Crimson and Gold

Rosa’s body fell to the ground.

The dagger was still stuck in her throat, but the blood stopped flowing. Her face was frozen in the same mortified expression from the final moment of her life.

Her eyes, albeit completely still, seemed to be stuck asking one question.

How could this happen?

The answer to this wasn’t something she would ever be given a chance to learn.

Saria didn’t waste time.

She leaned back as far as she could, stretching her tied arms to reach the dagger.

After a bit of fiddling, her fingers managed to grip the handle and cut through the ropes tied around her wrists.

She didn’t spare Rosa even one glance, rushing towards Lysandra the moment she was free.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” she asked, while freeing the Princess.

Lysandra threw herself at her lover, tossing her arms around her neck and holding her so tightly that Saria couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t say anything. She simply hid her head in the nook of Saria’s neck and wept.

Lysandra didn’t doubt Saria even for a moment. There was no chance that she would have given up without a fight. However, being so close to death, so close that she could see the Abyss, it was terrifying.

Saria held her tightly, gently caressing her back, whispering words of comfort. “I’m here. I’m here. It’s alright,” she kept repeating, as the guilt weighed in her heart.

After all, it was her fault. If not for her, nothing would have happened. If she were more careful, nothing would have happened. She allowed herself to relax, and because of that, they ended up in this situation.

But this wasn’t the time for wallowing in self-pity. They still had to escape from the villa.

After crying out all of the immediate overflowing emotions, Lysandra finally relaxed her grip on Saria and pulled away just enough to look at her.

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping her tears. “What about you? …The wound!” she gasped as her mind started getting clearer. She immediately reached towards the bloodied fabric of Saria’s dress and pulled it aside to assess the damage.

“It’s alright. It’s almost completely healed now,” Saria comforted, showing a thin red cut, slightly below her ribs.

Lysandra met her eyes in disbelief. “But how?”

“I don’t know,” Saria shook her head, “I think being so close to losing you triggered something,” she said, cupping Lysandra’s face with her hands. Her thumb caressed her cheek, still bearing the traces of tears.

“I can sense everything so much easier now.” Saria closed her eyes and put her forehead against Lysandra’s. “Your heartbeat is so clear.”

Saria’s fingers slid down to her neck, tracing the edge of the small cut left when Rosa pressed the dagger.

She could sense the agitated whispers of Lysandra’s blood, so eager to follow her command. There was something very familiar in them. A tone that she seemed to recognize, but was unable to tell from where.

At that point, Saria didn’t think much of it. She was already so used to sensing Lysandra with clarity unmatched by anyone else.

Perhaps that was simply a trace of destiny that brought them together.

Saria focused on the whispers.

It didn’t take long to beckon them. One command, and they followed obediently, closing the cut on Lysandra’s neck.

The Princess touched the tingling spot on her throat, uncertain of what had happened. “What did you do?”

Saria opened her eyes and smiled at her softly. “I was making sure you were unharmed.” She pressed a warm kiss to Lysandra’s lips, then pulled them both up.

“It’s not over yet. We still have to get out of here, but it may not be easy.”

Before, when she scanned the villa, Saria discovered that all of the servants and the guards were killed, but Rosa didn’t do it alone. “There are trained fighters all over the place. Around fifty of them. Probably cultists.”

“Cultists?”

Saria nodded while gathering her hair and tying it in an improvised ponytail. “The village Rosa mentioned, the one I destroyed eleven years ago, wasn’t just that. It was a cultist commune. They denounced the Ten, Āsmānar, even the Dragons, claiming that they are false gods and instead worshiped some mage as their One True God.”

“I have never heard about them,” Lysandra furrowed in contemplation. The existence of a group like this seemed like a big problem for Aelius, so there should have been some knowledge about them.

“That’s because Sekaris wiped them out,” Saria replied, preparing her dress for the fight.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t be mistaken. They didn’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts. Sekaris simply hates competition,” she said, and froze for a brief moment.

“Someone is coming. Hide there and don’t come out until I tell you to.” She pointed at a storage shelf by the door.

Saria took the spot on the opposite side from Lysandra. Pressing her back to the wall, she waited with the dagger in hand for the cultist.

The man walked down the stairs and peeked through the small window in the cellar door. “What the hell!” noticing the body and prisoners going missing, he didn’t think twice before unlocking the door and parading into the room.

This was exactly what Saria was waiting for.

The moment he stepped inside, she grabbed him from behind, covered his mouth with her hand, and then sank the dagger in his heart.

Saria didn’t find any weapons on him, which confirmed her suspicion that there must be mages among the cultists. That complicated matters a bit.

Fighting melee or ranged enemies wasn’t that big of a deal as long as they fought with weapons. Magic was much more unpredictable, a wild card that required much more caution to be dealt with.

Fortunately, she wasn’t going without a secret weapon of her own.

“Stay close to me and do as I say,” Saria instructed Lysandra. “If a fight breaks out, find a spot to hide. It’s important because we will have to deal with mages.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” Lysandra took Saria’s hand and followed her out of the basement.

They reached the top of the stairs, leading directly to a storage room.

Saria waited by the door with her eyes closed, using her abilities to check if their path was clear.

There was one cultist in the room to the right and two more further down the hallway. Another one was waiting at the passage leading to the main building.

Coming up with an improvised plan, Saria grabbed a chain from the hook on the wall and took two deep breaths.

