(➵ ━ the story of a hero )

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You wish to know the story of Bellona? First you must know the story that came before.
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[ ♫ ] 0:00 -- 1:19

There was peace among the four kingdoms: Nature, Water, Fire & Air and had been for 5000 years.

The King of Fire had a lovely daughter, Hestia was her name, in honour of the greek goddess of fire.
She was to inherit the kingdom after him, as was her descendants, and their descendants. But the
Princess could not wait that long for the crown. She turned against her own father, stabbing him in
the heart as he slept. But as she felt his blood stain her hands, she wanted more. She wanted the
life force of all the Kingdoms. That night, she called in her most trusted High Prophetess to tell her
what the Gods wanted her to do. The prophecy was direct, but they were known for their trickery.

The prophetess told the Princess:
"There is a small village in the Nature Kingdom, Penrith is its name. Burn it to the ground, and power will come to you."

But by then, the other three kingdoms had heard of Hestia's betrayal, and had come intending to stop
whatever madness Hestia had been consumed by. Yet, over the night they had taken to siege her castle,
she had disappeared without a trace. She made sure that once the all the monarchs took a step inside
that castle, they never came out. She absorbed their powers, but not all, leaving some for the future
Kings and Queens of the kingdoms so that she may harvest them when she returned, keeping the world alive.

Then, she made sure Penrith burned until there was nothing left of life, and she was not seen again.
But she is still waiting, for the power that was prophesied to come to her.

Bellona's destiny was secured, starting from the destruction that led her slowly to her fate.

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The fire tore through the forest, a burst of deadly light in the midnight sky. There was nothing, nothing illuminating the trees but the flames that consumed the woods, as if the stars themselves had been snatched away from the heavens. The fire was violent, snapping like untamed beasts at the feet of a child fleeing the heart of the blaze. She was silent, not daring to stop, even as her legs screamed for mercy. Shadows danced along the ashen trees, the fire now a crackling laughter in the distance as she ran far away from home.

The village was called Penrith, barely on the map as it was. Penrith was encircled by the few rich that lived on the outskirts, disdainful in all their glory. They inhabited the loveliest houses, polished roofs and cobblestone paths that swirled into the welcoming doors of the lodge. Welcoming, but only to the elite. They lived on the outskirts to shield prying eyes from what Penrith truly was. The barrier separating the poor from the wealthy was the marketplace— a wave of chittering voices and sunlight shining through the stall roofs. It was the only place where the lavish mingled with the penniless, for what lurked beyond was simple chaos: the core of the town, where poverty thrived. The wooden houses were crammed on top of each other, where a single home could have been housing a family of eight. The people there were needy and greedy, they were vulgar and uncivilized. They knew not what peace was, and every night she spent on the streets she could hear the whispers of evil seeping from the cracks in the floor. But it was all she had known as a home.

Once the fire started that night, no force in the town could stop it. It ravaged the houses of the poor, spreading from the heart of the town into the fringes of Penrith— towards the houses of the prosperous. She had been woken up by the frantic, ravenous whispering and a shaking in the ground, pulling her from the brief release of sleep and flinging her into a nightmare. Figures, screaming and wailing from the houses as they cruelly burned, whirling paints of orange and yellow against the dark night sky. It was the screeches that hauled her to her feet, panic already taking place, grabbing control of her arms and legs, willing them to run. Run? Where to? There was nothing to run to- except the forest. She did not know how, or why, as her legs started to move. It was all a blur, the crowds pulling crying men from the ruins of a house, the charred stone of the houses the rich inhabited. But she was running. Into the forest where darkness patiently waited.

Flames were already spreading into the trees, devouring the spindly skeletons that lay there as if they had known this fire was coming. And the flames followed her, the crackling laugh chased her so so deep into the forest. So she ran far, fire reflecting in her eyes and fire flowing in her blood. Until the evil laughter stopped, and the forest became green again. She did not stop running until she reached a building, walls of firm stone, ivy and moss growing upon windows like nothing had disturbed it in centuries. Then she was banging on the stiff ivory doors calling out, "Sanctuary! Sanctuary! I beg you, please grant me shelter! I have nowhere to go." Her legs were exhausted and she buckled, dropping on the cold stone as the doors swung open and golden light— calm, comforting unlike the fire poured out from the gate.

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She had no name, and she did not speak for the few days after the fire.There were simply no words that could accurately convey her shock as she slowly registered what had happened— to her home.

The building was large and mainly empty, but ornate windows covered every corner telling vibrant stories with colors and shapes. The building was one she had not heard of or seen in Penrith, it was a secluded haven in the forest where those seeking forgiveness, shelter or just wanting to worship deities went; a monastery, she had learnt. The people wore plain robes that was homely enough to be modest, yet their arms were adorned with silver bracelets and small bells to show loyalty to their faith. Two of them had responded when she had banged on the door. They said nothing when they saw her laying on the floor; mud caked on her face and arms, a layer of dead leaves stuck on her leg; their faces a mask of worry and surprise. They glanced at each other and an unspoken conversation lingered between that stare. Then they extended a hand, muttering a prayer when they saw that she was so close to breaking down, as if it would stop her calm from shattering; had silently led her to a room in a hallway of doors, each with an ivory handle. In the room, there was a small wooden bed, hay moderately scattered on the wooden panel, a window opposite the door. Two torches hung on the walls, one above the bed, the other placed next to it. Other than that, the room was bare.

They had not poked, not questioned, not asked when they left her in that room, the darkness welcome as she curled on the little mat beside the bed. Nobody else from Penrith came knocking on that door that night.

