CHAPTER V: THE HEIR OF THE FALLEN THRONE

he golden daughter looked at the magical armor. It was a true legend.

Since her early stages in Eleanor, she had been lost among the texts of the Töran, where her impressive assembly was described. She knew exactly the amount of power and responsibility it was all about; it was identical to the description. It seemed to be intact, polished for her.

"I accept it." answers the young princess. "With one condition." "What would be, my lady?" asks Tyon, dazzled.

"I must not defeat this evil as Eleanor, for she will always be immortalized as the strongest in the south," the woman replies. "Remember, her legendary abilities will never be compared to my powers."

 "I want to defeat this evil as myself. As Amara." she continues. "As an heir of Aramordt. I want to embrace this power, and embody it, into who I am; in what I've become. My friend, I want this armor, bathed in gold. Covered in precious energy. I want Rita to receive death, elegantly."

"Madam, this may take a while." says the man. "Are you sure you want to do it?"

"We have enough time, Tyon." says the woman. "Let there be no more talk! Let's get it out of here."

Upon the sacred precincts from the shadows of a fallen night, a desert set still; revealing the curtains of the sun's pride. A prelude to an interest, an endeavor to the end. Till they could find themselves out, in the coming sunshine from the truth and the war. A weight upon betrayed soldiers of an impractical vision. Over exhausted eyes, below the dark clouds cornering the erratic firmament. Alongside a dicey welcome, to the outskirts of a deplorable terrain. A vestigial crowd, leaving a detrimental battle; returning home, and flourishing hope.And there he was, rushing towards the end, as he aimed to start over and begin again. Approaching the land lifted for his name, for his presence, for his honor. A royal family was waiting for him, as he approached with the sunlight in a splendid cavalcade; around the best of his soldiers. The wind whispers he will win, but his mind tells him otherwise, for the reality of an infamous feud, covered with apathy and fear, sprouted all over his future glory. His soldier's hearts were finally over, and their enthusiasm stood sunken.

The doors of the refugee opened, as the steward of the gates indicated the arrival of the king and his riding chivalry; realizing the dawn baptized the path of triumph; as he entered the beatific field. He got off his black horse and covered the ground with hope again. Bringing joy to his people, as they saw his grieving king standing on another bright day; surviving the breeze of another dark night.

 "The sun burns us, to make us bloom every day." shouts the king. "We must be grateful, and embrace the arms from the grace of Elgoneth, for his goodwill hasn't abandoned us! He's right here! With our blood, with our people! We're close to victory, that we'll ever be, for we have made it this far! We've survived! We've evolved! And we will receive the light as warriors of the sky! Rest brave, dear soldiers, it was a big night, but today is the final day. Today, we must conquer, or die. And we will conquer! We will rise! We will win! Hail Aramordt!"

"Hail!" responds the great army.

Then, among the ringing of the autumn bells, the king of the stars aligned and began to cross through the vicinity of his own refuge. His presence was impeccable. His experience returned the color to his home. The dragons step back, as an act of acclaim and reverence, tied to the father of their heritage. Before the lord of all Raēn. Hope preceded, while the heart of the legend remained alive. His people knew they were safe; they ponder positively, for they would survive the hardships from the winds of fate, the grief borrowed from them.

Although, in his walk, the king carried a burden that even his beloved did not know. It was the anchor of a betrayal; an injury burning in the corners of a father's heart. The remorse of not being there for his youngest daughter, just when she needed it the most. He could not choose, however, for the divine wills from the architect of life, were indistinct to error. What happened was inevitable; although, his mind was still negligent, his soul mulled the truth. His instincts couldn't lie to his path.

A voice of love, with thoughts of restrain, was the only thing that made the youngest princess feel clarity in her troubled mind; words forgotten upon the vanished air of distance. Abhir was everything to him, and now her wretched soul bore the shadows of the unknown; hurried for the decline of a forbidden nature. Her dark choices led her to be further away from his father than ever. Invisible from her lonely home, the greatest of the infinity mountains; is now covered in ashes and dust.