Then, she stormed through the door, threw the dagger at one of the cultists in the hallway, and immediately turned to deal with the man in the room next to her.

She dodged his attack, went under his arm, and wrapped the chain around his neck.

Using him as a shield, she returned to the hallway, where the other cultist just managed to snap out of a shock after having his partner killed and was rushing at her.

“I have no idea how you got out, but you’re not going anywhere else!” he roared.

He didn’t even hesitate when he raised his hand and summoned flames blasting from it, burning the man Saria used as a shield alive.

The flames engulfed the cultist, melting his skin in a matter of seconds.

Saria didn’t have much time. Her only cover was about to turn to dust, so she focused her mind, searching for the connection with the mage’s blood.

The whispers weren’t as clear as Lysandra’s, but it was enough for her to take control.

She opened her eyes, and the bloodied tear streamed down her cheek.

In the next moment, the mage’s hand got yanked by an invisible force, redirecting the flames right at himself.

The stream of fire blasted in his face, devouring him whole in a heartbeat.

Saria dropped the burned corpse and went back to the storage room where she had left Lysandra.

“Close your eyes,” she said, holding the Princess’ hand tightly as she led her out. “I don’t want you to look at this.”

She guided Lysandra outside, carefully avoiding the bodies in the hallway, and only allowed her to open her eyes once they left them behind.

The last cultists in their way were no longer a problem. Saria sneaked behind him and in one clean move snapped his neck.

Once that was done, there was only one last hurdle in their way—getting past a group of enemies in front of the villa.

“Wait for me here. I’ll clear the path and come back for you,” Saria said.

“That’s too many of them! You have trouble standing on your own. You won’t be able to take them all.” Lysandra refused to let go of Saria’s hand.

“We don’t have a choice. The other side has even more of them. We still would have to circle around to find a horse since it’s too far away from the town to walk.”

“Don’t go. Please don’t go. We’ll think of something,” Lysandra begged. “Or let me go with you. I can help. I’ll distract them or.. Or..”

It was clear that everything they experienced in such a short time was traumatizing for the Princess. Being so close to her own death and then watching her beloved risk her life to save them, Lysandra was overwhelmed by fear.

Saria wished she had more time to calm her down and assure her that everything was going to be alright, but every second they lingered there was making the escape more difficult.

She cupped Lysandra’s face and started kissing her. First her forehead, her eyes reddened from tears, her cheeks, and even her nose. Finally, she embraced the Princess’ quivering lips with her own and kissed them softly.

“I promise you, my life belongs to you, and only you can take it,” Saria whispered, breaking the kiss.

“Then you will live forever, because I would never do that,” Lysandra answered.

Saria kissed Lysandra one more time before exiting through the front door. There was no time for sneaking, she attacked the cultists head-on.

The first enemy fell before he could register what happened. When his stabbed through the heart body hit the ground, Saria was already slicing the throat of another.

By that time, others finally noticed that something was happening.

To kill the third cultist, Saria threw the dagger that lodged in between his eyes.

The fourth man attacked her from the side.

Saria ducked, avoiding being cut with his blade, caught his arm, and broke his wrist. She caught the sword falling from his hand and pierced it through his heart.

That was when the arrows and spells came flying at her.

She jumped away, finding a brief cover behind a tree, then dashed in a zigzag at the fifth cultists. Most of the attacks missed, except for one crossbow bolt that cut through her dominant arm.

Wincing from pain, she exchanged a few quick blows with another sword-wielding enemy, then sliced his head off.

In the same move, she immediately blocked another attack coming from behind and used her bare hand to catch a second blade swinging at her from the left.

The steel sank deep in her palm, but she didn’t let go, locking it in an iron grip.

“Now wha—” the first man with whom she crossed blades was denied his mockery. With a pop, a mist of blood exploded from his head.

Saria turned her tearful eye to the other man, frozen still by shock. In the next second, he fell to the ground with the heart in his chest torn in two.

Albeit everything happened in a matter of seconds, the toll on Saria’s body was immense.

Just for a moment, her vision blurred, and her head got dizzy.

A ball of fire shot at her. Saria tried to dodge, but reacting a split second too late, she didn’t move completely out of the way.

The flames crashed into her left shoulder blade, melting her skin all the way to her elbow.

“Shit!” she groaned, dodging another attack. Combined with the fatigue and Rosa’s drug weakening her body, the pain added another layer of haze clouding her mind.

For the first time, she felt like this was more than she could handle alone.

But nobody was coming to their rescue.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up the sword and gripped it tightly. As long as she could stand, she would keep fighting.

Saria glared at the cultist standing between her and the villa’s gate. Two swords in his hands and a nasty, overconfident smile. In other circumstances, killing him would be child’s play.

The problem was, Saria was so horribly tired.

The sword in her hand felt too heavy. Her muscles were refusing to listen, and the burn on her shoulder and arm was pure agony.

All she wanted in that moment was to be back to those days she spent with Lysandra in bed. To sleep in each other’s arms without any care in the world.

And right when she thought she wouldn’t be given a chance to experience it once again, something unexpected happened.

An arrow pierced through the cultist’s throat, followed by a barrage aimed at the others in the front yard.

As the man’s body hit the ground, a silhouette appeared behind him.

Clad in dark rouge armor with a bow in hand, the person approached Saria, then took off the hood covering their face. “I told you it’s not what you think.”

Saria blinked twice, having a hard time believing her eyes.

“Eris!?”

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