the kingdom. The sun had set hours ago, and the new moon in the sky offered no comforting light to the city streets below. He drank deeply from his goblet and set it down on the table next to a half-empty bottle of fine wine from the king’s reserves.

He continued to replay the events of the past couple of days in his mind, particularly when it came to a certain princess. She had been so eager to be with him, so grateful for her rescue at his hands. When had she turned against him?

He thought back to the rescue itself. He still couldn’t account for his unconscious state after his duel with Melchior. What had transpired between the princess and the dark lord during that time? What had he said to her in the week before she had been rescued?

His fist tightened in anger. Did he turn her against me?

---

Persephone had never run away from home before. She hardly knew what she would need to bring with her, or where she would go, but she needed to get away from Sir Anwir. Her father, bless his soul, wouldn’t listen to her. Maybe if she went missing again, he would hear her out.

Or maybe he would see it as another sign of pre-wedding nerves.

She sat on her bed, head in her hands. What else am I supposed to do? she asked herself. She looked around her room, lamenting the fact that she would once again be taken away from the luxury she was used to. Surely a free and impoverished life would be better than a gilded cage… right?

Wearing some dark leather armor normally reserved for her sword lessons, she grabbed a bag packed with what she thought would be the essentials, sheathed her heavier longsword, and left the room.

Sneaking through the hallways was tricky, but she knew every stone tile in the floors of this castle, and was able to avoid the guards on patrol. She descended the stairs, planning on using a less known side exit rather than the main gate, when she heard a sound that gave her pause.

A shout of pain, coming from the dungeons.

She knew that following such a sound could only lead to trouble, and that she would be wise to escape the castle while she had the chance. Such were her thoughts as she descended the stairs leading to the dungeons.

---

~Part 5~

The light of the sun shone into the bedroom, promising an idyllic morning. Persephone stirred awake, surprised for a moment to find herself back in her own bed, but then remembered the events of the previous day.

If you want your happy ending, girl… then you’re going to have to earn it.

My lord, the only request I have is your daughter’s hand in marriage.

Forgive me, but I find your beauty… intoxicating.

How long do you think your father will live after you say the words ‘I do’?

A night of reflection and sleep had yielded no answers. A part of her wanted to go right back to sleep, but she knew that would only worry father. She sat up, stretching her arms and back as she yawned.

“Sleep well, Princess?”

Making a sound somewhere between a shriek and a squeak, Persephone jumped, pulling the covers up over herself and looking towards the open door. There, leaning against the doorframe, was Sir Anwir.

“Sir Anwir,” Persephone said, “This is… hardly appropriate behavior for our situation.”

“Good morning to you too,” he responded.

“I thought you returned to your home last night.”

“The king and I talked and drank deep into the night, and he offered me a guest room. When I woke up this morning, I found myself unable to wait to lay eyes on you once again.”

Those eyes looked her up and down, almost as if they could pierce through her thick blankets. There was no mistaking it this time; Persephone could see how he owned her with a single glance, how his eyes gleamed with hunger. The smile she had found so charming when he had rescued her now seemed too wide, his teeth too large and white.

Persephone swallowed, and said, “If you don’t mind, I would like to make myself presentable before we continue this conversation.”

“Of course, your highness.” Sir Anwir bowed low, and with a smooth turn on his heel, he left the room.

Persephone remained in her bed for several minutes. Her heart pounded, not out of love or pre-wedding jitters, but fear. This early morning encounter had triggered her fight-or-flight response, and she had found herself too paralyzed to choose either. She took a deep, shaky breath, and managed to calm down a bit.

---

With the help of her lady-in-waiting, Persephone prepared herself for the day. Her long blond hair was tied into a single braid that reached just past the middle of her back. Her makeup was simple, but brought out her sapphire blue eyes. She chose a dress that was more modest than the one she wore the day before, making sure that it was easy to move in. As the finishing touch, she attached her jeweled rapier to her side… just in case.

As she made her way to the dining hall for breakfast, she could hear the voices of both her father and Sir Anwir, engaged once again in conversation. Almost she turned around and skipped breakfast, but she knew that she couldn’t avoid them forever. She entered the hall, taking her usual seat on her father’s right.

“Good morning, my precious daughter!” the king said with warmth. “How was your bed? I imagine it was much nicer than whatever accommodations that Dark Lord forced upon you!”

“Much better,” she said. Truth be told, the room Melchior had provided was quite comfortable, though not nearly as extravagant as her own bedchambers.

“I still can’t believe that monster kept you to himself for over a week,” the king fumed.

“Don’t worry yourself, father. All’s well that ends well.”

“Words of wisdom, indeed!” said Sir Anwir.

The king laughed, and Sir Anwir joined him. Persephone was bothered by how quickly the two had bonded in such a short amount of time.

“Father,” she said hesitantly. “I would like to… discuss something that was decided yesterday.”

“Of course, Persephone. Speak your mind.”

“Well… I’m not sure I am quite ready to be married. Is there any chance that we could… call it off?”

She kept her gaze fixed on her father, but out of the corner of her eye she noticed Sir Anwir’s expression drop. It was subtle; he did not glower at her, but his smile was just a little bit subdued.

