It was spring. The sun blazed fiercely, warming the morning air. Sweat beaded along his back as he repetitively swung the hoe downwards, digging furrows into the baked earth. As the day progressed towards dusk, a little girl ran out of the adjacent house, beelining straight for the farmer.

“Daddy, look at this shiny rock I found!” Lucy exclaimed proudly.

“I am busy, go show mommy,” he retorted, not even glancing around.

She gave a little puff of exasperation, before leaving him to his work, muttering, “but you are always busy.…” Her angry stomps faded away.

A shiver surged through his spine as he felt a hateful gaze peer at him. Looking up towards the house, no sign of Lucy was found.

When the autumn festival came, to savor another successful harvest, the villagers rejoiced with a night of celebration. Lucy had set up her own stall by herself, and her secret dish was unbeknownst to even her parents. As her father trundled past, she flashed him a beaming smile.

“Daddy, look! Try this out!”

With no excuses to muster, he sat down, accepting a covered bowl. Revealing the contents, a heavy scent of sweetness arose. An enormous portobello mushroom floated upon a sea of cream. Taking a large bite, the sweetness of the flesh was balanced by the sour concoction erupting from the pores, dripping down his beard.

“This… is amazing!” he gasped. And with that, her smile grew even larger.

As the night lengthened, they walked down the street, hand in hand, peering at the spectacles surrounding them. Most sold food, and a few were entertainment; there was even a small crowd huddled around a circus troupe. After several minutes, Lucy pointed to the nondescript caravan lurking in the darkness.

“That one, daddy!”

He had to admit, a mysterious aura emanated from within, and so they went together, ducking below the low frame of the wooden entrance.

A hag sat cross-legged. She extended her hands toward the pair, offering an invitation.

“Do you wish for your fortunes to be told?” she asked. Lucy seemed to grow excited at that thought, and her father gave a curt nod. The fortuneteller whipped out a tarot deck from within the folds of her dress and began shuffling with alacrity. She abruptly stopped, drawing the top card.

“For you dear, the Sun. You will live a fulfilling life and die in bed, surrounded by your loved ones.” The pair took a minute pause to contemplate this information.

Lucy broke down sobbing, “I’m too young to die!” Her father attempted to comfort her, gently stroking her hair.

“There, there. She means of old age, with your beloved husband and children praying over you.” Another bout of crying insured.

“What is in daddy’s future?” he directed at the fortuneteller. She turned her gaze to him and with another flourish, drew the next card.

“The Hanged Man. Your life will remain hollow, until you can find what you seek.” 

Frustrated at this cryptic prophecy, he reflected upon his own life. He had married his childhood sweetheart and lived a contentful life together with their only daughter.

“What a load of nonsense!” With his own emotions rising, he led Lucy away from the maelstrom of fortunes.

Near midnight, as the two of them were returning home, a rustling in the nearby bushes drew their attention.

“Show yourself,” demanded the father, hoping it was only a drunk fool or a romantic couple. No response. He bit his lips. Wild predators do cross paths with the villagers, and fleeing could invoke their ire. He took a deep breath.

“Stay here, Lucy. I will be back soon.” These words would haunt him forever.

Only moments after his departure, a scream emanated. He hurried back, dreading what he would discover. In the dim moonlight, a hunched silhouette could be seen, like a bear, but misshapen. It gave a snort before barreling off.

“Lucy!” he shouted, running to the prone figure. Kneeling next to her, he could see a vicious laceration, close to her neck. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Tearing off the lower end of his shirt, he attempted to staunch the wound, but the blood soaked the fabric in seconds.

“Daddy’s here….” Her only response was a feeble smile. He cradled her body and ran, flooded with fear. Minutes felt like hours, when suddenly-

“I’m scared, daddy.”

He peered down. Her skin was deathly pale. The spark of joy slowly seeped from her eyes. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Frantically looking around, he gently laid Lucy upon a flattened sheet of wheat nearby. He knelt futilely and held her right hand with both of his, unable to stop fate. A wave of grief and exhaustion rammed him, and he passed out.