Argônæth has been through hundreds of battles in his prorogued lifetime, including the current war; sentencing the end of all fabled time. And although his instincts and his might made him win most of them, this was a battle he could never win. This was the greatest challenge he'd face. His daughter had lain in wickedness; driven in resentment, buried in misunderstanding. It was too late, for chaos would breed in the desert, and war would be defeated at last, if the princess of darkness decided to invade the dry soils of Nabimia*, for it meant, the end for the king. And hence, she'd proclaim dethrone for the queen of the north, the daughter of life herself. Rita's fate was above the most impetuous kingdom ever seen in these lands. The king knew it very well and understood his next step. An alluring fear, to face her. A forthcoming fall, a final end for his rule; devoured by the sinister hunger for revenge, from his own daughter. A reprimand vituperation; a calumny for the epilogue. A heavy slander, recurring upon the void of the king's mind.

He returns to reality, just when he realized he had reached the final level of the great tower, he passed the spiral stairs, ascending amid the sweet uncertainty. And before he could think about it, he was standing in front of the floral door of the delicate dome; the highest chamber, lost among the colder heights. The special room of the beautiful queen. Rushed, bumping his heart out; just for the vicissitude of a face, for the clarity of her eyes, for the calmness of pure lips. He needed to see the smile of his beloved, one more time.

Argôn entered the royal room, and felt the heights of the principal tower; received with the temperance of the prevailing air from the desert prairies; rooted above the columns of truth, upon the commencement of an open porch, suspended above the divine. A fair sight for a king, finding the passion of his spirit once again; as the glimpses the sea of his life, the love of all his years, who raved on the edge of devotion; situated as a wonderful thinker, among the dry grounds; upon the tall ships plying the faded waters of destiny. Within the realm of the prodigal sons.

The queen sensed the arrival of her own beloved, who treasured the horizon of war as he approached the royal balcony. Reflecting behind her; rubbing gently her shoulders. The incessant and excessive battle raged in the distance, amid the mists of a restless foliage from a glorious dawn.

"The light is ready for us, at last," exclaims Argôn.

"So, if she approaches again, why is my king hesitating?" answers Leyra. "Why does my king feel so distracted, so fearful?"

"It has been many days of darkness," answers Argôn. "I don't remember what it feels to rise again."

"Argônæth, it is no longer worth being just the queen of the north," answers Leyra, "I am your best friend, and your company, until the last of our days. I know the man behind the cloak and the sword. I know the inescapable mind behind this throne. What happens?"

"I'm just concerned," the king replies, "today, we'll witness the end of all this era. The war is about to end; our people are downcast, their hearts are exhausted, and yet, we still must face this insult. We must confront evil when we're defeated in our souls."

"It's hard to fight with the devil in your back." responds the queen. "If we must elevate from this hardship, we would do so as we always have done it. Together."

"Leyra, this time it's different," the king replies. "A final battle is coming. I can't decide what is going to happen."

"Why not?" exclaims Leyra. "Are you afraid of your daughter? Argôn, we both knew this day would come. What's up, my king? Isn't this the man who defeated evil at its most horrific phase? Isn't this the man who generates fear in the darkness itself? Isn't this the man who defeated the earthly giants? Aren't you the man who rises above the laws of magic? Above the rules of destiny? Isn't this, the father of all divine dragons? Isn't this the Raen for them all? Are you not the king who saved my life, who saved my people, who saved my family, who gave me joy? Who conquered the witch of all corruption?

The king that evokes misery? The one that contains the sacred blood of the hanging gardens? Isn't this the king for all the northern mountains? Isn't this the king, of the biggest family?"

"Abhir has brought this down, my love."

"Do not say that again!" responds Leyra. "Can't you not see it yet? Argôn, our kingdom, will prevail forever. Your legacy will last for all generations. My father always told me I was the chosen one; but Argôn, after spending so many years with you, I know you are the one. You are the true protector of this planet, and your name will never fade away. It will be remembered, by all future kings, and promulgated as the glorious history from the triumph of light, around all these future nations. You are the living myth, and if this is to be our final quest, then I cannot be more proud to fight it alongside the hero of all these people, the king of all these nations, the love of all my life."