The king looked at Persephone, a concerned expression on his face. After a moment, however, he laughed. “What is this? Who are you, and what did you do with Persephone? Getting married to a noble prince or a valiant knight is all you’ve ever talked about! I was afraid that you would want to get married sooner, before the preparations were complete!”

“Your majesty,” interjected Sir Anwir, “Perhaps this is simply a bout of nerves, with her big day so close at hand.”

“No, that is-”

“Ah, that makes sense,” the king interrupted. “Persephone, don’t you worry about the wedding. I will see to it that it is the grandest ceremony the kingdom has ever witnessed; all you have to do is dress up and say your vows!”

“But father-”

“That’s enough, my dearest daughter. Give it a few days; you’ll come around!”

Persephone gave up the battle, turning her attention to the food that had just been brought out. She ate quietly as her father and Sir Anwir continued their banter.

---

After the meal, Persephone excused herself to the courtyard behind the castle. She entertained the thought of visiting Melchior again, but couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say to him. Was he right, or was she misinterpreting everything about Sir Anwir through the lens of Melchior’s clever deceptions? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to believe him.

With nothing better to do, she decided to spend some time practicing her weapon forms. Her rapier was sharp, but it was also lightweight and meant for more ceremonial purposes. She preferred the longsword, like the one Melchior had tossed at her feet.

Focusing on her forms, she did not hear Sir Anwir enter the courtyard behind her. She turned and thrust her weapon, only for it to be deflected by a dagger in his hand. She stepped back in shock, rapier still drawn.

“Sir Anwir, I did not hear you approach.”

He smiled, and sheathed his dagger. “I wanted to speak with you, if that’s all right.”

“What about?”

“Oh, just something you said at breakfast. You… wanted to call off the wedding?”

Persephone blushed. “It’s not what you think, I merely-”

Sir Anwir suddenly lashed out, grabbing her wrist and squeezing tight. She dropped her rapier as he forcefully pushed her up against the wall.

“Sir Anwir, you’re hurting my wrist!”

He relaxed his grip slightly, but did not let go. Gone was the smile on his face, replaced with a tight, angry expression. “You think that after all the trouble I went through to rescue you that I will let you walk out on me now? We will be married by the end of the week, and you will not complain to your father about this ever again. Are we understood?”

Persephone nodded frantically, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Good. I trust we will not need to repeat this conversation again. You will be respectful in my presence. You will show me your love and support in the presence of your father. You will sit alongside me, as the princess now, and the queen to my king some day in the future.”

He let go of her wrist, and stormed back into the castle. Persephone dropped to her knees, nursing her wrist and holding back tears.

---

~Stories by Sol

~Part 4~

Silence permeated the dark dungeon, interrupted only by a distant dripping sound. Persephone breathed in the musty air, waiting for an answer from the man on the other side of the iron bars. Melchior remained silent for several seconds before speaking.

“There’s a stool over in the corner; you’ll want to sit down for this.”

Persephone grabbed the stool, set it in front of the bars, and sat down. “Continue,” she said.

Melchior took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak at length. “I am a member of the Gestoll family. I doubt it’s a name you would know, at least not in this day and age. I’m sure you already know that Anwir is a member of the Aiydesh family, one of the more prominent noble houses in the city.

“For the past three generations, the Gestolls have served the Aiydeshes, ever since our land was razed to the ground by bandits. The loss of our land meant dishonor, and a removal of our title as nobility. The Aiydesh family… invited the Gestoll family to live with them, under certain conditions. We served them exclusively, and kept our bloodline separate from theirs, but we were permitted to live on their land. It’s not the worst arrangement; at least my family didn’t have to resort to peasantry outside the capital’s walls.

“Suffice it to say, I knew Anwir from a very young age. We grew up on the same land, and I was required to cater to him on several occasions. So you can trust me when I say that I know who the real Anwir is, underneath that polished armor and gracious upbringing.”

“He has been nothing but a gentleman since coming back to the palace,” Persephone interjected, but even she could hear the uneasiness in her own voice.

“You haven’t seen him with his armor off,” Melchior responded. “If you want to contradict me, you might as well leave. If you want to hear the truth, let me speak.”

Persephone had half a mind to stand up and walk out of the musty-smelling dungeons right then and there, but then she remembered the way that Anwir had stared at her over dinner. Her curiosity and wariness won out over her distaste for the prisoner, and she remained seated and silent.

Melchior continued, “As a child, Anwir was very… possessive. Once he claimed something to be his, nobody would argue with him. Once he saw me wearing a ring that was a memento of my late father’s, and claimed it belonged to him. I said no, and… he broke my finger.”

He held up his left hand, and Persephone could barely see in the faint torchlight that the middle finger was slightly crooked.

“I never forgot that, but I eventually forgave it as the act of a selfish and spoiled child. It was after he came of age that I began to recognize a pattern. Being an attractive young noble, he had an easy time courting a number of young women. None of them wanted to bring down the ire of the Aiydesh family on their head, so they all remained quiet about the way that he treated them. I, however, overheard one of his trysts, and I saw the black eye that his lady sported after she ran from the room in tears.

“What Anwir wants, he gets, and when he doesn’t get it, he gets… violent. Keep that in mind when you’re saying your vows.”