A bird flew overhead. He tried to reach out, but his muscles wouldn’t budge an inch. The bird continued over the horizon, and a familiar laughter faded away. He opened his eyes again.

The world was oddly silent, as night turned into day. Lucy was next to him, a smile plastered even in death. He continued their journey.

The trail of smoke was visible for miles. Every step closer pierced his heart with fear. The farm was a smoldering ruin, and he desperately searched the interior.

Laying the bodies of his family next to each other, he glanced towards the nearby village. It was as if a veil was lifted, and the sight was chaos. Screams echoed as multiple beasts prowled through the streets, tearing through the helpless with ease. The light revealed their horrifying appearance; a hide of green, with a short snout, and razor sharp talons. Their eyes were red, orbs of pure hatred.

He glanced to the west. The hills seemed distorted, wavering in the early light. Then realization struck him. A vast horde surged forth with maddening speed, eager to join. What could he do? He ran, away from his dead family, away from the carnage, away from destiny.

Three apples lay upon the grass. The morning dew reflected the sunlight, casting a warm hue on the clearing. Meticulously placed, the third was barely visible to the naked eye. In quick succession, the twang of a bowstring could be heard three times as each apple skidded back, struck by a heavy arrow with an ashened shaft. Three perfect shots.

“You up for a hunting party? We need your skills.” A voice called out from behind.

He turned around, surprised at the large number of men that greeted his sight. All besides one were strangers. He raised his right hand in greeting to his friend, the other still holding his bow.

“Finish this job and we won’t have to work another day in our lives!” the friend claimed.

“Not pulling my leg, are ya?”

“I’m serious. Sounds too incredible, huh?”

“Of course I believe you. You have my back and I have yours. It’s been what, eight years?”

“Nine.”

He retrieved his arrows, took his meager belongings, and headed out with the rest of the men.

The traveling group totaled eight in size. They were armed to the teeth, with multiple crossbows and spears. He was the only one to carry a bow.

“What are we hunting?”

“A dangerous beast.” His friend, and leader of the group, refused to elaborate.

Maybe it was that legendary bear. Large and experienced, this fearsome creature had begun to develop an appetite for human flesh. Many have tried to take it down, and only few return unscathed. It was a story passed around the smoky tavern, but he wondered if it had an inkling of truth.

They traveled through the thin vegetation adjacent to the road for over an hour. Wondering why they weren’t moving deeper into the forest, he began to ask when he was suddenly cut off with an abrupt hand gesture.

“Here is the location. Just wait a few minutes.” The other men obeyed instantly, seemingly to have been briefed beforehand.

A carriage rolled past the concealed men down the muddy road. It had fine craftsmanship. A pennant depicting a crest of arms fluttered in the light breeze. Every inhabitant of the kingdom would recognize it; this was the mark of royalty. To top it off, the carriage had a light escort composed of four cavalry, with two leading the way and the rest protecting the rear.

Another hand signal. Then a volley of bolts were shot, raining death among the guards. A second, then third, barrage soon followed. The horses neighed loudly as the razor sharp heads penetrated flesh, and they bucked off their riders. The guards still alive from the initial ambush slowly regained their footing, concussed and disoriented, before being brutally cut down by the impending swarm. The driver, an old man, released the lead reins and raised his hands to surrender, but was also murdered, painting the vehicle in vivid splashes of red. Screams came from within.

“I expected animals, not people!”

“These are animals! Look how they wallow in riches, while the rest of us scrabble to survive. Your life is absolutely meaningless to them.” He bellowed orders to the rest of the men. “Take the princess ransom! She will fetch a nice price.”

As they began to approach closer, discarding their spent crossbows, the door of the carriage burst open. The captain of the guard stepped outside, raising an enormous shield. Behind the lone figure was a young woman, huddled in fear, surrounded by plush pillows.

“We will distract the captain. Take the shot when you are ready.”

“...I can’t.”

The clash of metal rang out. “I’ve seen you shoot a bird in flight. No one else can do that.”

“I won’t.”

