- More problems?!
Lord Igion rises as he speaks. The less muscular dwarf who had burst through the door drops to his knees the moment he realizes who stands before him. His forehead touches the cold stone floor between his hands as he stammers out his words.
- Lord Igion... forgive this subordinate for not noticing your presence sooner.
- Do not worry, Envoy of Realms. Raise your head and tell me what has happened.
Back in the underground...
Heavy footsteps echo, growing faster and louder. The screams have stopped — now, only the sound of boots striking stone fill the air contrasting the three distinct breaths.
- Lady Marion, you alright?
- I could've dealt with them by myself... if only I wasn't hurt.
Marion tries to stand again, clutching her wounded arm. Blood still drips steadily as she moves closer. Valerie's face turns pale, her gaze fixed on the red stain spreading over Marion's sleeve. Her eyes are distant... blank, almost hollow.
Baliot places a heavy hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle silent shake.
- Valerie. You with us, love?
- Oh — I am sorry. Yes... here, let me wrap this around your wound.
Valerie tears a strip from the hem of her red dress and ties it tightly around Marion's bicep. A flicker of regret crosses her eyes. "If I hadn't left her alone..."
- Thanks, sweetie.
Hey, shorty. Those two weren't alone. I took down three more at the tunnel entrance.
- Five intruders, then. Is that all?
- No, they are patrolling the woods at the back of the fortress. The dwarven stronghold must be surrounded by now. I was able to seal the door before they slash my arm.
- I need to warn the Lord.
- I don't know what's happening, but this is too dangerous. We have to get out of here. Shorty, is there another way out besides those stairs?
- There's a tunnel on the north side of the fortress, near the fields. It leads straight to the nearest town. But that quarter's heavily guarded.
As the two speak, Valerie's own words return to her — I'm not running away -—but now... she isn't so sure anymore. She is so lost in her thoughts, she doesn't even notice that Baliot is no longer with them.
"Marion's worse than before... I can't leave her alone..." The thick scent of blood burns her nose, the echoing footsteps won't stop pounding in her ears... "But the dwarves..."
Her thoughts spiral. Regret claws at her chest as she wishes never had left the castle. "What can I do to help?! Am I of any help at all...? I never left the castle before... If I knew the outside world was this terrifying... What am I even doing here? I'm just a burden after all..."
Valerie's legs give out. Her knees hit the cold, hard floor — not as painfully as regret hits her courage. Physically and mentally beaten down, Valerie covers her face in despair.
- Valerie!? What happened, love?
- You should leave me behind... I am just a burden...
Her voice came out barely a whisper, almost lost beneath the distant rumble of collapsing stone above them.
Marion, sits against the wall, letting out a faint, tired laugh — not mocking, but warm.
- A burden, huh? That's a funny way to describe the girl who just threw herself at a man twice her size.
Valerie doesn't answer. Resting her hands on her thighs, her eyes trace Marion's wounded arm from top to bottom, then fix on the floor as another drop of blood falls.
- You think this wound's your fault, don't you?
Valerie blinks, startled by the sudden sharpness in her tone.
- If I hadn't left you—
- I'd still be bleeding, love.
You think the world bends around your choices that much? I got hit because I fought hurt from the start. Not because you left.
For a moment, silence wavers between them — just the echo of their uneven breathing and the faraway chaos above.
Then Marion's voice lowers, almost breaking.
- You know what I saw back there?
Not a delicate butterfly. Not a scared doll.
I saw someone who stood when everyone else would've frozen or run. When injustice happened right in front of you, you saved him — you saved me. That's what matters.
Valerie's throat tightens. Her eyes glisten with tears threatning to fall, but she forced herself to meet Marion's gaze.
- I was terrified.
- Good. So was I. That's how you know you still care.
Now stop punishing yourself for being human.
Marion smiles faintly, brushing a lonely tear from Valerie's cheek with her good hand.
- You want to help them, don't you? Then help.
But do it because you chose to... not because you owe anyone.
Something inside Valerie cracks — not in weakness, but release.
The fear doesn't vanish, but it no longer rules her. She stands, breath steadying, eyes firm.
- ...I'm not running away.
I want to help them.
Please, Mr. Baliot, take me to the most authoritative person in the dwarves' kingdom.
Baliot, who had just returned from moving and tying up the five soldiers, nods — confident in the girl standing before him. No questions asked. His trust had been earned. Now, there were a hundred more dwarves to go.