Melchior fell silent, his eyes dropping to the stone floor of his cell. Persephone did not want to believe what she was hearing, but that expression she had seen on Anwir’s face at dinner came to mind again. She realized now what she had seen behind that smile.

Possessiveness. Ownership. Hunger.

She shook her head. “What utter nonsense,” she said. “Am I to believe the deceptions of a man known across the kingdom as the Dark Lord Melchior?”

Melchior looked up, their eyes meeting. His expression was somehow both fierce and peaceful, like a distant flash of lightning in a storm long past. “Believe what you wish. Just know that I did not choose the title of Dark Lord; that was what the nobility called me after I reclaimed my family’s castle, in an effort to stop me from complicating the status quo.”

“And I suppose kidnapping me was an act of kindness in disguise?”

“That was an unfortunate example of overeager followers taking my words at face value. When I heard that Anwir had his eyes set on you, I was worried for the kingdom’s sake. The men who helped me retake Gestoll Keep were fiercely loyal to me, and overheard me musing at the possibility of getting you away from him.”

“Oh please, how gullible do you take me to be?”

Melchior stood up quickly, straining against his chains. He shouted, “Anwir wants the throne; how long do you think your father will live after you say the words ‘I do’? A year? Six months? Far less than that, if he is the same man I knew in my youth!”

Persephone nearly tripped over the stool she was sitting on as she backed away from the cell in shock. After shouting, the strength seemed to leave Melchior, and he sat back against the wall. He spoke again, gently this time.

“I never ordered your kidnapping. When your royal procession passed by the keep after your visit to the neighboring kingdom, my men foolishly attacked it, killing your guards and kidnapping you. They must have thought you would serve as the perfect leverage to get the Gestoll name back into nobility. What was I to do?

“I could have let you go immediately, but that would have brought suffering to myself and my men regardless. I was in a bind, with no good choices. I kept you for that week, trying to negotiate and buy myself more time to find a way out… and the next thing I knew, Anwir himself was at the head of a small army, breaking down the castle gates.

“I thought I could at least take him with me when he rushed up to the throne room to save you. I nearly had him… and then you stopped me. Your naivete at the whole situation, your lack of knowledge of our shared history… it made me angry. So I challenged you to earn your ‘happy ending’. I expected to disarm you quickly, then finish off Anwir before the rest of the royal guard came to kill me, but you surprised me. In spite of your appearance, your position as princess, and your idealism of Anwir, you managed to best me in my arrogance. And now here we are.”

Persephone had no words. All of this felt so… convenient, and yet who could make up such intricate lies? He spoke every word with passion, and his eyes showed an honesty that Anwir’s lacked.

Without another word, Persephone left the dungeon. She ignored the guard Ferdinand and his questions, went up both flights of stairs, and retired to her room for the evening.

As she readied herself for bed, she reflected on the long and trying day she had experienced. Dueling with a dark lord, dinner with her future husband, dialogue in a dark dungeon… she decided to untangle these threads after a night of sleep.

---

~Stories by Sol

~Part 3~

Persephone was finally beginning to feel like herself again. After bathing and allowing her lady-in-waiting to pamper her, she put on her most elegant dress and made her way to the dining hall for her promised dinner. The smell was heavenly; clearly the cook was at the top of his game. She hadn’t even laid eyes on the food, and already her mouth was watering.

She could hear two voices from the dining hall ahead, talking and laughing. As she entered, she saw her father and Sir Anwir were getting along quite well. A pair of servants waited on either side of the room, ready to carry out any and all requests of the royal family and their guests.

“My apologies for keeping you both waiting,” she said. “I did not realize that Sir Anwir was staying for dinner.”

“Nonsense, dearest daughter!” the king roared with good humor, “You are just in time; the meal is almost ready!”

“I hope you don’t mind my staying,” said Sir Anwir. “I know tradition dictates that we should spend some time apart before the big wedding, but when the king invited me, I could hardly refuse.”

“Not at all. Please, enjoy your stay; our chef is the best in the kingdom, and I’m sure father wouldn’t object to getting out some of our vintage wine later on…”

Persephone took her seat to the right of her father, the king. Sir Anwir sat across from her, to the king’s left. Their eyes met, and Persephone looked away.

What’s wrong with me? she thought to herself. My personal savior and future husband is sitting right across the table, and I can’t even meet his eyes.

She looked back to him again; his gaze had not left her face, and his eyes were filled with love for her. And yet, something about his expression seemed off, like there was something indiscernible lurking beneath that smile.

Maybe I’m just imagining things.

Half a dozen servants entered the room, bearing plates piled high with her favorite appetizers and side dishes. The central platter was weighed down with massive helpings of lamb, roasted in some kind of purplish-brown sauce and sprinkled with fresh herbs. Persephone eagerly loaded up her plate with the succulent meats and vegetables on offer. As she began to eat, she couldn’t help but notice that Sir Anwir had not yet moved, his gaze still fixed upon her.

“Sir Anwir,” she said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin, “You must be hungry, and the lamb must be tasted to be believed. Please, help yourself.”

Sir Anwir blinked, taken aback as if coming out of a trance. “Ah, of course. Forgive me, but I find your beauty… intoxicating.”