The kings witnessed the warmth of love, as the last fulfillment of all their wishes. They knew that the end was near, and despite everything seeming cold and desolated, dry among the anguish and fear, the feeling between the souls was more passionate than ever; between the aforementioned fate and the slanders of the past. And so they made their love, built before the first rays of the morning light, full of beauty, immersed with pride.

After the frenetic moment of intimacy had passed, the king aroused quickly from the royal bed. His beloved remained asleep. He then donned his special boots, descended the spirals of the shelter, the stairs of destiny, and exited to the outskirts of the dome. He kept thinking about the upcoming fight. He needed to clarify his strategy, and for this, he decided to go to the headquarters; where his colonel would be waiting for him.

The king arrives at the main base of the refuge; there are dozens of men, trying to heal their wounds, and articulating the enemy's weak points. And among them, in the distance, the king finds his best man; the colonel looks dejected, but when he sees the face of his king once again, he is filled with hope. And a hug of enthusiasm came along the way, from man to man, from friend to friend.

They talk about the war, but the king takes him to one of the corners of the barrack. It was the peak moment, for him to describe the fear surrounded upon the birth of uncertainty and mystery, belonging to the mind of the prodigal son of the royal fire.

 "Son, the end is upon us," whispers the king. "There's not much left we could do."

"I understand, Your Majesty," responds Eros, "I can feel it, too. Although, I just wish I could spend these last days with the golden princess. She was here yesterday. I really thought this time she would stay, but she left once again."

"That's what the queen told me," exclaims Argôn. "She came to see Ada, right?"

"Indeed, my king," answers Eros, "she brought some berries for her. I've never seen my daughter happier."

"I wish I would've seen her too," responds the king. "How is she?"

"She's astonishing, sir," exclaims Eros. "She's so beautiful, I just—I can't believe I'm going to fight this war without her."

"Well, you don't have to." responds the king.

"Pardon, sir?"

"I said you don't have to," repeats Argôn. "Go for her, fight by her side."

"But sir, we had a tough fight. She made it clear that she doesn't need me."

"Son, when a woman pushes you away, is to see how strong you can hang on for her," exclaims the king. "That's when she needs support the most. That's when she needs your love the most. That's where she needs you, and her soul pleads for you to understand her, and fight for her."

"I'm concerned about my daughter," continues the king, "for she should not confront this malice alone. Ceres just told me she couldn't convince her, and after four years, I believe she will not move on until she confronts her own sister. I'm afraid, I don't know what's going to happen in this battle."

"Do you remember what I told you when you asked me for Amara's hand?" said the king, with a joyful smile. "You were just a boy, and you were a clear reflection of me. You have earned my trust because I see myself in you. You remind me of my best days when I was young and enthusiastic. When everything was warm and vivid. When I gave everything for Leyra, and my purpose was to care for her and protect my beloved; even when she believed she didn't need me, because it was exactly at that moment, when she needed me the most."

"Now get your horse, go to the southern forest," continues the king. "Reach your former home, and be prepared behind the trees. Don't tell her anything though; let her fight her demon first. But if she's falling Eros, promise me, you will intervene. My heart will not stand the death of another of my children.

"I will, my king," exclaims the colonel, "but what about Ada?"

"My granddaughter shall be protected in this refuge," said the man. "Leyra will take care of her, for the queen is not meant to fight this war anymore, even if she wants to. She's destined to hold something greater. Ada is the only treasure we have left; we may fall, but she must survive at all costs. That's the queen's mission."

Amara afterwards, along with the elf adviser, went to the chamber of foundations and assemblies. It has been a quiet while since they left the armor with a group of the nation's best goldsmiths and assemblers. It was still early, but all of them already witnessed the mythical bath of the armor; quickly turning into pure gold. Extracted from the depths of the forest, and melted over as an unforgotten legend.

"My lady, the armor is still boiling," exclaims one of the welders.

"I can see." responds the princess. "Do you think it'll be ready?"

"Well, the armor has received the gold faster than we thought." says the man. "We are at the final phase of the fusing stages. In a few moments, it will be ready for you, my lady."

The beautiful heir of the northern kingdom witnessed every detail of her new sheath; as she was fragilely shown with the five parts of the beautiful golden armor. And beside them, she observes a peculiar accessory, also bathed in gold.

