The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 2

Chapter Seven

Violet eyes glared angrily at her empty throne, what was once a symbol of her unyielding reign, was now tainted as a symbol of her weakness instead. Power, it was an insatiable greed, and it had had seduced her commander, Sith. Turning him into a threat she had not anticipated.

Fear, an unfamiliar emotion, yet it now gripped her like a vice. The queen, whom has always been accustomed to dominance, now found herself in an unfamiliar position—cornered, with a heartbeat echoing the rhythm of prey about to be ensnared.

Was she now the hunted? No, she couldn't be. She had lived to long, enduring a reign; only to be brought down by an Orc? Never less one of her own? A surge of defiance coursed through her veins, extinguishing the flicker of fear. She couldn't allow weakness to consume her.

She only needed Onyx's power to claim her throne, to be the queen she was destined to become. Queen Demeter, ruler of dragons. It was in her blood after all, a lineage woven from the love of a dragon king and an elven princess. She was born for the crown, she was born to rule.

But now, facing the looming threat of a single Orc, doubt crept in. Was she truly fearful of a single Orc? How pathetic of her if so. How had she become vulnerable to such a lowly opponent? The question gnawed at her pride, and she grappled with the uncertainty of her own strength. She was stronger than this, wasn't she?

Her violet gaze drifted to the night sky, where the darkness, once again, asserted its dominion. With only the moonlight that dared challenge the impeccable habit of the night. Yet, even the moon's luminance would sway, casting its light for a fleeting span before yielding to the overwhelming forces of the darkness. It seemed as though the moon, would forever vanish like a shadow. Drowned out by the intensity of the darkness. Too weak to fight it alone. Too strong to stay away.

"Am I the night, or the moon?" she pondered ever so slightly.

-ooooo-

Sith stood before Thrag's lifeless body, his complexion as pale as the snow that now collected on his raven beard. The black abyss of his eyes appeared fogged over, reflecting the harshness of the wintry landscape. The ground around Thrag's corpse was stained with a deep crimson, the pristine white of the snow now the hue of glittering Rubies.

Close to the fallen soldier, a vast crevasse scarred the icy land, a wound etched into the earth itself. Yet, amidst this grim scene, Sith's attention was drawn to the tracks leading away from Thrag's lifeless form—tracks he assumed belonged to Onyx. They traced a path northward, towards the untouched and barren expanse of the northern forest.

"Smart little pet she is," Sith mused sardonically, the glint in his black eyes revealing a satisfaction akin to that of a predatory hunter who had just found the trail of elusive prey. The traces in the snow, like a trail of breadcrumbs, served as a guide to the power he sought.