The king laughed and said, “You wouldn’t be the first! My daughter is the most beautiful maiden in all the land, and everybody knows it! You are far from the first to seek her hand, but you are the first to earn it!”

The king raised his glass. “A toast to Sir Anwir! Brave and loyal to the kingdom, rescuer of Princess Persephone, and soon to be my son-in-law!”

The meal continued. Persephone ate mechanically, even as her appetite failed her. Halfway through cleaning her plate, she excused herself.

“Please give my compliments to the cook, but I fear my appetite is not what it was. Good night, father, and goodbye Sir Anwir.”

Before either could protest, she had already left the table.

---

Persephone had planned to retire to her bedchamber for the evening, and hopefully acquire some perspective on her uneasy feelings after a night of sleep. She approached the stairwell; to her left, the stairs spiraled up to where her rooms were, and to the right, they spiraled downward.

Before she knew what she was doing, she turned right and descended. She knew that the only thing of interest beneath the castle was the dungeons, and she knew that there was only one reason for her to go down there.

At the bottom of the stairs was a heavy iron door. With some effort, she pushed it open and stepped into the security checkpoint. This small room was the only way into or out of the dungeons, and it was always watched by at least one guard, every hour of every day. The guard on duty tonight was unfamiliar to Persephone. Perhaps a new recruit, hired to bolster castle security while the veterans went out looking for her recently.

“Your highness,” the young guard said as he stood up, taken aback at the sight of beauty before him.

“Good evening, sir…?”

“Oh, I’m not a knight, your highness. My name is Ferdinand. How may I be of assistance to you?”

“I would like to see the new prisoner.”

“The Dark Lord Melchior?!” Ferdinand said with shock. “Your kidnapper? But why would you-”

Persephone walked up to Ferdinand, crossing the room in three quick strides. Standing face to face, she was just barely shorter than him, but carried herself with enough authority to almost make him shrink in her presence. “My business is my own. I am going to speak to Melchior, you are going to keep watch here, and nobody will know about this. Am I understood?”

Ferdinand nodded vigorously.

“Good. Then if you don’t mind, please unlock the door to the dungeons.”

“R-right,” Ferdinand stammered. He grabbed the keys off of a hook on the wall and fumbled with them a bit, eventually unlocking the other iron door in the room.

As Persephone stepped through the door, Ferdinand attempted to follow her. She stopped, turned around, and said, “I thought I told you to keep watch here. I want to see Melchior alone.”

“But your highness-”

“That’s an order.”

Ferdinand looked nervous, caught between his duty and her orders. Finally he relented, and said, “Very well, your highness. If anything should happen, simply scream and I shall come running.”

“Thank you, Ferdinand. I won’t be long.” She grabbed a torch from the wall, and passed through the doorway.

Persephone wasn’t worried about getting lost down here. There were only about a dozen cells; the castle hadn’t been used for long-term incarceration since before she was born, and most prisoners were only kept here for a short period of time before being taken away to a more permanent prison or execution. She passed by an open cell that had clearly been converted into a torture chamber. She shuddered, but supposed that such things were necessary for the security of the kingdom.

Finally, she reached the last cell, and found what she was looking for. Wearing only his under-armour and chained to the back wall opposite the bars was the young man who was once feared as the Dark Lord Melchior. He looked up, meeting her eyes with an expectant but silent stare.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said quietly.

“I’m not here for idle chatter,” said Persephone. “Tell me what you know about Sir Anwir.”

---

~Stories by Sol

(I don't know if anyone's reading this, but I plan on finishing it nonetheless)

Nobody asked for a part 2 to this story, but I felt compelled to finish the tale nonetheless.

---

~Part 2~

It was everything Persephone had imagined, coming home on the back of a white charger with her rescuer leading the way. As they crested a hill, the sight of her beloved home, the Kingdom of Exidel, came into view. Though she had only been kidnapped a week ago, the sight took her breath away as if she hadn’t seen it in years. The sun shone in the cloudless blue sky, highlighting the endless fields of emerald green grass and amber stalks of wheat. In the middle of the valley stood their destination: the grand capital. Walls of almost pearlescent white stone surrounded a charming city filled with red-roofed homes and open-air markets. The king’s castle stood in the center of the city, a crowning jewel that outshone even the grandest buildings nearby. Persephone inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the grass with a sweet twist of honeysuckle.

Sir Anwir, having ceded his saddle to the princess, led the horse by the reins as he walked ahead. The rest of the royal guard followed, along with the prisoners and the bodies of the dead, but Sir Anwir was the first to pass through the portcullis gate.

A shout of joy was heard, and it spread quickly through the city along with the news: the princess had been saved! It was clear that an impromptu festival was inevitable, and though Persephone longed to join in, she knew it would not be proper; at least not until she had met with her father.

Maybe I can sneak out in all the excitement and confusion later on, she thought to herself.

Taking her eyes off of Sir Anwir for a moment, she looked back at the procession behind her. She spotted two guards about thirty feet away, holding tight to either side of their young captive, the deposed dark lord Melchior. He was bound at the wrist, his armor stripped away, his eyes downcast. He sported a few bruises from his rough treatment at the hands of the royal guard, and the stab wound she had left in his side was poorly bandaged with some old rags. In spite of what had happened, she almost felt sorry for him.