She stayed for a few weeks, spending her free time in the library. At first, when she did not know what to do, she would try to walk into the forest— but a shuddering dread stopped her just as she reached the clearing in the trees. She knew that she could never go back to Penrith; she told herself that she could not ever face fire again. Then she spent several days, walking around aimlessly and admiring the stained windows in And so, to pass time, she started to read. She taught herself the basics, a nun or two occasionally assisting her. By the end of the first week, she had learnt the alphabet. The end of the second week? She had learnt how to mentally pronounce words. At the end of the third week, she was reading novels. That very same week, she came across a map, and after a long fight with a ladder, she had studied the entire chart. She learnt of places that she had never thought existed; the world was colossal and only a few weeks ago the marketplace was the largest location she had ever seen. She tasted the names of all the places on her tongue. And she learnt— learnt that there were Kingdoms: Nature, Water, Fire and Air. Penrith, and the monastery, was in the region of Nature, an entire patch of land shrouded by grand trees. She learnt of great cities, Orthryo, Roathan, Etheln. She read of the people of Nature; that gifts could be given to those favored by the leading monarch. It appears that their entire court could have plants growing on their bodies; a physical mark of their loyalty toward the kingdom, the more plant growth on the body displaying how close you were to the King. Then she read about the history of the kingdom of Nature; the history of the monarchy, of the great defenders that had saved the kingdom again and again, a new one succeeding the one before. An eternal dynasty.

From dusk til dawn, she had reflected on her future. She could not stay at the monastery any longer, this place was not for her; she could not stand just sitting there when she could be doing more. The extra time, the endless silence in the monastery drove her crazy. There was still a tugging sensation in her chest. She wanted answers to countless questions, but one was burning its way into her nightmares: Why did the flames target Penrith? The fire was wild, yet controlled. And there were far more villages loaded with riches, and knowledge. She did not understand anything, but she wanted to know.

At night, she returned to the map, careful not to disturb the silence that had blanketed over the monastery. She closed her eyes, letting fate guide her hand over the old frayed paper of the map, and gently planted a finger on one of the vast pieces of land. She inched an eye open. Then she read the name over, and over until it was imprinted in her mind. Savoring it's taste.

Qōkca, the city of life.

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The farewell was short, but not awkward. The morning after she had decided that she was to travel to Qōkca, she had told the nuns (monks?) that she would be departing soon. She did not know any of their names, and since she did not have one, they referred to the title they usually called her, the 'survivor'. The two that had opened the door for her had been the ones burdened with the task to help her pack for the journey. Along with no name, she had no belongings. She had nothing. The monastery had donated to her small needs for the travel: a moderately sized bag, spare clothes, food to last two days and some spare medicine, in case the worst happened in half a day's trip. She had been given a map to guide her to the city of life. As they opened the door for the last time, the three of them silently stood, waiting for something. A solitary tear slid from her eye in that moment of quiet. One of them, noticing, laid a hand on her shoulder. In a thick accent like honey, she said to the child, "The doors of the monastery will always be open for you." and she smiled, before nudging her off in the direction of the forest. With a slow nod, she stumbled down the few steps, then a map in one hand started walking north; a child travelling toward Qōkca.

--- 8 hours later

When she arrived, exhausted but not hungry for air as she had been the night of that fire in Penrith, she found guards scattered along a great wall of adamant— moss and wall plants clinging onto rare cracks in the wall for dear life— several tall towers placed strategically between each break containing several fully trained (she presumed) archers. She took a deep breath. Then another. Then she counted to three; she reached only two when her legs seized control and to her minds' protest, she walked to the nearest guard. Unsurprisingly, he pointed the arrow towards her, its sharp edge gleaming in the sunlight. She swallowed, once, twice. Then he spoke, eyeing the bag she was carrying behind her.

"What do you want, child?" he grunted.
xxx"I want safe access to Qōkca, and a place where I can stay. I have no money." A wave of snickers rippled from behind him.
He hesitated before he spoke again. "What is your name?"
xxx"I have no name. But the people at the monastery called me survivor."
"Well, 'survivor', safe access to Qōkca is granted to all. But a place to stay for free? Your best bet is a training camp. There's one further north of here, just follow the wooden signs and you will reach it within the day. Don't expect it to be a 5 star inn, though." The guard reached for the lever— to open the gate perhaps.
xxx"Thank you, sir."
"There is a price, but not of money. You will have to pledge service to the Kingdom if you wish to stay there."

The obsidian gates rose, slowly but gradually. She stepped in, the cold stone ground welcoming her to Qōkca. She turned to the guard to thank him again. He glared at her, his sharp stare stopping words from forming in her mouth. From that position, she could finally see the guard in full. Plants grew down his back— an indication that he was Of Nature and he served the king. He looked so young, she thought, barely 20. And yet, she knew that with the crossbow he held in firm hands, he could shoot her down as easily as shooting a squirrel. She gulped, swiveling back around toward north, and she was on her way. But unfamiliar voices followed her down the stone path,

"Frail little thing, isn't she? Going to a training camp; what will they do next— Send us golden fish and call it an army?"
"I'd give her a day."
"... 'Til what?"
"'Til they rip her apart." Ugly laughter rang into her ears.
She felt her face begin to flush, and with her head still held high, she marched on north. It was not long before she felt the transition of stone to grass, and eventually grass to mud. After a while longer, she heard enthusiastic yelling, snorts of pain and metal against metal. Then she saw it; blanketed in a layer of warm dusk light. The sun lingered on the horizon, patiently looking on the camp below, shafts of light covering the neat array of tents, so many tents line after line, arranged almost like an army. An army of tents, she murmured to herself, fit for an army of children. She was not wrong; there were many children, some had to be her age at least. The future defenders of the kingdom. She smiled.

--- three weeks later

The camp rules were frank and easy to remember. The overseers of the camp gave her clothes fit for fighting and a group; she settled in the camp rather quickly, learning to stay in the shadows in her first few days. Every day that came, there was not as single moment of silence. Children as young as her rushed past her on a daily basis, smiling and laughing, like children should. The figures were a blur, colorful smears that could take a while for sensitive eyes to adjust to. She missed the stillness of the library, but she accepted her new life. There could be nothing better for her beyond the camp, after all. She desired to laugh as easily, to smile without effort as those children but no matter how hard she tried, often staying up nights to smile, she was broken. The fire still burned mutely in the back of her mind.

When basic training had finished, and free time was endowed to her group, she would often watch the other children duel. There was even a certain area of the camp where you could engage in combat with others; as was expected of a training camp. They used wooden swords and dull spears, but they could easily stub the more sensitive areas of the body, and it could be sore for days on end. The pain would not excuse you from training, though. Some days, there would be laughter chiming from the match ring, and occasionally lazy clangs of wood on wood. But other days, there was no mercy— a thin crimson line often branded on children's arms or legs those days.