 "Tyon, what are these horns for?" the woman asks.

"They are the Sacred Horns of Inhorèm, my lady," answers the man. "These were used by Eleanor, as a reminder of her humble home. They belonged to the Queen's Royal Moose, a unique gift from her father when she was still a child. This was her pet, and her best friend, until he suffered his death in the ancestral tale, around the exile of the high elves. The mythical queen decided to extract his horns, after his death, and kept them."

"Put them on, my lady," continues the man. "They will give you strength, and security."

The armor reflected a power in its brilliance, a grandeur in its intensity. When she was ready, the woman put it on her chest, her arms, her body. And a radiant light in magnetic forms glowed miraculously from Amara. The majestic waves emanated as intertwined forces and scattered throughout the place. Her power was unique, and her semblance was fit for a renewed queen. The Golden Princess was finally ready, for the last war.

Around the meadows of the refuge, the colonel was arranging his best weapons. He carried the golden sword, belonging to the thread of the victory from the gods of the past; of the elves of the future, for this was not just any ordinary man; as much as he likes to appear. This was the king hidden among the foliage of the highest elves, not even accepted by himself, but written from the moment he was born. His horse was ready as well; just about to set out for the Eldrįner woods, as his king had commanded. Although, before doing so, he led his daughter to the entrance of the royal dome; where she would be sheltered, before the eminence of a final breath of anguish and pain.

"Ada, you're going to go with nanny," exclaims Eros. "You'll stay these days with her, so don't give her any problems, okay?" "Is Ivonne going to replace Mommy?" asks Ada.

"What?! No one is going to replace Mommy!" responds Eros. "Are you crazy? Why do you say that?!"

"Because I saw you kissing in the kitchen."

"Ada I already told you, we had an emotive moment." Exclaims Eros. "We needed support, and nothing more. Ivonne knows perfectly how much I love your mother. I missed her too much. I need her, just like you; and listen to me, she is going to come soon. And I don't want to hear you saying ever again that she doesn't love you, okay? She will give her life for you and me. We just have to wait a little longer. Daddy is here with you. Just have faith in me." "Yes, Daddy," responds Ada.

"Now, Miss Clarice is going accompany you upstairs, all up to nanny's room," says Eros. "I will be back very soon, all right?"

"I wanted to play with you tonight," responds Ada.

"Honey, I need you to be strong," exclaims Eros. "This will end pretty soon, but today is a tough day sweetie. Daddy needs to fight for you and believe me, he'll win just for your name, my princess. You understand this more than me, I'm going to liberate us, I'm going to take us out from this, and I will put an end to this. I promise. You'll be fine with your grandma."

The man gave a kiss on the forehead to the face of sadness from his daughter, while she was held by the arms of an old woman. The colonel quickly climbed onto his brown horse, took an impressive turnover, and lost in between the long journey towards the outskirts of the refuge.

The girl, however, found herself despondent, pessimistic; dejected with a face of hopelessness. Her pain was undeniable, and the hardship of being away from her parents ate her few joys. She did not understand what was happening, but she knew something was not right, and a bad omen invaded the peace of her little spirit.

"If there's no way to look honey, look within," exclaims Miss Clarice. "For if you feel stuck, the door of escape will lay inside yourself. You're strong and brave, remember that. Now, let's get you to your grandmother, shall we? She must have a story we could both read."

The golden princess headed towards the forest, along with a specialized archers team. They looked at the horizon, between the heights of the hidden trees, and visualized the vanity approaching atrociously. A black mass flew towards them, brewing from the north at full speed. The final destination was now, in the hands of the golden daughter.

"The Dark Legion is approaching!" exclaimed Amara. "Where are the refugees?!"

"Madam, Irene has evacuated them to the back areas of Edöer." says one of the archers. "They'll be soon inside the hidden city. Zaragad is waiting for them."

"Everything is ready, then," exclaims the princess. "I want everyone in their positions! Now!"

"Yes ma'am!" replied the squadron.

