Kapitel 2: The weeping night's

The ground trembled violently beneath her feet, and the air was thick with the cacophony of chaos—shouts, screams, and the clang of steel against steel. The queen's breath came in ragged gasps, her golden hair, once immaculate, now tangled and matted with blood and sweat. Her piercing emerald eyes darted frantically, a storm of anguish and determination within them. She clutched her infant son tightly to her chest, the baby's small face pressed into the fabric of her gown. Her trembling fingers lingered on his soft cheek for one final moment, her lips brushing his forehead as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Go," she whispered hoarsely to the soldier before her. Her voice trembled, but the resolve in her tone was unshakable. "Take him far away. Keep him safe, no matter what happens." Her hand, though shaking, gripped the soldier's arm with surprising strength, her nails biting into the metal of his armor. Her pale face betrayed the weight of her decision, a mother's love warring with the inevitability of her own doom.

As the soldier reluctantly obeyed, clutching the small bundle and disappearing into the shadows, the queen straightened herself. Her frail frame seemed to grow taller, her back rigid with purpose. Her face, though tear-streaked, hardened into an expression of unyielding defiance. She turned toward the palace, her footsteps heavy yet deliberate, each step a testament to her unwavering will.

The flames of the palace reflected in her eyes as she ascended the stone steps, her movements slow but deliberate, as if savoring the fleeting moments before her final confrontation. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the sharp tips of her nails digging into her palms until they bled. She could feel the demon side of her clawing to surface, a dark and uncontrollable force that had drained her energy. Her breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts, but she forced herself onward.

When she reached the throne room, she froze. Her entire body stiffened as though turned to stone, her lips parting slightly in disbelief. Before her stood Kane, the king's younger brother, his face twisted into a cruel, triumphant smirk. His eyes gleamed with malice, dark and calculating. The ornate armor he wore was splattered with the blood of his victims, and his hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, as though daring her to move.

The queen's mouth quivered for a moment, then set in a grim line. "You…" she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with venom. The betrayal hit her like a physical blow, and her shoulders sagged under its weight. The man she had once called family, trusted to stand by her side in her darkest moments, had turned against her.

Kane's smirk widened. "You look surprised, my queen. Did you really think I would let you rule in his stead? Your time is over. This kingdom is mine now."

The words cut deep, but the queen refused to show weakness. Her lips curled into a snarl, and for a moment, her demon side flickered in her eyes—a flash of crimson that sent a ripple of unease through the crowd gathered behind Kane. They had been turned against her, their faces filled with fear and loathing, their hands clutching weapons aimed at her.

But she didn't falter. "You'll never have him," she spat, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "You'll never touch my son."

Kane's expression darkened. He raised his sword, pointing it directly at her heart. "Then you leave me no choice."

The battle erupted in a blur of motion. The queen fought like a woman possessed, her movements fueled by desperation and fury. She spun and struck, her once-graceful movements now wild and unpredictable. Her demon side gave her strength, her hands glowing with a dark, pulsating energy that sent men flying, but it came at a cost. Each blow sapped her strength, her breaths growing more labored with each passing moment.

Her enemies circled her like vultures, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and hatred. Her once-loyal subjects now saw her as a monster, thanks to Kane's manipulations. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let the tears spill, even as her heart shattered. Every swing of her blade was a silent scream, every strike a desperate plea for her child's safety.

But she was weakening. A sword sliced across her side, and she staggered, blood staining the torn fabric of her gown. Kane moved in for the final blow, his face a mask of cold satisfaction. She fell to her knees, her body trembling, but her eyes remained locked on his, blazing with defiance even in her final moments.

"You will know no peace," she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice a guttural growl that seemed to echo through the room. Her lips curled into a bitter smile, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. "For your betrayal, Kane, you will beg for death… and it will come when you no longer want it. Mark my words."

Her voice faltered as the last of her strength left her, and her body slumped to the ground. Her eyes, still filled with determination, fluttered shut as she drew her final breath. Even in death, she was a force to be reckoned with—a mother, a queen, and a warrior who refused to surrender. The room fell silent, the weight of her curse hanging heavy in the air.

The day the people of Eclipsara would forever call "The Weeping Night" was cloaked in a solemn stillness. The moon hung high in the night sky, a pale sentinel casting its silvery glow over the land. It was full, yet veiled with a faint, ghostly haze, as though it, too, mourned alongside the kingdom. A soft drizzle kissed the earth, each droplet a quiet lament, soaking into the soil as if to share in the sorrow.

The streets, which were normally bustling with life, now lay empty and quiet. The cobblestones glistened under the dim light, reflecting the scattered droplets. The air was heavy, not with the storm's ferocity but with the palpable weight of grief. It was as though the entire kingdom had stopped breathing, holding its collective breath in honor of its fallen rulers.

Through the rain-soaked windows of the homes, faint flickers of candlelight could be seen, their warm glow a fragile comfort against the cold despair that had taken hold. Families huddled together inside, their faces shadowed and forlorn. Mothers held their children close, running fingers through their hair in absent-minded attempts to soothe their own aching hearts. Fathers sat silently at the tables, their weathered hands gripping mugs of untouched tea, their gazes fixed on nothing as tears threatened to spill over.

An elderly woman leaned against the wooden frame of her door, her frail shoulders hunched with the weight of loss. Her hands, knotted and trembling, clutched a small bundle of fabric—a memento of happier times. She stared out at the deserted road, her lips parted as though she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, a single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek, blending with the rain.

Even the animals seemed to sense the sorrow in the air. The horses in the royal stables stood motionless, their ears drooping and their usual restless snorts subdued. Stray dogs curled under awnings, their normally alert eyes half-closed, as if sharing in the grief. Birds perched in the trees, their songs silenced in respect for the fallen king and queen.

A young boy, no older than ten, peeked out from behind the heavy curtains of his home. His wide, tear-filled eyes reflected the moonlight, his small hands gripping the fabric tightly. His mother knelt beside him, gently pulling him away from the window and into her arms. Her face was a mask of composed grief, but her trembling fingers betrayed her. She kissed the crown of his head, whispering words of comfort she didn't believe herself.

At the heart of the kingdom, near the royal palace, a lone soldier stood guard. His armor, polished to perfection for the funeral, was now streaked with rain, each drop tracing the contours of the metal like a tear. He held his spear upright, his posture rigid, but his face told a different story. His jaw was clenched tight, his lips pressed into a thin line to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. His eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, stared ahead, unblinking, as though he could still see the king and queen standing before him.

The palace gates loomed in the distance, their towering iron bars closed tightly, as if to shield the kingdom from further heartbreak. Beyond them, the royal courtyard lay shrouded in a somber mist. The once-vibrant gardens seemed to have withered overnight, their blooms drooping and lifeless. Even the statues of past rulers, carved in eternal vigilance, appeared to bow their heads in mourning.

And then there was the rain—a soft, persistent patter that felt like a lullaby for the grieving. Each drop seemed to carry the weight of the kingdom's tears, falling gently as if not to disturb the fragile silence. The rain mingled with the tears of those who dared to step outside, streaking their faces and soaking their clothes, but they did not wipe it away. They let it fall, as if accepting nature's shared sorrow as their own.

Eclipsara was a kingdom in mourning, not just for its rulers but for the loss of a light that had once shone so brightly. It was a night of silence, of reflection, and of grief so profound that even the moon and rain joined in their lament.