She was a fast learner; the free time spent studying the skilled in the camp was not wasted. She would wake up earlier before anyone else, and stay up later than anyone else. There was not a time apart from sleep where she rested her body after the first few weeks. She had been exposed to chaos face to face, and she knew that there would be no calm when confronted by an enemy. She observed the experienced combatants, discovering new fighting styles, arm and leg positions, ways to hold the sword. By the end of the first year, she had mastered how to fight with a sword. She climbed her way up from polished dirt to the top of the class, battling her campmates in whatever spare time they had. Fist to fist, sword to sword. None was as swift as her, and she fought with the fury of a fire. In admiration, they gave her a name. "Bellona Fayr." Bellona, for her incredible fierceness.

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In the eight years that she endured in the camp, she had managed to carve out a life for herself in Qōkca. Her training was noted by the Royal Guard of the kingdom of Nature. Bellona was slowly gaining the attention of Prince Rowan himself. She did not mind if she became even a Royal Guard, she was even perfectly content with staying at the training camp, eventually teaching her students as an overseer of the camp. It was one open evening in the end of her eighth year at the camp that would change this fate she imagined. The Crown Prince's lieutenants and personal guards had been invited to watch how well the future warriors of Nature were doing. Her overseers saw that Bellona was doing exceptionally well, and they wanted more for her. She was the best fighter they had on hand. During one of the sparring matches, she caught the eye of an elderly General; the right hand man to the royal family.

She received a letter from that very same general only days later. It explained that after several decades of protecting the kingdom of Nature, he was growing old and sickly. He wanted to appoint someone new in his position, someone with flames in their eyes and a fire in their soul. In Bellona, he had seen more potential than he had expected, and pleaded with her that he teach her starting as soon as possible. How could she reject such an offer? That same day, she dreamed, of a new life as the Prince's second in command.
In the letter, he had specified that she would require intense training and he warned her that by the end, it was all a gamble. The Prince himself would see if she was fit to become his Second— his most trusted companion.

She sent back a letter, accepting his offer. She was summoned to the Prince's private land the next day, to immediately start training. The general wanted her to be the perfect warrior, fit to defend the Kingdom. She did not object.

--- two years later

Two years of training, and she was finally ready. Ready to face whatever wild task Prince Rowan had in mind for her. She knew that the training would not be easy, but she had not expected more than a little riff-ruff now and then as it was in the camp. The training was worse than the camp's system, fights were more intense and there was no longer any mercy when you entered the ring. Every day she had persisted, dragging her tired beaten body back to her living quarters. She less free time than ever and she told herself this was what Fate had wanted her to do, to find answers that she desperately needed but had concealed in the back of her mind.

The elegant golden gates before her opened, and she took a deep breath before stepping into the Prince's court.

A thousand eyes, a blur of molten brown, sky blue and forest green, pinned her down as she approached the Prince's throne. A thousand eyes, smudges in the background, yet Prince Rowan's eyes were the clearest in her vision. A vibrant green, like the deep ocean of trees in the forests surrounding. His courtiers stood in a line, neat and orderly, conveying no emotion in their eyes. She glanced at every single face of the Prince's attendants, her nervousness suddenly catching up to her. She was nimble as she glided towards the throne, eyes now shifting to the floor. When she reached the end of the carpet, she stooped down low on one knee, kneeling for the Prince.

Prince Rowan had amusement written on every inch of his face as she knelt. She resisted the urge to scowl back at her Prince. After every day of training, he had insisted that he spend their free time together. Ever since she had stepped inside that castle, Rowan had flocked to her side when she was not sparring, claiming that he wanted to know her better. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, there was no malice in his words and he meant well. At first, he had chattered away, content to hear his voice as he accompanied her in spare time. He spoke of the worries of court and talk of trades for the Kingdom. She had not known friends before so she did not know how to respond to simple social prompts, thus she stayed quiet. When he had no free time when she did, the halls were empty of sound, energy. Sometimes she would miss Rowan's voice, the lovely voice that filled the void in the corridors. The weeks turned to months, months into more months, and she learnt from the Prince. She started to speak more, respond to others, make conversation. It started out with a couple of short remarks, and months after, the Prince and Bellona made conversation like a tennis match. They grew close.

She had found a companion in the Prince, and he had found one in her.

"Bellona Fayr." His voice echoed in the now silent court. "My General has been training you for these past years."
She bit her lip and the drive to roll her eyes as she replied smoothly, "Yes, your Highness."
A low chuckle came from above her. "Rise, Fayr. But remember you shall bow to noone but me, feared General of the Imperial." he purred, "But it's not General of the Imperial just yet.. am I correct? You have not proven yourself yet." Bellona swallowed again, her throat dry at his taunts.
"That is correct, my Prince." Prince Rowan's eyes flashed at her answer. "According to tradition, I must bestow upon you a task. So we can all see what the future defender of our Kingdom is capable of." he licked his lips and continued, "Hunt down the monster of the woods, that is your task."

A silent gasp rose above Prince Rowan's court— Bellona's lips thinned, but she did not pale. Typical of Rowan.

--- four hours later

She was laying in the forest, watching. A snare was concealed in the clearing in front of her, but goods were exposed on top of it. She held her breath. One. Two. Perhaps the beast did not really exist, it could have just been a fool's errand. Three. She curled her lips. It was typical of Prince Rowan, How could he, the scheming li— a sudden yelp resonated from the place of the snare, and Bellona drew her dagger. She slowly advanced towards the trap, a wriggling mess twisting and grumbling from the catch. It was too large to be a forest animal, and from the colorful swears she could only assume it was someone from the Crown Prince's court that had been wandering in the forest. She sighed, starting to move toward the trap, when it suddenly hissed. Bellona stepped back suddenly.