The archers with the least experience were placed on top of the Great Wall of Eleanor's Kingdom. Into the corners of the forest, fifteen archers with poisoned arrows were positioned; displaying as Amara's special team. And when they were ready, they rose among the heights of the sacred trees and prepared for the suppressive attack. Artfully hidden, among the leafy vines of the immense trees from the eternal woodland. Amara, along with three selected archers, stayed within the depths of the woodland. This was the attacking team.

"How do you see the horizon from the heights, Himén?" shouts Amara.

"My lady, they are approaching at full speed!" answers the man. "The Princess of Darkness leads upfront with her heinous dragon!"

"Leave her to me!" answers the golden daughter. "Take down the dark dragons!"

The blood of the Golden princess was sizzling nervously. After four rimmers, she would face her sisterly agony again. In her mind, plunder the image of the misery that was swollen on the forgotten day, where she witnessed the fall and transition into insignificant pieces, of the greatest kingdom of the north. Induced and aggravated by the firm hands of one woman, Rita Abhir Aramordt; who was approaching the southern lands quickly. Above the Eldrįner heights; reclaiming her new dark nation, for this was the direct route to reach the great war. Redeeming the Neftalí Country, as she liked to call it; headed towards the cold desert of the desert of Mögia, upon the cursed land of Navimia, now covered in flames of destruction. The end zone of all known times. After a few years from its inception, the sorceress was finally coming to ruthless warfare, which everyone feared. For her coming dictated a single sentence: the end.

Amara placed herself among some high branches, while she saw some of her team companions launching dozens of arrows at the flying dragons who were already above the forest. The golden daughter climbed on one of the tallest trunks, leaning with the help of some vines. She found a small entrance of light, gleaming in between the compressed bushes. It gave her a clear vision of attack.

She aimed his huge bow towards the first dragon and launched an arrow so fast that it pierced right into the throat of the giant creature that was carrying the evil sorceress through the skies. The dragon falls at full speed, and along with it, the princess of darkness; as she falls in the voluminous trees of Eldrįner.

Amara descended from the trunk and hid in the closer leaves. The dragon razes to the field exasperatedly.

As Rita was falling, she recognized the three archers in the bushes, who were shooting arrows at her. Rita grabbed onto the vines, swayed between them, and fell abruptly on top of one of the special archers; using the defendant as a surface to hit on the ground. Crushing his chest, up to death.

The other two archers attempted to fight the queen of sorrow with their daggers, but she quickly dismantled them both at the same time; without even using her powers or the Sword of Voices.

Rita then perceives a strange silence. Her army was hovering above her; his dragon was dead, and yet, everything seemed to be going the same. She didn't understand why fate, brought her there.

Suddenly, rapid attacks from dozens of arrows intervened in the air towards the Princess of Shadows. The challenger threw them as bursts of fire, sending three of them at once. Rita avoided all of these, surprised at their speed; and then, she managed to recognize a familiar face, between the dynamic attack.

"Sister, it is you!" exclaims the sinister woman. "Aren't you even going to say hello to me?"

"Silence, ungrateful!" replies Amara.

The woman unsheathed her swords, as she descended the heights of a tree; throwing herself violently at her sister. Rita unsheathed the sword of voices, and it hovered three mystical energies around her. Promptly, she defended herself against her sister's swift, but ineffective attacks, and thrust her with the power of her cursed sword. It was the most powerful weapon on the planet.

"It's also a pleasure to see you again!" says the dark queen. "What's with this attitude? Haven't you missed me, sister?"

"I am nothing of yours, Abhir!" replies the golden daughter. "You are a disgrace!"

The woman intensified their battle, into fathomless levels. Bursts of fire crowns, and purple spells in triangle shapes, began to dominate the surroundings of the burning, sobered forest. The elements of the space frames immersed themselves into shadows, and all parts darkened the fallen realm. The blows of the evil sorceress were shielded by the golden daughter's daggers. Their defenses were fast, focused, and firm. The trunks of the trees exploded fiercely into a million pieces. Testifying the violent wizardry exchange, an energy never seen before took possession of the misguided battle zone. The fate was unclear.

Rita hid behind one of the giant broken trees, and from the ground, she raised a huge stone that threw quickly with her dark magic towards her sisters' forehead. Amara tried to place both arms to protect her face; the stone hit her abruptly, splitting from the impact, and pushing her into the distance.

