The Kingdom That Became Ash

“There are fates crueler than death. Sometimes, the cruelest fate is simply being forgotten by it.”

The Kingdom of Vaeltharis was once considered the jewel of the continent. Its capital, Aurethiel, was a city of white marble towers, golden rooftops, and sprawling gardens where flowers bloomed throughout the seasons. Merchants traveled from distant lands to sell their wares beneath its grand arches, children played in the cobblestone streets, and the bells of the royal cathedral rang every morning to welcome another day of peace.

For nearly four centuries, its walls had never fallen.

And for nearly four centuries, its people had convinced themselves that they never would.

Among those people was Seryth Vael, a twenty-three-year-old anthropomorphic reptilian woman with muted emerald-green scales, a pale cream-colored underbelly, and amber eyes that once seemed incapable of holding anything but warmth. She was no warrior, no noble, no great sorceress destined to save the world.

She was merely a seamstress.

She lived in a modest house along the eastern market district, where she spent her days repairing garments, exchanging gossip with neighboring merchants, and occasionally complaining about the cathedral bells waking her too early.

She had a mother who always worried about her eating enough, a younger brother who dreamed of becoming a royal knight, and a father who promised that one day they would save enough money to move into a larger home.

It was an ordinary life.

A happy life.

And perhaps that was what made its ending so terribly cruel.

The declaration of war came in the spring.

The neighboring Vharosk Dominion, a militaristic empire whose armies had swallowed kingdoms beyond the northern mountains, demanded Vaeltharis surrender its sovereignty. The king refused, believing the ancient walls of Aurethiel and the strength of his armies would protect his people.

Three weeks later, the Dominion's banners appeared on the horizon.

The siege lasted eleven days.

On the twelfth, the walls fell.

Seryth remembered the screaming more than anything.

She remembered the thunder of siege engines, the awful cracking of stone, and the sound of thousands of armored boots flooding the streets. She remembered watching a burning tower collapse onto the marketplace where she had purchased bread only that morning.

Her father had grabbed her by the shoulders, practically throwing her toward the cellar beneath their home.

He told her to hide.

He told her not to open the door.

He told her they would come back for her.

And she believed him.

Of course she believed him.

Why wouldn't she?

The cellar was dark, cramped, and smelled of damp earth. Seryth curled herself between barrels of preserved vegetables and sacks of flour, pressing her clawed hands over her ears as the world above her came apart.

She heard the front door shatter.

She heard unfamiliar voices.

She heard her mother scream.

And then—

Nothing she could bear to remember.

For hours, the city burned.

For hours, Seryth remained hidden, trembling beneath the floorboards while the home she had known all her life became a furnace.

She did not know how long she stayed there.

A day?

Two?

Perhaps three.

Eventually, the screaming stopped.

The marching stopped.

Even the crackling flames grew quiet.

And for the first time in her life, Seryth found herself wishing she could hear the cathedral bells.

But they never rang again.