"Who is there? I am the Monster of this Forest, I demand you to free me from this prison!" the small figure in the net stopped squirming, and faced instead swiveled, so it was now facing Bellona. Red eyes glowed in contrast to her pale face and dark cloak. Bellona stepped back again, but not in fear. "Y-you're like me?" She bit back disappointment.
An eyebrow shot up her dainty face. "What, is the sight of my disheveled hair not terrifying enough for you?" Bellona opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated. "It's just that... I was expecting a monster. Larger than the trees, sharp fangs and all."
The Monster raised the other eyebrow "Oh.. are you well acquainted with Prince Rowan?" Fayr stepped forward again, amusement creeping into the Monster's face. "I live in a forest, not under a rock, child." the edge of her mouth edged upwards. "Let me guess, you're here to hunt me down." Bellona swayed a little. "H...how did you know?" she asked, warily eyeing the tiny figure, limbs entangled in rope.
"The Prince and his ancestors have always set the same task. To hunt me down." she grinned, but it was like she had not done so for, well, decades. "The truth is, the monarchy treasure the bond between the Second and themself more than the capability of said warrior. There have been many that have the intelligence but without the fighting spirit. What you want is something of my possession to give to the Prince." She moved again, and Bellona held her dagger firmly between her hand. The Monster slid a hand into the small bag (no bigger than her) and she pulled out a feather. She looked back at Bellona with those fiery eyes.

"Take this possession back to your Prince." she whispered, "It is laced with my magic, and he will know that you were successful." she offered the feather to Fayr. Looking down at the feather, Bellona took the feather from the Monster. "I trust you in this, Monster." she was pulling her arm back when, to her fright, the Monster grabbed her arm. Her eyes were shining with delight as she muttered half to herself, "I was not always Monster you know. I used to have an identity, a name.. I remember." a crazy grin gripped her smooth lovely face. "They tell me— I warn you, Bellona Fayr, disorder is coming." she let go of her arm just as suddenly as she had grabbed it, half throwing Fayr to the muddy ground— and when Bellona's heart had started beating again there was nothing in the trap.

--- two hours later

"How did my little General do?" Prince Rowan's eyes lit up as he caught up with her in the hall. Servants passed them, nodding to the Prince as they did. Then they nodded at Bellona too. It was a small, subtle change but she noticed. Bellona passed a disdainful glance in Rowan's direction and kept walking, saying nothing. "Huh. Was she that cranky to you? ..."
"Do you remember our first ever conversation?" she said nothing. "When you had finished your first day of training?"
"You asked me for my name." she barely glanced at him, keeping her pace steady. "I was tired, Rowan. I did not want to be given the pain of speaking to you." they both smiled, rejoicing at the memory.
"You did not answer me. I thought that perhaps this beautiful lady had not heard me, so I repeated my question, louder." he chuckled, "And when you glared at me with such raw fury, I thought that you would murder me there and then. With a dozen guards watching our every movement." his grin dropped.
"Even before you asked me my name, you were talking about yourself. I thought of you vain and egotistical." Her tongue was sour as she shared those words. He smirked, fake hurt flickering on his face. Then, tensely he said, "That night, I asked the General of you. He told me of, your past." She did not say anything. "I am truly sorry about what happened, with Penrith. I understand your grief." She glared at her, eyebrow raised, waiting. "... I am even more sorry for, sticking my nose into your business?" They both giggled, something easing the awkwardness that lingered between the two. "But if it were not for Hestia, then would there have been a chance of us meeting?"
"Hestia?" "The one who set fire to.." She faltered a step and he halted, immediately realizing, "The General did not tell you."

They walked in silence, then an intake of breath. "You saw the Monster." he whispered, desperate to the subject. "Except she's not really a monster, is she? She only takes the name, 'Monster', because she wishes to be alone. They gave her that name, but only because they are afraid of her powers. She did, things. In the past." his gaze remained fixed on Bellona's face, "Here." He took her hand and tenderly peeled open her fingers. A single feather. It was small, dull and black. Even on display, it was barely noticeable. She had not examined it carefully before, as she had no need to, but it was pretty in its bliss. She looked back up, meeting the Rowan's eyes once again.
"I figure that you should probably keep your trophy. When they misbehave, you can tell your guards that you Hunted down the Monster of the woods and lived." he grinned at her, his hands burning on hers. "Besides, I have no used for it. And she does not give without a reason." his eyes flashed, the emerald green shining in the moon's light. She could feel his warm breath on her face.
Bellona closed her palm gently and the tips of Rowan's fingers brushed hers. They both stepped away from each other. She cleared her throat.
"Does this mean.. people do not regularly come back from seeing her?" she gulped. He chortled and waved a hand. "No, no. They come back, but not as others may have remembered them. That is, if they do not try to harm her. Then yes. She is blessed with magic and protection from the Gods." He stopped speaking, instead finding his feet more interesting.
"How do you know so much about her?" Bellona inquired.
A pause. "She and my family are well acquainted from.. a very long time ago." Then they reached her chambers and that was the end of that.

It was the middle of the night, and Bellona twirled the small, thin feather in her hands. Didn't the Monster say something about it being laced with her magic? She took a hesitant sniff, discovering a herbal fragrance, much like roses and grass. It had the familiar scent of Prince Rowan, and despite the chilly temperature of her room she felt her face flush. Then she shook her head— The General, a title many evils of the land feared, should not be pondering about the Prince in the darkness of her bedchamber. A laugh escaped from her throat. Strangely, she had only begun to laugh when she had stepped in the castle. It was a delightful feeling, a release of any anxiety. Smiling softly at the feather, she set it down on her vanity desk — a vanity desk! why would she, a warrior who had lived in mud for the last two years, who had leaves and twigs finding home in her hair every lesson, need a vanity desk? — and curled up in her bed, finding sleep easy that night.

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Bellona Fayr, General to the Imperial Legion and Second to Prince Rowan remembered the Monster's words. She did not forget them, not for a single moment in the year of peace that followed her coronation. After she had received the official titles as General, the Prince gifted her with a sword. He had looked in her eyes and told her that there was no sword like it in the world; the metal forged with the Gods' very hands with the holy heat of the sun. It was a stunning piece of work, a green stone embedded in the sleek steel of the blade, that lay close to the hilt. She thought she imagined power purring from the saber. He said that it's name was Peacekeeper, and had been handed down to each of the royal family's most trusted. His hand lingered on the handle as he passed it to Bellona. She looked only at the sword, not daring to meet his eyes, but when she did he was already looking away.

