𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐍 ᴀ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ʀᴇᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ✔

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡.

CHAPTER 1.

TWENTY YEARS LATER.

Songs were sung each night, remembering the fallen and the tragic loss of Uther Pendragon.

Though Uther would forever live on through memory and foundation of Londinium, Camelot, and England would forever grieve his death. Though suffering defined each Human. It reminded them how far they've gotten.

Suffering reminded Humanity that suffering had no boundaries, nor did it ever give up without a fight.

Axel combed her hands through her blonde hair. She cupped her hands and splashed icy, cold water onto her face. Cleaning off the small amount of copper, stained, iron that covered her cheek.

The day the King sacrificed himself, was the day everyone lost a part of themselves. That day the Blackguards promised to return to the time of Ragnarök, the end of the world. Which led to a clue that they were preparing something big, perhaps it was only a bluff, created to scare Camelot into surrendering.

Scars were etched within her skin. Axel had very valid memories of her mother, she could only recall hiding in a cupboard and abandoning her mother out of fear. She couldn't understand why she was so willing to run. Axel knew she should have stayed with her.

And therefore, she carried that guilt, knowing she was the last of the Embers family. Last mark of the bloodline that carried on. A soft wind crawled up her spine, making goosebumps scatter across her bare arms.

"Again, when ready," Alaric repeated. Alaric was her teacher, someone as close as family to her. He was a dark-skinned male with, a sharp jawline, and shortly cut hair. He took Axel under his wing, trained her along with the men. Even when women were treated lower than men, every man in the Court Of Fighters treated her like one of them.

At first, acceptance was an issue, but after several years of training, she started to grow on them. She was trained from hand to hand in combat, then moved on to training with how to swing a wooden sword, along with the basics of how to deflect and strike. Along the way of managing her anger and fuelling the emotions into each strike.

"Sounds good." Axel wheezed with exhaustion. Her frame was built and lean. She wasn't attractive like many women of Camelot. But she had something most women didn't have.

Patience.

Alaric taught her that patience pays off. He made her meditate for five hours until she saw something. That was when her soul became one with her.

"Marcus, you'll spar with Axel." Alaric calmly ordered Marcus. Marcus was lean and a couple of inches taller than her. He possessed a sharp jawline, along with thick, raven-coloured hair, that hung over his left eye. He gave her a shy, but charming smile.

"Sure." He replied as if he desired that day to fight Axel.

He only wanted both of them to become better fighters, in case the attack of Camelot, Londinium, and England came crumbling under their feet. Alaric handed Marcus two, wooden, swords. Marcus tossed one over to her, with a tight grasp, she gripped onto her sword as if her life depended on it. Her eyes were cold, she licked her lips and smiled at Marcus.

"Let's see what you got, sunshine." Marcus joked, throwing her off guard before they hardly began. Marcus made the first move and swung at her with his sword. She parried his attacks and pushed against his sword, pushing it down. His strength matched hers, even when it became a hassle. Marcus's jaw locked, anger seethed through his veins.