- We must go to the Tower of Rasputin.
Valerie's eyes burn fiercely, fixed on the old dark wooden ceiling. Chunks of dirt and dust fall over them with each thunderous explosion echoing through the halls.
- Lead the way!!
They turn right and hurry up the narrow stone stairs.
At the top, they can see dwarves rushing back and forth with heavy, finely crafted weapons. Though frantic, none moved without purpose. They were preparing for something big.
The ceiling of the room is high — too high for a dwarven home, yet fitting for a fortress. Light streams through narrow openings, catching the gleam of sharp blades and perfectly crafted armour. The tall pillars extend to the roof in the shape of a v, each pillar detailed with a small handcraft ensign. A brick tower, crowned by a cone-shaped roof guarded by two crossed hammers.
- This is the Grand Hall. We need to reach that small door on the right — the kitchen door.
- Kitchen? Aren't we supposed to go to a tower?
Marion's confusion is a bit too loud, and two dwarves turn in their direction. For a moment, their breaths catch.
Then, a loud metallic crash echoes through the hall, drawing everyone's attention. The dwarves drop what they're doing and rush toward the opposite door.
Two sharp glances fly toward Marion, making her quick apology shrink to a whisper.
- Sorry...
- The kitchen's a short cut.
Valerie, Marion, and Baliot crouch low to stay unseen as Baliot lead the way toward the meeting room of the Deep Council, located at the highest floor of the Tower of Rasputin.
The exit from the kitchen opens into a long corridor lined with countless doors and turns. The cracks in the bricks were the only things that changed after each corner — everything else looked eerily the same. Old doors alternated between rusted iron and aged wood. The air hung heavy, thick with dust and the faint scent of oil and smoke. Candle lanterns mounted on the walls were their only light. Perfectly spaced from one another, the small flames flickered weakly inside their glass prisons, painting the stone passage in wavering shades of gold.
Carefully following Baliot's back, feet light as feathers, the two women breathe quietly. But after some time, a loud sigh breaks the silence.
- Sigh... Shorty, where even is that Tower of... whoever? We've been going in circles. At this rate, we're going to get caught!
- Not in circles, Lady Marion. The second corridor on the right had two wooden doors and five iron ones. Plus, one of the candles was out — the third one, if my memory serves me right. We haven't seen any more candles out, and according to the turns we've taken, we've been heading northeast from the kitchen.
Though we've been walking for quite a while... how much farther is it, Mr. Baliot?
They stare at her, astonished.
- What?! Did I say something wrong...?
Baliot and Marion exchange a glance, silently wondering if perhaps they're the ones missing something.
- The door right ahead leads to the tower's staircase. Please, move quietly. The guards may be nearby.
Heavy footsteps echo, accompanied by hurried breathing as they take the next step forward. Startled, they immediately crouch together.
A dwarf bursts from the intersection ahead, nearly slipping as he turns left, sprinting straight toward the staircase door. He slams into it with a loud thud — his head jerks back, but he barely pauses before throwing the door open and rushing up the tall tower.
- Ahah! What was that? You shorties sure are laughable creatures.
Baliot grunts.
- Lady Marion, restrain yourself. Let's follow him.
- Your words are my orders, princess.
Valerie's heart falters for a moment. A quick shake of her head chases away the thought. There was no time to worry about her identity now.
The staircase was wide, without a single crack in sight — clearly well maintained and precious. Silver and gold entwined along the sides in perfect harmony, forming intricate patterns that flowed with the spiral as it climbed upward. Two narrow, pointed arch windows let in beams of sunlight, casting sharp streaks across the steps.
A line of small candle lanterns hung from the center of the tower, descending all the way down. Some hung higher, others lower, but all were unlit — their glass and freshly polished chains still catching glimmers of sunlight.
The air there carries a sense of grandeur.
As they climb, faint voices begin to echo from above, growing clearer with every turn.
When they finally reach the top, the stairs open into a broad landing. A massive stone wall stands before them, and at its center, an enormous door lies open — light spilling out from within. The voices are coming from there.
Baliot raises a hand, signaling them to stop. Quietly, they press themselves against the section of wall that extends beside the doorway. That's the only patch of shadow left to hide in. From there, Valerie and Marion peek through the edge, just enough to glimpse the room beyond without being seen.
Valerie's pulse quickens, her breath shallow. Whatever is being discussed inside that chamber is not meant for outsiders' ears.
- Lord Igion... forgive this subordinate for not noticing your presence sooner.