Some things are not always as they seem.

Melchior looked up, and their eyes met for just a moment. Persephone turned around in disgust, trying to convince herself that the man was getting what he deserved.

Trumpets sounded clear and loud in the air, announcing the arrival of the princess to the castle. Two dozen guards were lined up on either side of a long red carpet, keeping back a large gathering of the kingdom’s nobility. The carpet led up to the castle’s massive double doors, which now stood open. Standing there was her father, King Exidel, wearing his royal purple robes and sporting a slightly unkempt black beard. His green eyes welled with tears at the sight of his only daughter, and in spite of the guard captain’s attempts to stop him, he ran to Persephone as she was getting down off of her horse.

“Persephone, my beloved daughter!” he said, wrapping her in a tight hug, which she gladly returned.

“Father, I am sorry to have worried you so!” she sniffed, then said, “Clearly you have not been caring for yourself in my absence.”

Her father laughed a hearty laugh, and said, “I could say the same to you; what happened to your dress?”

She looked down, remembering her duel with Melchior and how she had torn off the material below the knee to give her more mobility. “Never mind that, I have a dozen just like it.”

“Well, you must be exhausted from your ordeal. Your lady-in-waiting has drawn a bath for you, and once you are clean and dressed, the cook is preparing your favorite roast lamb for dinner.”

“That sounds heavenly,” said Persephone, anticipating a return to her life of luxury. She moved towards the palace, but stopped when she heard her father’s voice turn to steel.

“So, you must be the miserable soul that kidnapped my daughter.”

She looked back and saw that Melchior had been brought to kneel before the king, eyes still downcast.

“Have you a word to say in your defense? Not that it will save you from the dungeons…”

Melchior remained silent. The king drew his sword and held it threateningly under Melchior’s throat. “My daughter is more precious to me than all the jewels contained within the walls of my kingdom. I think you will soon learn just what happens when she is threatened.”

He flipped the sword around and drove the pommel viciously into Melchior’s stomach. Melchior doubled over, coughing and trying to catch his breath. The king sheathed his sword and said, “Guards, take him away. Throw him in the deepest, darkest cell in the dungeon, and let him rot for a few days. No food, minimal water. He will never see the light of day again.”

The guards followed orders, picking up the limp form of Melchior and dragging him towards the castle. As he passed Persephone, he met her gaze one last time. There was no pleading in his expression; it almost looked like he was expecting something from her. Whatever it was, he was taken away before any words could be said.

“And you,” said the king, “must be the one who rescued my daughter. Tell me, brave sir knight, what is your name?”

“I am Sir Anwir, loyal servant of his majesty.”

“Sir Anwir, I owe you a debt that can never be repaid. Name your request, and I will grant it if it is within my power.”

“My lord, the only request I have is your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“Then you shall have it! Let it be known throughout the kingdom that the wedding of Sir Anwir and Princess Persephone will take place in one week’s time!”

A cheer went up among the guards and the gathered nobles as Persephone hurried to the stairs. Her heart beat violently in her chest; her dream was coming true in so many ways.

So why was she unhappy?

---

~Stories by Sol

Princess Persephone of the Exidel Kingdom watched in equal parts awe and fear as the brave knight Sir Anwir fought against the young dark lord Melchior to save her from his vile clutches. Awe gave way to fear as things took a turn against Sir Anwir; a powerful blow shattered his shield and sent him flying back, slamming against the wall of the dark throne room. He fell to the ground, dazed, and Melchior advanced quickly.

“Sir Anwir, your time is finally at an end!” He raised his sword high, intending to end the knight’s life in a single blow.

“STOP!” Persephone shouted. “Please, don’t kill him!”

Melchior froze mid-swing, and his head slowly swiveled in her direction. “And why would I do that?”

“Because…” Persephone reached for a reason to stop him, but the truth was all she had. “Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go! You are supposed to lose, Sir Anwir is supposed to rescue me, we get married, and live-”

“Happily ever after?” Melchior finished the clichéd phrase, spitting out the words like they were poison. Persephone nodded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes, watching as Sir Anwir slowly regained his senses. Before she could gain too much hope, however, Melchior lowered his sword and struck Sir Anwir with the hilt, knocking him unconscious. He turned to face her with a curious look in his eye. After a moment of silence, he tossed his sword at her feet, drawing a second one from a sheath on his back.

“If you want your happy ending, girl… then you’re going to have to earn it.”

Persephone looked from the sword at her feet to Melchior, then back to the sword. She could see her reflection in its polished blade. “But… you can’t be serious! I’ve never even held-”

“Don’t lie to me, Princess! Every member of your kingdom’s nobility is trained in at least the basics of swordplay from a young age!”

“Yes, but I have no practical-”

“What better time is there to learn? Or should I just kill Sir Anwir?”

Persephone nervously picked up the blade, cursing herself for not keeping up with her practice. Her teachers had always said she had natural talent, but she knew they were only trying to please her father the king. She adopted a defensive stance, holding her sword up by her head, the point aimed at Melchior.

“Ah, the Ox Guard. You’re not as helpless as you had me believing.”