"I don't understand why you're so mad at me," exclaims Rita, "I did you a favor with Mihalis."

"Don't dare mention his name again!" shouts Amara. "You took him to his death!"

"I took him to his ascension," responded Rita, increasing her voice,

"something so raw, your weak little heart would've never been able to do so!"

"You should thank me. All of you!" shouted Rita, "I did the work, none of you would ever had the courage to do. Aramordt needed to be destroyed.

You know this in your heart!"

"Just like you need to be now," exclaimed Amara, "or isn't death screaming for you already?"

Rita stood in silence.

"Isn't she crawling at your side, day and night?" continued Amara. "Isn't the weight of heaven falling in your soul? Isn't the bright day that you were blessed to live, pleading now for your end?

"The storm is coming for you. I can see it," said Amara. "You're sick, and let me tell you, this time, you will know no escape."

"You won't either, Amara," responded Rita. "You won't, either."

The women continued to fight fiercely; this time, from Amara's golden fists, gushed a gleaming yellow energy. Soaked in the might of the frightful fire emanating from the heart of the golden princess. She was now irritated, energetic, upset, and fixated upon the battle. She started to give an incredible duel, to her fearsome opponent.

"I used to find peace in you," says Rita. "Look at you now. Look what you've become. Aggressive, furious, hateful, annoying. This is not the Amara who had exemplified so much the trash of her kingdom. Extinct, by the way."

"You think you're so smart?! Look what you've done!" Amara replies.

"You are insane!"

"A genius, I would say," answers Rita. "And whilst we're talking about this, I told you. Don't you remember now? I warned you! And what did you do? You didn›t care. Now I am the bad one? This kingdom must have ceased to exist from the day it was born!"

"How could you even say that?!" responds Amara, furiously. "Thanks to that kingdom you are here now!"

"For what?! Look at us!" replies Rita. "Just look at us! Look at this chaos! Do you think I wanted this? Why did they rouse this kingdom? To witness the end?! Wake up! These are the consequences of the actions of a mediocre, poor, hypocritical, traitorous rule! Look what we have to pay for the unconscious acts of the owners of this disgusting reign. Our parents have done things wrong! And you know it very well! But don't you worry, I will put an end to this misery!"

The energy oscillating between them was involved in an uncontrollable intensity. Rita's coldness was fading; she was now, taking the situation as a personal one, and this was dangerous. But the golden daughter was much more connected to her feelings, allowing her to regulate her energy better. She was more balanced; her resilience allowed her to be more focused, and her attacks began to be more accurate than those of her sister, who was tremendously enraged.

The golden princess began to weaken the sinister woman's body; along with her daggers, she damaged the main pieces from the armor of the daughter of darkness. Images of revenge, anger, and resentment, began to circulate through the golden princess's mind. She let herself be carried away by these feelings, and without realizing it, she already had her younger sister defeated, against the trunk of a giant tree.

She took away the sword of voices out of Rita's hand, and with it, she buried the weapon upon the chest of the evil sorceress; as she anchors her against the pale bark of the trunk where they were fighting. And in an instant, Rita felt the call of death.

"Amara."

"Don't make this harder, Rita!" shouts the golden daughter in tears. "Please, let's get over with this! I beg you!"

"Listen to me. I need to tell you something," exclaims Rita, "I have a daughter."

"What are you talking about?"

"She is Xavier's daughter, too," she exclaimed. "She has four years, Amara."

The golden daughter could not believe what she was hearing, for in her mind, this was impossible. She was sure her sister was manipulating her.

"No—no, it can't be," says the woman. "Don't try to fool me like that! You're a liar! It's impossible!"

Rita took something out of her neck; the princess of darkness shows her a silver necklace, hidden under her purple garment. It was beautifully crafted; inside the center, was a pendant, which was detailed with an initial, decorated with crystals; representative of the initial letter of her daughter's name.

Amara then tears out the sword buried in her sister's chest. She falls exhausted and remains sitting in the shade of the giant tree, along with her dying sister.

"I don't want you to forgive my life," exclaims Rita. "I want you to forgive hers."