It had taken weeks after the coronation to plan the party. It was the talk of the Kingdom, the celebration of Bellona's new position next to the Prince. She did not understand exactly, why, they had to have the gala. Over and over the noblewomen and men had inscribed in her mind that the appointment of a new Defender of the Land was important, a declaration to the people of the Kingdom that they were and would be safe. She twisted the dull feather that Rowan had given her. It had become her lucky charm for the past few weeks of party planning— it barely left her side. She knew it was stupid, but it had grown precious to her, especially as many of her fellow courtiers had so much more impressive items such as exported jewels or plants that were so rare she had never heard of them. So she hid it from eyes of the courtiers and nobles. In fact, the only people who knew it even existed was the Monster, Rowan and herself.

One night following about a month of preparation for the 'biggest party of her life', Prince Rowan's very words, she was ushered to her rooms by her two personal maids, both clucking and clicking as they surveyed the time. Aspen and Acacia, the two talkative girls, had assisted clothing her, selecting gowns that complimented her newly growing plant that extended down her spine. Pink coral, intended to bring out her odd eyes. A gift from the Prince, which she was to put on show to announce her loyalty to him. In the end, the two girls dressing her had decided on a scandalous navy blue dress with slits in unfamiliar places to allow free flow. She blushed slightly, feeling bare yet, in control. She had smiled sweetly at the maids, and decided that at least the attire was easy to move in.

And so that night, all that could come was invited to the celebration of Bellona, and the great halls were crowded with so many people, the colors of the gowns shifting and moving. It was all flattering to Bellona, since she had never been met with as many compliments and good wishes before, that it all felt... whimsy. Yet her smile did not wobble.

After several more ungraceful hellos and stiff smiles, she excused herself to get some air and made a beeline through fancy dresses and dancing people she did not know to a high balcony, the one closest to her. The whiff of fresh air was a brief release, and she was following the direction of the soft breeze when she opened her eyes and met with solid green eyes that were staring back at hers. She did not leap back, or show any surprise but her eyes flared when they realized that these were Rowan's eyes.

He smiled, and a purring sound resonated from his throat. "A beautiful view, isn't it?" but his eyes never left her face.
Bellona stared back, her eyes fierce and not showing any alarm. "Thank you— for the party that you threw for me tonight. I appreciate your efforts." She tore her gaze from the Prince's eyes and stared out at the moonlit sky. Her eyes were fixed on the stars, a sad glare in them. "Nobody has done something like this for me before."

"You do not seem... afraid," Bellona's attention snapped back to those emerald eyes."Of what you are expected to do, as a General. Sure, there have been no wars for quite a while, but still, you do not seem nervous at all. You must know one day your training will be of use. Yet you still stand tall. How? Have you simply not thought of the idea of chaos?"
Bellona paused, thinking of the right words. "My Prince— " "No need for formalities, even now. Please call me Rowan." she frowned, but did so,"Rowan, I knew fear and discord from when I was young. I have simply learnt to accept it, but do not think for a single moment that I do not know fear, for it is the only thing that kept me alive when Penrith was burning." The Prince was silent for a while, but responded so so quietly.
"I did not know fear when I was small. I lived in a happy world. But one day, my parents did not come home, and it was only then I felt it for the first time." his eyes turned dark, and Bellona did not push further, but he continued, "There is a reason I call myself a Prince and not a King. I cannot stand to bear that title." He looked at her over once, mouth agape as if he wanted to say something else, then turned back to the party flourishing inside.

For a year after the coronation, the kingdom of Nature was a realm of serenity, no evils had disturbed the calm in over a decade after all, and Bellona did an excellent job at keeping peace. Most days, she yearned for something a little bit more exciting than watching over the Prince every moment of her new life or attending lunch and dinner with Rowan. Her wish was heard by the Heavens as the prophecy the High Prophetess foretold was not finished yet.

One evening, Rowan received word of a village in the east, burnt to the ground until there was nothing left to indicate there was even life except the very foundations of the houses and the ashes of the ruins. The Prince was furious. When he summoned Bellona, she could feel cold wrath rippling off him in waves. She sensed it in the stiffness of his courtiers, the way that none of them made eye contact when she had entered the throne room. But the Prince understood Fayr's circumstances; she was not the only one to have lost someone to Hestia. His face softened as she once again knelt in front of him, but his grip on the arms of the throne did not loosen.

When Prince Rowan had explained to Bellona what had happened to that village, she had paled, the first they had ever seen her so fearful. Rowan cleared his throat, and his voice was tight as he spoke,

"Fayr... You do not have to go if you do not wish to. We know.. how hard it must be hearing of this."
But she shook her head, determination in her eyes as she said, "No, it may have the answers I need." her eyes reached the Prince's.
Then she whispered, "... Tell me the name of the village, Rowan." the room was quiet, "Liathen. The village is named Liathen."
And she rose from the floor, quickly bowing as she rushed to pack her needs in her room. It was not far from the kingdom; she understood Rowan's anger. They could have prevented this. Fire boiled beneath her skin, as she stalked towards her room.

--- 2 hours later

She stood, silent at the landscape before her. Ashes... nothing but ashes. Her eyes flickered to a solitary tattered ribbon half veiled by the thick layer of grey. A noise she did not recognize escaped from her throat. She closed her eyes, then forced them back open. She could not speak, her throat entirely dry, words not forming. She watched the pallid faces of her fellow soldiers, eyes on nothing else but a flag in the distance. The kingdom of Fire's emblem blazing on the ripped fabric.

"Ma'am... a message..." The soldier would not continue, could not continue. They just stared ahead at the embers left of the village, eyes dull. Bellona whispered, "It's a declaration of war."

--- 4 weeks later

War, Bellona had learnt, was not easy. It was complicated, cruel and like a wild beast. After the discovery at the village, she had reported back to Rowan and his face had blanched. The room was silent when he said "Hestia has come back." but had erupted in chaos the moment he had murmured the name. He had not spoken to her for two days after that, organizing the armies that were waiting for motivation and orders. She had not expected war to be so orderly. Then after Rowan had come tired back after giving speeches to the armies that were to be dispatched, they had discussed war tactics. She had begged Rowan to let her go fight on the battlefield where she belonged. They had many arguments after that, Rowan ceaselessly saying no, to her dismay.

