A Salamander, but Mighty

POV: Dyenna

She had sent news of her brother's tragic death to the royal castle and set out as quickly as possible with her entire escort. Upon her arrival at the ancient imperial capital of Khalrinda, the city, composed for almost half of its surface by a collection of large and small islands completely covered by buildings and connected to each other by a complex labyrinth of bridges, was colored by intertwined laces of blacks and whites, a symbol of mourning in the cultures of the east of the continent.

Dyenna nodded a few times along her way to the castle, humbly accepting the condolences of the people and the prayers that some addressed to her to wish her to quickly overcome a pain that she didn't actually feel.

Once she arrived at the castle, Rosalia was already waiting for her; she was dressed in white with her beautiful hands gathered together over her heart, her large blue eyes were shining and her hair, wavy, black and long to mid-back, had been carefully dressed up by her maids.

Dyenna didn't have time to put both feet on the ground before Rosalia ran towards her, hugging her with her voice already breaking from tears.

"Sister!" She said crying into Dyenna's shoulder.

Dyenna brought tears to her eyes once again, it was so simple, sometimes she wondered why so few people really understood how easy it was to pretend, "my dear Rosalia..." she said, closing her younger sister in her embrace, "we must... we have to be strong. Our brother would not have wanted to see us suffer.”

Dyenna and Rosalia remained closed in their embrace for as long as the black-haired girl needed, when Dyenna realized that her younger sister was breathing quietly again and the tears were slowing down, she slowly released the embrace to establish eye contact with her eyes and gave her a heartening smile.

“You… you're right,” Rosalia admitted, wiping remaining tears from her eyes with her fingers, “it's just… it's so hard.”

“I know,” Dyenna nodded, “our father? Where is he?"

“He is in the throne room with councilors and dukes from almost all of the kingdom,” Rosalia replied. She took her older sister's hand in her own, “they are talking while waiting for your arrival. They want to hear from your mouth what happened.”

“I'm sorry, unfortunately I wrote on impulse and I was too heartbroken to tell everything in black and white… I imagine you have questions too,” Dyenna said apologetically, “come on, I'll try to explain everything when we are in front of our father and the nobles.”

Led by some soldiers and castle guards, the two young women walked through the high corridors strategically built to easily create shield lines to stop any enemy armies and with narrow, tall windows to protect from projectiles coming from the outside. Their footsteps sounded slightly muffled on the carpet, mixing with the clanking sound of their escort's armor, until they arrived in front of a large glossy lacquered wooden door.

The guards on either side of the door bowed their heads and opened the door to Dyenna and Rosalia, who promptly walked through the door without accelerating even half a step; inside the large room with windows that brightly lit the throne room and refined columns that did little to separate the groups of nobles who were animatedly discussing the death of the future heir to the throne among themselves. This chatter was silenced when the eyes of the nobility, the king and queen, fell on Dyenna.

"My child!" The king moved away from the nobles closest to his sympathies and approached his two daughters followed closely by the queen, “how do you feel?? Do you feel like talking?"

Tuiran and Felarike were the king and queen of the Kingdom of Heliolite as well as the parents of Dyenna, Rosalia and the late Wilfrod; Tuiran was a statuesque man, very tall and with broad, muscular shoulders. His light brown hair showed the signs of age, with numerous white hairs above his ears and in his beard trimmed to maintain a shape that flattered his jawline. He had thick eyebrows and a deep gaze, of a warrior who had fought and survived numerous adventures.

Felarike was an elegant and proud woman, with long black hair that fell almost to her bottom. Her eyes, which usually shone with intelligence and curiosity, on that day were dark with sadness and red with tears that only her husband and her most faithful handmaids could hear. Both king and queen hugged their daughters, locking themselves into another moment of mourning before Dyenna could speak.

“Father, mother…” Dyenna whispered softly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, “I'm fine, I managed to save myself,” her voice hesitated for a single moment, “even if it was with the sacrifice of my brother.”

Felarike covered her red-tinted lips with one hand and caressed her daughter's face with the other hand, "please, my child, tell us what happened to you and your brother."

Dyenna looked from her parents to her sister, and from her to everyone present; she hadn't argued with her benefactor about the details of how she should handle it – the gods couldn't guide mortals too directly – but she had already thought of a plan. Wilfrod was even more powerful than her, but there were traces of only a single blow on his body and no trace of resistance or fighting, so their attacker must have been powerful enough to be able to take her brother by surprise and had had the motivation to go look for him and kill him.

Dyenna frowned and took a deep breath, before beginning to speak, “it was a creature made of darkness and death. We were riding in the woods when that monster attacked us by surprise, neither my brother nor I could see it in time.”

"How is it possible? Wilfrod surpassed the fortieth level! How is it possible that such a monster came, struck and disappeared without a trace?” One of the nobles asked, “what was this creature made of?”

The questions were legitimate, there was no doubt, but Dyenna had the answers ready, "it must be the Tyrant of the Nightmare!" She exclaimed, raising her voice, “our reflexes couldn't keep up with his speed! His strength is such that it pierced my beloved brother's body in an instant! Its eyes were red rubies full of feral ferocity!”

Many gasped, one of the high priests who were attending the king's meeting with the nobility clasped both hands on his long staff, resting his forehead against it and muttering a short prayer in a low voice before exclaiming, in a much louder voice, “ the Nightmare Tyrant, yes, it must be him..." his hands trembled, "his shadow is already growing, it is already projecting itself even into the ancient and noble halls of Heliolite!"

Well done, do the work for me, Dyenna nodded a few times even managing to emulate a few hiccups before rubbing her eye as if there were some unshed tears to be removed, “he looked at me as if he was able to peer into the soul of the people, I felt my blood freeze in my veins while my brother, with his last energies, begged me to escape!"

“And he let you escape? Why?" Another noble urged.

“I…how can I know it? I only know that terror took over me and I couldn't think of anything other than running, running... oh... my brother..." Dyenna sat on her knees on the cold floor of the throne room, her hands had gone to cover her eyes.

"Thats enough!" Said the king, “we are not judging my daughter's actions and I do not accept anyone insinuating that my daughter is a coward!” The man approached Dyenna placing a hand on her shoulder, it was a strong and firm grip, "please, my dear, if there is anything else you can tell us... but don't feel forced."

Dyenna shook her head, “other than that I only remember his roar, more powerful and terrifying than any monster I have ever seen.”

“We must hunt this creature! If we don't stop him in time he will only become more and more powerful until it will be too late!” The high priest exclaimed, visibly alarmed.

“Please, this isn't just to avenge my brother,” Rosalia said, “this is for the whole kingdom!”

“My lord, the knights of my duchy will surely be eager to bring you the head of this aberration!” One of the dukes proclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest and bowing his head respectfully.

“Thank you,” the queen smiled at the duke who had offered his men to hunt the monster, “obviously, anyone who contributes to the destruction of this threat will be greatly rewarded by the crown.”

Dyenna had her father help her get back on her feet; with the vague information she had given she knew she had started a witch hunt. Sooner or later someone would kill a monster powerful enough to be considered the prophesied Nightmare Tyrant, maybe it could even be Dyenna herself who did it.

After all, why not her? The prestige would have been great for her ascension to power.