"What is your daughter's name?" Amara asks.

"Emmæ"

Thousands of images, hundreds of sequences, dozens of scenes, and small events from a radiant girl, full of light and brilliance, crossed immediately through Amara's mind as a strong vision; running through the endless corridors of the Aramordt's ruins, even if it meant to pass through mount of broke columns and ashes. Her heart was filled with love and sympathy, a gleaming energy protected from the uttermost divine realm.

Amara looked at the necklace again and was amazed by the style of the engraving of the insignia. It seemed quite familiar to her.

"These crystals are embedded by my mother," says Amara.

"Leyra knows about her. She already knows everything," says Rita. "I asked her to save her for me, for I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. But Amara, I trust you more than my mother. You know you'll always be my sister. And hopefully, someday, you'll understand my position. I know that where Mihalis is; he is sheltered from the rightful powers of the divine realm; the purest energy light can offer, for the eternal rest of our souls."

"I don't know if I can do this, Rita," says Amara. "The damage is already done; it's too late. You must be removed."

"I know," she exclaims. "I asked her to raise Emma, but I know you can do it better than her. You are still my best friend."

"Don't let our mother take care of our daughters," continues the younger princess. "If you allow them to be raised by her, it's going to happen what preceded between us. I don't want this for them. They don't deserve this."

Amara starts to cry, but it is too late for Abhir's life. The golden daughter falls, hugging her younger sister. It was the end, for the princess of darkness.

 The golden daughter was still holding her sister by the head, lying upon the ground. And suddenly, Rita took out a golden scroll from her broken armor; it was dirty, and folded.

"There is a portal we can make," exclaims Rita, coughing. "It takes us far away from these dimensions. Here, on this parchment, is written what you will need to manifest it. Take Emma with you; take Ada with you, and get away from this place. This is the end of Ïnmâeh."

The sword of voices exploded, and its crystals flew off in thousands of pieces. Their internal energies were externalized and flowed through the surrounding air. The legion of dragons began to fall through the skies, one by one; disintegrating into dust as they touched the ground. The death of the princess of darkness had fallen into the arms of her golden daughter. The evil had ceased.

The town began to celebrate; from the vast elevated view of Eldrįner, high upon the infinity mountains, the Golden Flag of Triumph was raised. In the desert, they chanted the name of the golden princess, knowing she attained victory, for all nations.

The south was still praising the unbelievable triumph when suddenly, a strong tremor was felt throughout the region. The highland's subsoil began to open in between them; sorrow and despair invaded the outlines of Eldrįner, and the legendary structures of the holy kingdom began to fall one by one. A catastrophe was looming impatiently.

"Go to the great battalion! Run towards the Desert of Nabimia!" shouted Amara. "We must descend the path of Deolom, reach the wide refuge, and join the alliance of Aramordt! We have no time!"

Behind them, a ceaseless smoke began to cover the agony of the sky. The dormant Redgenelle Volcano, inactive for nearly two thousand years, was roaring outbreaks of flames; and growls of lava, spreading in masses over the area. The Dark Mount Sirith declared a new war, with an invasive attack of its frustrated fire. The elves moved immediately, out of the hidden city. Withdrawing, claiming the exodus towards the Refuge of Aramordt, for destiny was calling, over all their souls.

The southern elves began to line up, gathering their horses and carriages; and equipping them with their gold and wheat reserves. People screamed in despair; for neither the kingdom's discreet shelters nor the golden princess's braveness, were going to protect them against the catastrophe. The roar of Mount Sirith covered the mountain in deadly magma. The enraged lava gushed from the monstrosity of the volcano. From the fury of its seething mouth, the prelude to the end of an era was being perpetuated.

Howbeit, the princess turned her gaze in the opposite direction. Delirious on the heights of The North, for in a wise way, she sensed the arrival of a new hope. The last burning flame of the royal blood.

Suddenly, a man came to the scene; fast, efficient, with a brown horse. His energy was of an innate leader, and the people rejoiced at the sight of his eternal hero's face, once again.

"I want all the women and children lined up with Reomen!" exclaims the man. "Where are the riders of these horses? I'll take the reserves myself! I want everyone moving, right away!"