He held his blade up high over his head, adopting what Persephone recognized as the High Guard. An aggressive stance that was difficult to beat if the wielder knows what they are doing. She took a deep breath, trying to recall her limited training, and steeled herself.

Melchior moved first, advancing quickly and bringing his blade down with great power and agility. Noting his dominant hand, Persephone moved to his left, deflecting the blade with her own and advancing towards his weaker side. Their blades clashed again as he parried her thrust and stepped out of her range, returning to his high guard.

“Excellent reading of your opponent. You are a natural; I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Persephone didn’t respond, but the words of praise gave her more confidence. She moved towards Melchior, inviting him to attack her again.

Melchior obliged, shifting his stance to strike in a downward motion, but this time at an angle, targeting her left shoulder. She ducked under the blade and moved in, trying to stab him in the chest, but he was still too fast, and she only barely grazed his black armor. He stepped into her attack, and she lost her balance, slipping on her dress and falling backwards.

“Hardly a fair fight, with such dainty clothes,” Melchior taunted.

Persephone indignantly swung at him, forcing him to back away. She got to her feet, grabbed the material of her dress, and forcefully tore it away, converting it from an elegant gown to an equally elegant skirt that stopped just above her knees.

This should help, she thought to herself. She raised her blade once more, just in time to block Melchior’s attack.

They continued to trade blows. His strikes were both fast and powerful, and Persephone knew that she couldn’t beat him if it came down to pure skill. It had only been a couple of minutes, but she was running out of steam. Melchior was barely breaking a sweat, even after his intense duel with Sir Anwir.

The blade heavy in her hands, Persephone let her blade drop, resting the tip on the floor in front of her and breathing heavily.

“Ready to give up, princess?”

“Never.”

“A shame. I did not want to mar that pretty face, but you leave me no choice…”

Melchior returned to his favored High Guard stance, preparing to end the duel with one decisive blow. Persephone watched his movements carefully, and just when he telegraphed his attack, she raised the tip of her blade and jabbed him in the side, in a gap beneath his breastplate. He backed away, lowering his weapon and holding his side. Persephone took advantage of the opening, advancing quickly and disarming him before raising her sword to point at his throat.

Melchior looked up at her in shock, then smiled. “Well done, princess. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Persephone, confused at his attitude in defeat.

“Some things are not always as they seem,” he said, his gaze wandering to Sir Anwir before returning to meet hers. “When you learn the truth about him, come find me in the dungeons.”

In disgust, Persephone struck him with the pommel of her blade, knocking him out. She rushed over to Sir Anwir, waking him up with a gentle shake.

“Sir knight, are you all right?”

Sir Anwir blinked twice, then said, “Princess? What’s going on?”

“Oh brave Sir knight, you’ve saved me! You have defeated the dark lord!”

“I… guess I did? I thought he knocked me out when you said…”

“Never mind what I said! Now take me home; I long to see the palace once again, and I’m sure my father is worried sick…”

She helped the knight to his feet. Members of the royal guard flooded the room, having fought their way past Melchior’s forces to reach her. They immediately took the dark lord into custody as Princess Persephone and Sir Anwir left the chamber, her arms around his waist.

Persephone could not, however, stop herself from stealing one last glance back at the young dark lord as the guards bound his wrists. She recalled his expression, and his last words to her. She did not believe him, but a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. Whether she realized it or not, she would be watching Sir Anwir closely over the coming days and weeks…

---

~Stories by Sol

Yeah, that's what I was going for.

The last thing I expected to hear while helplessly orbiting a black hole, slowly being drawn towards my death, was a knock on the door of my escape pod.

About a week ago, a deep space exploration craft, the ISV Aldrin, was attacked by a Vrekzul warship when it mistakenly drifted too close to their territory. Before we even knew what was happening, Vrekzul troopers were boarding us via short-range teleporters. Seeing the aliens for the first time filled each and every member of the crew with despair.

You see, the Vrekzul are not an aggressive species. They are, however, isolationist and territorial in the most extreme form imaginable. Nobody has seen a Vrekzul’s face and lived to tell the tale, and any foreign ships that enter their territory are never seen again. We have known about them for decades, and yet first contact has not even been established. Every attempt at diplomacy is met with either indifference or violence, depending on the nature and proximity of the attempt.

We were not the first humans to witness the faces of the Vrekzuls, but we would not live to tell anyone about it. Or at least, that’s what was supposed to happen.

I was a part of the crew on board that ship. I was fortunate enough to be on the night shift, performing maintenance on the escape pods. When the alarms sounded and the screams began, I dropped my tools and backed towards the nearest pod, just in case. An inhuman creature suddenly materialized in the middle of the room, in a flash of green and blue light. I got a good look at its face before stumbling back into the pod and slamming the eject button. The creature lunged at me, but the door slammed shut in its face, and my pod was launched into space.

If only things had continued to go well. The warship must have detected the life pod’s signature, and it unleashed a salvo of ballistic warheads at my little pod. The next thing I know, shockwaves rock my escape pod, tossing it around like a tin can in a hurricane. Strapped down in one of the seats, I held on for dear life until the turbulence died down.