Two weeks had passed since the first battle occurred, and every day from then less soldiers came back than went in, the number of their armies depleting. A royal adviser calculated that it would be in their best interests to seek help from other kingdoms. The kingdom of Air had not been heard of since their monarch's death, concealing their land from prying eyes with very strong magic. There was no way to reach them, but the kingdom of Water had been allies with the kingdom of Nature for longer than both families could remember, and Bellona discovered that all they needed to convince them to join forces, was tell them of a simple word. "Hestia." The Queen of empire of Fire had not been seen in over two decades. More clearly, she had not been seen since her father's murder. But even so far away from the battlefield... Fayr could feel the power that she omitted, her strength that vibrated through the ground— that she knew they could all feel in their spines when her name was whispered. And she called for power.

Then there was a day when the Prince finally let his Second go. He was tired, worn out by the numbers that kept going but less coming back, and although he fretted about Fayr's safety, he succumbed to her steel will. She was ready, ready from the moment that she had dispatched armies to fight. She absently tucked the feather into her breast pocket and mounted her horse. Just as was about to leave, Rowan, about half a dozen pageboys soundlessly pursuing him, burst through a wall of guards, eyes locking with Bellona and half ran, half walked to her horse. He stopped as he reached her. Not for a single second, did he take his eyes off hers. Then he spoke, loud enough only for Bellona to hear.

"Hestia took my parents from me. I know I cannot keep you caged like a bird, so fly, Fayr, and give her hell." he grinned, a melancholy sight and as her horse started walking toward the gate, she thought she heard the Prince say, "May the Gods guide you, Bellona Fayr."

[veridian]

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War was absolute anarchy. To her north, east, south and west was slick, slippery mud. There were less soldiers than mud. The sky was stained scarlet with the blood of the dead, their souls trapped in the cruel stars above. Flaming arrows occasionally rained down from the night, only distinguishable by the bright orange light in stark contrast to the dim blue sky. Ragged flags with the emblem of what Bellona thought was the symbol of the kingdom of Fire were erect on the battlefield, swords of dead people littered beside them. It was a gruesome sight, but now was a time of silence. A pause, a break in war.

The battlefield was eerily mute, only the wail of the wind could be heard. A line of soldiers with scaled red armor like a dragon's, no doubt the ruthless inhuman warriors under the control of the feared Queen Hestia. There were rows amidst rows of soldiers, an endless sea of crimson, whereas the small river of the warriors of Nature stood courageous in the face of death. In the front of the army stood Bellona Fayr, proud and head held high. She cherished the short stillness of war; the only time where nothing had been a blur unlike these past months. And she turned to her army, and said "For our people! for the King! for Home!" and she liked to think she saw their spirits lift.

Queen Hestia had been attacking both the kingdom of Nature and Water— and the latter found themselves in a situation indeed. With the kingdom of Fire being even more powerful than both kingdoms had expected, yielding twice the army of Nature's army, no doubt from all those years in hiding, Water could not find many soldiers to spare. They needed their soldiers for their own, but they gave what they could.

She had expected a horn, shouting, something to signal the start of the battle that would most likely only claim the lives of more of her soldiers, and barely scrape the front lines of the army in front of her— but there was nothing, silence, then the marching of soldiers, the sound of metal scraping free of it's keep. There was only silence, but then came the first clash of sword against sword, a vile sound that echoed through the land and broke the calm, then the battle began.

Bellona was fierce with her sword. Peacemaker, that was its name. It whispered to her while she struck down soldiers, and she did not if she was going crazy when the sword started singing soothing lullabies, but it eased her nerves as it told her to feel no mercy to those who had disrespected her home. She found the battle calm, time slowing down every time she took a life. All the training from the camp and the soldiers from the castle had paid off— she was the perfect warrior. And as Peacemaker sliced through each of these soldier, she wondered which one of them had burnt down her home.

Little did she know, a fire was slowly burning in the middle of the battlefield, eventually circling her and some of her soldiers off in the ring, trapping her with more warriors of Fire. Bellona did not notice the fire, just assumed that they were arrows shot in the ground. She fought ferociously, holding her ground against the enemies, and had unarmed her last opponent. She was just about to strike the killing blow when Peacemaker suddenly glinted, a warning of some sort? Bellona took her eye off the soldier's face, glancing into the glassy surface of the sword. But she stopped still, her limbs locking into place. She could not move, kept her eyes on the fire reflected on the sword. Fire, trapped, she was choking, she needed air— and the warrior hit. He was a weapon of his own, polished claws that sunk into her throat as she stood there, watching, eyes slowly turning glassy. One, two, three claws. And they scraped her neck, the wound deep. Then he let go, almost pushing her in veiled disgust.

She fell, and time was slowed. She fell, and her head turned to the side, seeing through glazed eyes the horror and panic on her soldiers' faces as she dropped to the floor. Bellona stared up at the sky, watching the stars as they continued in their dance. And as she lay in her own blood, clinging onto whatever scraps of life she had left, the fire in her blood boiled under her veins and she closed her eyes for what she thought was the last time, like she was simply sleeping—

[veridian]

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— and every weight she had in her body, mind and soul, ones she did not even know existed, lifted. It was a release, she thought, feeling weightless. But as she looked around, she realized with a jolt that the battle was far from over, that the soldiers of Fire were ruthless and kept pressing through what limited numbers the army had. The fire still blazed around her— what used to be her. She looked down at her corpse, drowning in thoughts and distress. A brilliant flash of light appeared before her, a figure rising up above her corporeal form, seeming to form from the fire that now secluded her body from prying eyes.

It was a glorious light, fire that burned with divine strength and shimmered with the very power it emitted. The figure that stood in the fire— no, the figure was the fire— was tall and slim, with the strong hands of a warrior gripping a sword alike Peacemaker. The lady had a vicious smile, and a glow in her eyes that made Bellona uneasy. Despite her steel will, some part of her forced her down in her knees, bowing to this figure. A primitive grin spread across the figure's calm face, it was something out of place.