- Do not worry, Envoy of Realms. Raise your head and tell me what has happened.
- My Lord... i-it's the humans. Th-they... they... it's horrible.
The dwarf collapses to his knees, the loose leather of his trousers spreading across the floor. He stares down, hands trembling. Cornelious steps forward, kneeling beside him to offer comfort.
- It's okay, Petrov. Breathe...
- They killed them... th-they-
- Spit it out! Who did they kill?!
Darian slams his fist on the table, anger flaring once again. Valerie trembles with the noise.
- Th-the humans brought our women... th-their he-heads!!
- What?!
- Their heads are impaled on their spears... and they show them as trophies.
Four years ago...
The street stretched all the way to the great gate by the castle walls. Small, perfect stone squares, alternating between light gray and white, made the ground look graceful and refined.
The buildings on either side were painted in soft tones of pink, blue, white, and gray, with delicate white trims beautifully carved around the light wooden windows and doors.
Everywhere she looked, people in elegant clothes laughed and enjoyed themselves. Along the sides of the road, small stalls stood crowded together, where the humbly dressed displayed their goods, hoping to sell them for a fair price. Amid the forced, proud, and judgmental smiles of hierarchy, the little princess walked with a thin, straight line for a mouth — unbothered by any of it.
Her dark red summer dress stood in stark contrast to the pale colours around her. A yellow flower adorned her red hair at the end of her braid. Her expression was serious, unapproachable. Her firm steps were followed by a tall, strong figure walking lazily behind — her guard. The air that followed them felt heavy and dim, too dark for such a bright and lively street. As the two passed, people turned to gossip.
A toppled cart blocked the way, forcing her to stop — and unwillingly listen to the deliberately loud whispers of two nearby ladies.
- Is that the Cold Fire Princess?!
- Look at her, as emotionless as ever.
- Her beauty may burn like fire, but her face is cold as ice.
- Didn't you hear about her mother? His Majesty's wild lover...
- You mean that crazy slave from a few years ago?
- Yes, that woman. A slave couldn't teach her daughter how to smile.
The princess clenched her teeth together. Her chest hurting like her heart was stabbed."Those are all lies. She was the sweetest person in the whole world."
A tear threatened to fall, but she wiped it away immediately, never breaking her painfully taught posture. Her guard, standing two meters behind, only smirked and enjoyed the show. Not a single glance at the girl. Not a single word to correct the disrespect. Not a single act of kindness.
She kept walking as soon as the way was cleared. Her inner voice screamed at her to run — to break the untouchable facade, to let the tears fall and yell her pain out for all to see. But instead, she exhaled softly, forcing her movements to stay steady.
"Breathe slow. Walk poised and straight. Keep your face gracefully hard — like marble. Just like a princess should."
The library was just down the street: a grand, refined building with a triangular entrance held by two marble pillars, large white windows, and a roof tiled in gold.
Inside, light-colored wooden planks, perfectly aligned, gave a warm yet elegant look to those who stepped through the main door. The furniture, in the same pale wood tone, adorned with delicate touches of white and gold, filled the room with quiet sophistication.
The ceiling was high, and the marble pillars extended upward, curving into arches that met above, making the space feel even taller — almost cathedral-like.
Yet what was meant to calm her only made her stomach twist. The same whispers followed her everywhere. Each new corner, each doorway, seemed to open into more creatively cruel gossip.
She headed to her usual spot in the history section — almost always empty. She didn't mind; in fact, she was grateful for the silence, for the gossip-free space. No judging eyes would reach her here, not while she studied in that quiet, secluded corner.
Her guard, meanwhile, stayed behind, flirting shamelessly with the librarian. He praised how beautifully her freckles made her pink cheeks stand out. How her golden hair matched the gold touches of the furniture. Her embarassed laugh could be heard from far.
The princess turned her focus to the bookshelf, grabbing the next study book without even looking at it. She had been studying them in order along the shelves. She walked to her table and sat on the elegant chair. The laughter echoed once more as she looked down at the book's cover.
"The Merciless Empire of Slaves."
Her heart wavered. Her mind lost grip on its princess-like composure. It was too much for one day. Her hands tightened around the book before she quietly sprinted back to the shelf, replacing it in its rightful place and grabbing the next one instead.
An aggressive whisper snapped her back to her senses.
- I can't keep doing this shit anymore. The guards almost caught me last time.