I checked the computer for a status update, discovering that my thrusters were in critical condition. Worse yet, the pod was completely off course, and in a matter of hours, it would pass near enough to a black hole to be caught in its orbit. I spent those hours desperately trying to repair the thrusters, or find any other source of thrust to change my course. It was hopeless. I gave up hope long before reaching the black hole.

I knew my time was limited. How limited, I had no idea; I was a mechanic, not a science officer. There were some emergency rations stored under each seat, so I could at least avoid dying of hunger or thirst for a good long while. I spent the next week in a haze between despair and acceptance, mechanically eating and drinking in spite of my doomed fate. Once or twice I considered jettisoning the supplies, or even just overriding the lock on the door and taking a suitless spacewalk. I didn’t do it, of course; there was still a small part of me that hoped beyond hope for an escape.

Which brings us to today, when I heard a knock on my escape pod’s door.

I checked the computer, and couldn’t believe my eyes. Some kind of rescue ship had docked with my escape pod, and it didn’t seem to be affected by the black hole’s gravitational pull at all. In fact, we were moving away from the black hole at a speed I thought was impossible. I worried that it was the Vrekzul, who didn’t want to leave my fate to chance, but they wouldn’t knock. They could simply beam aboard my pod, with or without my permission.

I engaged the intercom, and said, “Hello? Who’s there?”

The voice that responded sounded human, but it seemed to be speaking in a bizarre language that didn’t sound like anything I had ever heard before.

“I’m sorry, but does anyone over there speak English?” I asked.

I only heard more of the foreign tongue.

Deciding that this was going nowhere fast, and with the hopeful thought that these people wouldn’t have saved my pod if they wanted me dead, I disengaged the lock on my door. I hear the hiss of decompression as the pod and the ship equalize their pressure, and the door slid open.

I stepped into the empty airlock, and was immediately assaulted by a series of lights that came from strange instruments mounted in the corners of the room. I shielded my eyes for a moment before they all stopped. A mechanical voice said something in the same language I heard before, and the airlock opened to the ship itself.

I saw seven individuals standing in a semicircle, enclosing the door before me. Six of them had their hands up, palms facing towards me with a faint glow emanating from a device grafted into their gloves. Their threatening posture made me think that they were weapons of some kind, so I raised my hands and backed away. The seventh figure, clearly the one in charge here, spoke to me in a commanding tone, still using that same language.

“English?” I asked. “Anyone?”

The group looked at each other, confused. The leader turned to the one on his left and gave a quick command. The armed figure nodded, and the weapon’s glow switched from white to blue. It flashed… and I lost consciousness.

---

I don’t know how long it’s been, but I just woke up in an empty room with no doors or windows. Artificial light floods the room, in spite of the lack of light sources. The walls are covered in a series of symbols, none of which mean anything to me.

“Hello?” I shout. “Is anyone there?”

Suddenly, the wall in front of me parts like a pair of sliding double doors, and a woman enters the room. The wall closes behind her, and she smiles at me.

“Hello.” she says. “How are you?”

Her speech is slow and deliberate, like she’s speaking to a child. Or like she is speaking an unfamiliar language.

“I am doing fine,” I respond. “What is going on?”

“Please, slow your talkings and calm. I have had the studyings of your words, but not the practicing.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to accommodate her. “What is going on? Where am I?”

“Explain me: what year?”

It takes me a moment to parse her broken English, but I think she’s asking me what year it is. A strange question, but I respond, “It’s August 14th, 2097.”

“I was thinking such. Your words are gone. The phrasings… ‘dead language’ mean something?”

I swallow nervously, and ask the dreaded question: “What year is it?”

“The year 7102 is now.”

I reel back at her words. “7102? That’s impossible; it’s only been a week! I can’t… my home… my family…”

“Please, being the calm.” She reaches out and touches one of the symbols on the wall. A section of the wall reassembles itself into a chair, which I fall back into. I lean forward and put my head in my hands, shocked beyond words.

After a moment, the woman asks, “My name… is Celethe. What is… your name?”

I look to her, and can see a mask of concern. At least humanity still exists. “My name is Markus.”

She smiles. “Nice to… meet… you, Markus. Are you okay to answering questions?”

I take a deep breath, lean back in my chair, and say, “I can do that, but you’re going to have to work on your English.”

---

~Stories by Sol

When the director of the organization approached me with the final mission, I knew exactly what it would cost me in the end… and yet I accepted it without hesitation. What does that say about me, I wonder?

I looked over the dossier. The target: Adam Davis. Inventor of the prototype that eventually led to the device on my wrist. Born March 30th, 2189. The objective: without killing the target, stop him from inventing his prototype. This means that I had to pick the right date between his birth and the day of the first time jump, on July 14th, 2214.

A distant explosion sounded overhead. Sounds like the organization has been breached already. It’s only a matter of… time… until it is all over. I look to the director; no words are necessary, so I simply salute. He returns the gesture, and quickly exits the room, giving me the time necessary to make the jump.

I set the device on my wrist to December 31st, 2211, and begin the priming sequence. I spend my last ten minutes looking around my quarters in the organization’s last remaining underground safehouse. It is clean and spartan, with hardly a hint of individuality. That’s to be expected; the devices we use to travel in time do not allow us to bring anything along other than our bodies and the specially designed suits that are hardwired into said device. Travel before the invention of the suits was… awkward, to say the least. I check the integrity of my suit (all clear), and I lower the goggles and raise the face mask into place.