"Rise, Bellona Fayr." she spoke, barely a movement of her eyes as it grappled with Bellona's. "Need I an introduction?"
No, no Fayr knew who this woman was. Death resonated from her every being, and she stood proudly on the battlefield, as if it were her home. The sword that the lady held strummed and purred with unleashed power. Fayr had been given her name, after all. She did not speak, voice failing her, but rather thought. Bellona, goddess of war and destruction. The goddess' eyes flared and the grin became smoother.

"That is correct." she grunted, nothing ladylike in her at all, "I have come with a gift from the heavens." she smiled, and Fayr shuddered, a tingling fading down her spine where the coral plants lay. She dared not speak.
"Mortals, such delicate little things." she ran an eye down Fayr's corpse. "So easily breakable." the goddess emphasized each word, pushing her power through, then made eye contact with Fayr again. Something under her skin squirmed as she struggled to maintain eye contact with those luminous orbs of fire. "I watched you as you grew, and you caught my attention. A pathetic little nobody that rose to the top of the list. You went from nothing, to the one name your enemies feared, Fayr."
"You were not meant to die just yet, Bellona Fayr. This was... an unfortunate occurrence." Fayr could feel her words slivering down her back as she watched Bellona speak. "I grew accustomed to you. Your soul is rather unique indeed— I begged my father to let you live. So I come bearing a charity from the gods." she smiled. "One, the gift of life."

Fayr finally tore from Bellona's gaze and looked back down, to her corpse. Three marks of her death were slowly fading into pink— no, the open wounds were shifting, turning shiny and sleek. "It is a reminder of your fortune. Your death wounds are sealed by the Gods." Bellona whispered, but not weakly. The corpse's chest was still for one moment, then started gently rising and falling until suddenly, as if she had been struck by lightning, she arched off the ground and her chest heaved. Her soul was being dragged back into what was once her deathbed. And as she saw the flames of the goddess melt away into a wave of fire, into what her mortal eyes could not comprehend, she heard the goddess' voice as loud and clear as always, "And a small present from me."

"The gift of flight." Fayr thought she saw a smirk on the figure's smooth face as she said, "Fly, Bellona Fayr."

She was thrown back into her body and she screamed. Pain flared in all corners of her body, but the worst of the pain was situated on her back. She could feel the bones groaning and muscle tearing as new mass was added. She curled up on the ground for several moments, fury and agony flowing from her deep into the abyss of the ground. Tears crept into her eyes as the pain stopped throbbing, and only then did she look. Twin great wings of feather sprouted, symmetrical between shoulder blades, sparing space for the coral that grew down her back. The fire was alarmingly getting closer, but she stood her ground. And then she spread her wings, feathers grazing the tips of the fire and she roared.

Testing her wings, then realising they were still soft and flimsy, she tucked them behind her, uncomfortably grinding with the plant on her back. With a second cry, she leapt from the heart of the fire towards what was an approaching legion of warriors of Fire. Swallowed by confusion and yet, anger, she did not think twice of tearing into them, Peacemaker now silent as she slide each soldier apart. But the army was endless, and eventually she was surrounded by them, fighting for space, even an inch. She fought ferociously, but that was not enough. Her mind was hazy from the scrape of death, and she did not see what was happening as she edged closer and closer to freedom from the unending swarm of scaled armor.

A rope, two, three. Slung over her arms, forcing her to drop her sword. But she refused. Bellona roared again, a sound that echoed off the masses of dark soldiers as another rope slinked around her feet, tripping her onto the ground, and another jolt of searing pain as more chains wrapped around her newly formed wings. She roared, refusing to be beaten. Then there was only a blanket of black as one of the warriors, sneering in distaste, slammed the hilt of her dagger against the side of her head.

[veridian]

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"Wake up, Bellona Fayr." A soft but clear voice tickled the back of her mind. She murmured something, telling the voice to go away, turning to her side— ignoring the pain shooting up her arm. The voice came again, no longer calm or lovely but rather a snarl, "Get up." There was a dull throbbing ache in her head, and as she obeyed, agony spiked in her brain. Bellona's eyelids drooped low, seeing nothing but blurs of red and orange. Murals of fire and death sat on the walls, watching her movements. Cold obsidian stretched the entire floor, so polished she could see her own reflection in it. Bellona Fayr did not look good; one large purple bruise covered her left eye and her face was pale and thin. Fayr lifted her head a little, eyes absorbing the details of the foreign place she was in. She knew where she was even before the voice echoed around the room once more. "Welcome to my castle, General." Queen Hestia cooed from her adamant throne.

Bellona could do nothing but stare at the smirking figure that leaned toward her on the throne in front of her. One glance down at herself informed her that her arms were chained, iron bonds that kept her from moving. She stood stiffly in the center of her prison, only a foot's length from the Queen's face. Queen Hestia's fair, flawless face. Bellona took in the beauty of the lady in front of her, emotions betraying nothing. She watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way the material of her dress gleamed every time she moved. She would have been a beautiful maiden, if it were not for her eyes. Something about them reminded Fayr of the goddess of war's eyes— a sort of power-hungry, blood-thirsty glint. They were blood red, and a fire raged behind them. The Queen smiled cruelly, and Bellona stopped herself shivering away from her stare.

"I know who you are, Rowan's lapdog. And the only think that you should know about me, is that I am the most dangerous person in this room." Bellona's eyes flashed to the daggers that adorned the Queen's sides. The Queen, despite her delicate looks, was a warrior. There was another fact she knew about Hestia, it was that despite the dangers, she joined her warriors in battle— but it was known that she was the very danger in the battlefield. Stories whispered that those twin daggers never missed their targets.
"My soldiers tell me that you rose from the ashes like a Phoenix." she purred, the noise sending trembles down Bellona's spine. "One of them says that they killed you. I enjoyed their screams of mercy that night." Fayr shuddered. "But look at those wings, Fayr. He was not wrong, was he? No, he was telling the truth. I killed him simply because I was.. bored." Bellona stared down the Queen, eyes empty and dark. "You were given second life, weren't you?" Hestia asked, voice now quiet but not softly. Then her eyes flared, "The Gods want you to kill me.. that's what she meant." A moment of quiet, the Queen seeming so far away from this earth. If Bellona was allowed a step closer, she could have ripped her throat out with her teeth. "That's what the prophecy meant. Burn it to the ground, and power will come to you." She suddenly laughed. "Genius! Only the heavens could have thought of something as sly as that." The Queen's eyes snapped back to Bellona's face. "You are the power. You are their power. Blessed by the Gods. But you will not stop me, child."