The voice came from a man, tense and exhausted, his anger barely contained as he leaned closer to the other in front of him. His whisper, though low, carried urgency.
- You owe it to your wife. We owe it to our kingdom. People deserve to know the truth about who they're ruled by — about what they've done to their own people... what they did to the love of your life.
The taller man spoke with conviction, appealing to the other's fading devotion.
- My children won't survive without a father!
The desperate man's voice wavered, rising despite his effort to hold it back.
- Shh... Don't raise your voice. You signed the terms when you joined the Investigation Guild. We work for a greater cause.
- I need the money to feed my girls but it won't matter if I am not alive to use it...
- Your girls might be next — taken and sold to those disgusting bastards!
The taller man tried to steady him, speaking with controlled fury, but his words only deepened the other's panic.
- No... I can't let that happen... Maybe there's another way. I can't keep stealing their documents and getting away with it.
- You agreed to infiltrate their organization. You think you can just walk out now? You know too much. The only way is to finish them — for good.
- I can't... I can't... They treat me like scum... And the screams, the cries... I can't take it anymore... There has to be another way...
The man's desperation grew louder than his anger. Sobs broke through his words, raw and trembling.
- The king... Maybe the king can help. He saved that slave and made her his lover years ago. Don't we have enough proof to take it to the king?
"Mom..." Valerie's heart stilled. Her breath caught on the single word as the two man continued.
- That only happened because the king fell for her beauty. Her unusual red hair bewitched him. Inside, he is as rotten as those under his command.
- But he saved her from the massacre. Maybe we can appeal his kindness.
"Kindness of the king...?" Valerie's brows furrowed. The man who calls himself king — the one who has made her life a living nightmare with endless discipline until her legs bled — her so-called father. He was incapable of even a flicker of compassion in his iron-clad heart.
The taller man let out a bitter laugh.
- Kindness? Our great king is greedy and cruel. If it weren't for her beauty, the day the Empire of Slavery began would've claimed one more head for the palace walls fifteen years ago — a red one.
Valerie touches her hair softly. "A head... with... red hair..."
Her chest tightens; her pulse hammers in her ears. The words replay in her mind like a cold, unstoppable wave. Her fingers clutch her braid as her trembling hands snatch the book from the shelf. She slides down to the floor, legs folding beneath her, eyes wide and unblinking. Cold sweat runs down her back as she flips the pages with shaking fingers.
"The Merciless Empire of Slaves
Slaves have been captured since the first attempts to conquer the world..."
Her breathing quickens as her eyes race over the lines. The library, the golden light, the comforting quiet — they all vanish. Only the loud, thunderous beat of her heart remains, pushing her toward a panic that builds with every sentence.
"Ruthless nobles forced them to toil in the mines, barely feeding them — giving just enough to keep them alive and useful. The man's faith was tempted after some years, and since then, women have been taken for other purposes: a minor offense against a noble could legally brand a woman as a slave. Some captors even flouted the king's own laws. When such abuses were discovered, the mass of slaves used for promiscuous ends were sentenced to death. It was declared their guilt for tempting married nobles into sin. On that day, heads adorned the castle walls, marking the beginning of the Empire of Slaves."
Her eyes find the black-and-white illustration that follows. The ink, crude and stained, forming heads mounted on spears, eyes wide in frozen horror, the earth darkened beneath them. Her breath catches; her heartbeat surges. She wants to look away, but she cannot.
A single image sears into her mind: a row of lifeless faces on spikes, hair matted with grime. A red banner flutters in the background. One head gleams in her vision — impaled, eyes vacant, hair a vivid, screaming red. The imagined scene sharpens beyond the drawing: the sobs, the screams, the metallic rattle of spears — all press into her skull. Her stomach twists; bile rises.
Her chest squeezes; her throat burns. The pounding in her ears drowns everything.
- No... no...
Her voice is barely a whisper, swallowed by the drum in her head. Instinct screams to run, to flee, but her body will not obey. Her limbs tremble under a fear so raw it steals thought.
Tears spill hot and unchecked, tracing clean tracks down her cheeks. Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps. She feels trapped inside a loop of the same image — the head, the blood, the cruelty — replaying, relentless, marking a memory that will not fade.
Present time...
Valerie's vision blurs — not from tears, but from the image clawing its way back into her mind. Red hair. A wall of spears.
Valerie comes out from hidding. Shaking and drived by fear, she fights the panic wanting to rush out of her. "I am not thirdteen anymore. I need to face my fears head on."