Finally, the priming sequence is completed. Just in time; I can hear the sound of weapons discharging outside my door. Before the enemy can get inside, I set the destination, and activate the device. The world around me begins to fade and distort, though I know it’s really me that is fading and distorting. The safehouse disappears, and a new scene slowly takes its place.

A Christmas tree, haphazardly decorated, stands tall in the corner of the room. A cozy fireplace casts its warm glow into the room, with no other light sources to aid it. A radio can be heard coming from the next room over, playing slow and peaceful Christmas music.

A man is laid out on the couch, grasping an empty bottle in one hand. His sleep is peaceful, but the trails on his cheeks indicate that he did not enter this sleep peacefully.

I approach the man, feeling guilty for choosing such a vulnerable time in his life to do this, but knowing that it is the best (and possibly only) way for this mission to succeed. I gently shake his shoulder. He stirs, then slowly wakes up. His eyes are dull; he barely registers the apparent stranger in his home.

“Adam,” I say, “we need to talk.”

“Who’re you?” he slurs. “If you’re here to rob me, take whatever you want. There’s nothing of value here anymore…”

This is harder than I thought. I almost activate the return function on my device, aborting the mission altogether. Instead, I say, “You are working on something. A device that will change history forever.”

“You want my blueprints? Take them; they’re just theoretical at this point. It’ll be years before a prototype can be realized.”

“Precisely two years, six months, and fifteen days from now.”

That sobers him up a bit. “You sound so sure… but that must mean that you…”

“Yes, Adam. I am from the future.”

“Then it works!” Adam stands up, dropping the empty bottle to the soft carpet with a thud. He reaches his hands to the skies and shouts with joy, tears welling up in his eyes.

I wait for him to sit back down. Eventually he does, and he looks at me eagerly. “I knew I would figure it out one day! It had to be possible! Now I can go back and undo my mistakes!”

“You can’t.”

“What do you mean, I can’t? Sure, it will take some time, but knowing what awaits me at the end…”

“You misunderstand. I can’t let you.”

Adam’s face snaps from joy to fury in an instant. He grabs me by the shoulders and says in a tight but intense voice, “You don’t understand. A year ago, I was married to a beautiful woman. I had a beautiful daughter. I was caught up in my research; I told them to go to the New Years’ Fireworks without me. They got into a car, hit a patch of ice, and…”

His grip on me weakened as he sank back down onto the couch. He looked as if he might burst into tears, but after a moment (and a sharp inhale) he looked up at me. “But that doesn’t matter. Once the machine is ready, I can go back and tell them not to go. Then I can see them again, and-”

I remove my mask and goggles, and his speech stops dead. He looks at me with wide, unbelieving eyes. After a moment that feels like an eternity, he finally speaks again.

“Sophia?”

Every part of me wants to reach out to him, to hold him once again. But I know better. Doing so will only make this more painful, and it might endanger the mission. Keeping my expression neutral, I respond: “Hello, Adam.”

He moves to embrace me, but I hold out a hand to stop him. “Adam, you have to stop this. I know you are in pain; I know all you wanted was to bring me and Charlotte back. You are a brilliant man, but your brilliance is going to have far-reaching repercussions that you can’t even begin to comprehend. I have come back to convince you to never invent time travel.”

I get it all out as quickly as possible, afraid that if I stop, I won’t be able to finish. Unmasking myself had been a risk, and it left me more emotionally vulnerable, but I knew Adam. He wasn’t about to bow to the will of a stranger, so I had to show him that I wasn’t one.

“Sophia, I… I missed you so much. That night, I said such horrible things, and I…”

I can’t stop the sad smile from crossing my face. “It’s all right, Adam. I forgive you. Please don’t beat yourself up over this anymore.”

“Sophia, I can’t stop now. You are here, and that means it worked. I went back and I saved you, and… where’s our daughter?”

“She… didn’t make it.”

“But… how did I…”

“You saved her, but she died in a battle, decades later. A battle that came about because of your invention.”

“You don’t understand! If I don’t invent time travel, then I never went back to save you. If my grasp of time theory is accurate, the universe will self-correct, and you will…”

“I know. It’s what I signed up for when I made the jump. Call me crazy, but if it avoids the future I came from…”

Adam stared at me with longing, but I could see that my words were getting to him. I could also feel it; the world around me was starting to fade. I smiled, knowing that my mission was almost over.

“No… Sophia, what is happening?”

“You realize that I am right… you’re not going to invent the machine…”

“Wait, please, just let us spend one last night together! Just let me hold you one last time!”

“That will only add to your pain. Please, you have to let me go.”

“I can’t… I’m not strong enough.”

“Yes you are, Adam. You’re the one who sent me on this mission.”

Those words are the final nail in the coffin. As the world goes dark around me, I look at his face one last time. Tears are freely flowing down his cheeks, but I can see the shock in his eyes give way to resolve. He nods, and speaks the last words I would hear in this life: “I’ll never forget the time we spent together. Goodbye, my love.”

~Stories by Sol