"You will fall, Queen, if not by my hands then someone's." Fayr kept her gaze steady, and whispered. "But you will not win, Hestia."
Queen Hestia only frowned, ignoring her threat. "That is no way to speak to a Queen. Show some respect." An evil grin tugged on her lips. "Kneel."

Bellona clenched her teeth down but did not move. She would kneel only to Rowan. The Queen's eyes flashed angrily, and her eyes flicked to either side of Fayr and nodded. Then a cry escaped from her throat as she was yanked down by her chains, forcing her onto her knees. She growled, swearing at the Queen, to her amusement. "Good." She yawned, waving a hand to her attendants, a gesture for them to leave as she started to stand up. "Get used to it, Fayr. You will kneel only for me for a very, long, time." she smiled, so feral and so vile that something in Bellona's heart froze at the sight.

--- two weeks later

As a prisoner of war, the Queen did everything she could to break Bellona's mind. She was awfully good at it too, and every single moment Fayr spent with her was another step towards her breaking point. The Queen made sure to be especially cruel in physical tortures. There was no information that she could get from Fayr— no, she was just some sorry entertainment for Queen Hestia. She was chained like a wild beast, a thick chain encircling her neck, several tightly wound around her arms and hands, two retaining her on the ground. They were all controlled by several of Queen Hestia's palace servants, ordered to obey only her commands. In the everlasting hours she was confined in that room, Fayr was given no choice but to study every detail of her jail; she was sure she had memorized her Guards' schedules and counted every tile of black stone on the floor.

The Queen only came to her in the afternoons. She was the ruling monarch of a long forgotten Kingdom, of course she had far better things to do than torment Fayr every living minute that she was in that room. But the Queen made her time with the General count. She had started with branding her, a brutal red mark that would permanently be on her upper arm, near her shoulder— the symbol that she would try her best to conceal every lasting day of her life. A mark to remind her of what Hestia had done to her. Then she had whipped her, ordered guards to beat her.

[veridian]

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"Wake up, Bellona Fayr." A soft but clear voice tickled the back of her mind. She murmured something, telling the voice to go away, turning to her side— ignoring the pain shooting up her arm. The voice came again, no longer calm or lovely but rather a snarl, "Get up." There was a dull throbbing ache in her head, and as she obeyed, agony spiked in her brain. Bellona's eyelids drooped low, seeing nothing but blurs of red and orange. Murals of fire and death sat on the walls, watching her movements. Cold obsidian stretched the entire floor, so polished she could see her own reflection in it. Bellona Fayr did not look good; one large purple bruise covered her left eye and her face was pale and thin. Fayr lifted her head a little, eyes absorbing the details of the foreign place she was in. She knew where she was even before the voice echoed around the room once more. "Welcome to my castle, General." Queen Hestia cooed from her adamant throne.

Bellona could do nothing but stare at the smirking figure that leaned toward her on the throne in front of her. One glance down at herself informed her that her arms were chained, iron bonds that kept her from moving. She stood stiffly in the center of her prison, only a foot's length from the Queen's face. Queen Hestia's fair, flawless face. Bellona took in the beauty of the lady in front of her, emotions betraying nothing. She watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the way the material of her dress gleamed every time she moved. She would have been a beautiful maiden, if it were not for her eyes. Something about them reminded Fayr of the goddess of war's eyes— a sort of power-hungry, blood-thirsty glint. They were blood red, and a fire raged behind them. The Queen smiled cruelly, and Bellona stopped herself shivering away from her stare.

"I know who you are, Rowan's lapdog. But, do you know who I am?" Bellona truly had no idea who she was, she only knew that the woman in front of her would do anything to seize power. She had killed countless people, so why should she stop with her? Bellona's eyes flashed to the daggers that adorned the Queen's sides. The Queen, despite her delicate looks, was a warrior. There was another fact she knew about Hestia, it was that despite the dangers, she joined her warriors in battle— but it was known that she was the very danger in the battlefield. Stories whispered that those twin daggers never missed their targets.
"My soldiers tell me that you rose from the ashes like a Phoenix." she purred, the noise sending trembles down Bellona's spine. "One of them says that they killed you. I enjoyed their screams of mercy that night." Fayr shuddered. "But look at those wings, Fayr. He was not wrong, was he? No, he was telling the truth. I killed him because I was... bored." Bellona stared down the Queen, eyes empty and dark. "You were given second life, weren't you?" Hestia asked, voice now quiet but not softly. Then her eyes flared, "The Gods want you to kill me.. that's what she meant." A moment of quiet, the Queen seeming so far away from this earth. If Bellona was allowed a step closer, she could have ripped her throat out with her teeth. "That's what the prophecy meant. Burn it to the ground, and power will come to you." She suddenly laughed. "Genius! Only the heavens could have thought of something as sly as that." The Queen's eyes snapped back to Bellona's face. "You are the power. You are their power. Blessed by the Gods. But you will not stop me, child."

"You will fall, Queen, if not by my hands then someone's." Fayr kept her gaze steady, and whispered. "But you will not win, Hestia."
Queen Hestia only frowned, ignoring her threat. "That is no way to speak to a Queen. Show some respect." An evil grin tugged on her lips. "Kneel."

Bellona clenched her teeth down but did not move. She would kneel only to Rowan. The Queen's eyes flashed angrily, and her eyes flicked to either side of Fayr and nodded. Then a cry escaped from her throat as she was yanked down by her chains, forcing her onto her knees. She growled, swearing at the Queen, to her amusement. "Good." She yawned, waving a hand to her attendants, a gesture for them to leave. "Get used to it, Fayr. You will kneel only for me for a very, long, time." she smiled, so feral and so vile that something in Bellona's heart froze at the sight.