"Eros?" exclaims the golden princess, weakened.

"I can't leave you, Amara," exclaims the man.

"Listen to me, I'm so sor—""Don't go on," he interrupts. "We must save this city immediately. Framian, Gerjoel, and Johan are here, along with two dozen horses. We will speed up the exile."

Eros began to guide all the people, as they followed the imposing leader. Amara then felt relief, and understood in her heart, that it didn't matter how she felt; the highs, or the lows, or the good or bad moments. They really did not matter, in the end. She and her husband had a bond. They were connected, and they will always be because together, the universe completed a major purpose. A reason to exist. And no one, not even themselves, would be able to break them or weaken this bond. For the divine will of destiny would always gravitate them towards one another. For they were destined, to be companions of a thousand battles, to be the united light of all lands, for all eternity.

She arrived upon the horizon, guided by the force of her love; she went full sight to her husband, grabbed him, and kissed him without thinking about the disaster surrounding them. Time stood still, and for a few instants, both hearts were flooded again with warm colors. With serene fulfillment; flourishing again with deep love, after so many years. They felt plenitude, once again; newly empowered. And Amara had done it because she knew that the path she was about to undertake, would cost pain for her beloved to comprehend.

"Eros, I know you won't forgive me for this," exclaims the woman, "but I must continue north. I must return to the kingdom."

 "Amara, what the hell are you talking about now?" exclaims the man. "Aramordt is in ashes!"

"Not entirely," the woman replies. "I need you to listen to me."

"Amara," says the man. "What are you planning now? I just got here, we need to go. You won. You already succeeded, you did it! It's over! What else do you need to look for?!"

 "A girl Eros!" the woman exclaims. "Our niece."

The man remains in silence, completely perplexed.

"Rita had a daughter, with Xavier," she continues. "She must have hidden her all these years. Her name is Emma, and I can't let her stay there alone.

Ïnmâeh is disappearing!"

 "But how?! How is this possible?!" shouted the man. "Xavier is dead!"

"I don't know Eros!" the woman answers. "Rita and Xavier saw each other days before he was executed. It's very likely to be true. My mother made a crystal for this girl. She knows everything."

"You must go to my mother," continues the woman, "and tell her that I would meet her in the fallen kingdom. The girl must be there, I'm going to rescue her. Tell the queen, I'll be there waiting for her presence. Along with the girl from the ashes."

 "What about us? What about our family?" exclaims Eros. "What about Ada? Is that girl our responsibility after what your sister has done? That woman killed our son! Isn't that girl's path reserved for Elgoneth's will?!"

"As long as I can do something, I will do it," Amara exclaims. "I'll go find her with Berven, and then we'll see what happens. Meanwhile, continue to guide the exile of your people. They must reach the desert lands safely."

Eros bowed his head, saying nothing; his face was rough and discouraged. The woman then hugged her husband and kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you, Eros," exclaims the woman. "You know you are my hero, and in you, I find my strength. I need you to wait just a little bit longer. I can't leave this girl alone. I promise you, I will come back."

 "Heads up Eleanor!" shouts Eros, the Colonel of Aramordt. "Let's go south, right now!"

Amara then, runs through the lushness of the Southern Forest. Leaning between the vigorous vines. Climbing over the bushes of the mythical area. Soaring above the Eldrįner's unobtrusive trees, until she reached the final leaves of a giant tree, where she was holding on, and whispered a peculiar whistle that resonated with the currents of the echoes, spreading an ancestral calling over the mountains. From among the hidden trees afar, a gigantic creature awakens. It was a white dragon, belonging to the lineage of light, with fine golden limbs: The legendary Berven. He flew at an aggressive speed, to where the golden princess was. And with her daggers on her back, the parchment on her right hand, and her vision over the cold heights, she leaped a jump of faith towards the legendary dragon in the fabled air; in the midst of the catastrophe. Above the uncertain future, above the unforeseen path. Towards the rescue, of the royal descendant. The heiress of the renewed fief. The last burning flame of the royal blood. The heir of the fallen throne; daughter of the daughter of darkness, the ultimate bright for a royal hope,

Emma Aramordt…