“Fool! This is our only chance. Step aside.” His friend shoved him to the ground and grabbed his fallen bow and quiver. The captain was still engaging in combat with two men. Four lay still, their blood soaking the earth. Nocking the bow, he released.

The captain grunted in pain, but that was far from a lethal blow. Blood spurted from the right shoulder, causing the captain to involuntary drop their weapon. Enraged, the captain fought with increased vigor. The shield pinned the closest man into the ground and the pressure continued to increase relentlessly. A sickening crack of bones was heard. The last man, noticing that he was outmatched and desired to live, began to flee.

The leader growled a command, but realizing that the plan was in shambles, followed.

The unarmed man stood up but neither fled nor retrieved a weapon. Frozen in shock and resignation, he bowed his head and accepted his fate as the captain limped closer. A murder of crows circled the sky, waiting to begin the feast. Their cawing alerted more, as the black storm grew.

“I hope you make wiser decisions in the future,” said a feminine voice.

He looked up in surprise, expecting to be instantly cut down for such a severe crime.

“I’ll give you a headstart before my men clean this mess up. Not like I can chase you anyways.” A long, hacking cough had blood coming out of the visor. The captain slowly returned to the carriage and sat down by the wheel, covered in numerous shallow cuts. The princess poked her head out, gazing at the carnage. She cautiously exited, tending to the captain with tears in her eyes.

A horn blared from the distance. The trampling of hoofsteps alerted the pair of the incoming reinforcements. The leading guard dismounted and reported to the captain.

“We’ve captured two escapees.”

“Execute them. I’ve found their purpose, it was assassination. The rest of them are dead by my hand. Send forth a message, we won’t be meeting the envoy after all.”

“As you wish.”

Battering away the hungry crows from the mangled corpses, the dead soldiers were respectfully retrieved, while the remainder were shoved off the road into the undergrowth. The attackers’ weapons were all destroyed, leaving remnants of broken spears and crossbows.

“Halt. Your invitation?” An intimidating figure covered in plates of steel blocked the only entrance to the grand structure ahead. The captain extended an armored gauntlet, expecting the woman opposite of her to comply.

Clad in a midnight dress, revealing bare shoulders and sleeves extending to her gloved hands, the woman crossed her arms. A tasteful diagonal cut flashed off her long, right leg. Along with her meticulous outfit, her ebony hair was tucked into a neat bun, and a hint of a pin jutted out. They stared at each other, neither being the first to surrender.

With an exasperated sigh, the mysterious woman inserted her right hand into the opposite sleeve and slowly withdrew a thin piece of metal. Approximately the length of a forearm and the width of a finger, the dramatic reveal did not faze the captain, who readied herself, laying a hand upon the hilt of her armament.

“I recognize that weapon. The Assassin. Her victims do not feel the fatal strike. She who weaves between shadows, why are you here?” A prominent member of the Underworld, a ruthless gang of killers, her rise to notoriety happened in mere months. Those within the inner circle are branded by the organization, a stylized blackened eye on the underside of the right forearm, near the wrist. She was not the leader however, for the King of the Underworld, the head and founder, walks among the common people, unmarked and unknown.

“The princess is not my target.”

“And I am to be assured by just this statement? I suppose revealing yourself does provide some credence.”

The assassin gave a curt nod.

“Just don’t make a scene on such an eventful day….” With the final say, the captain stood aside, almost expecting the weapon to slip between the crevices of her armor and pierce her rapidly beating heart.

With the festivities underway, the captain kept a close watch upon the assassin. The way she mingled among the partygoers, her flirtatious style, it almost makes her seem normal. But those flawless hands are stained with the blood of dozens. Innocent or not, the Underworld accepts any contract, as long as the pay is sufficient.

As head of security for the royal family, the captain’s duties would include suppressing the organization, but she knowingly turned a blind eye against them. It was not because of corruption, but she knew that the resources to undertake this venture were lacking. Even for the princess, barely a regiment could be spared to guarantee her safety. Cracks fractured throughout the kingdom; only the foolish could live in denial. Every year, the harvest becomes worse, leading the desperate to commit crimes to survive. Assassinations occur at an accelerated degree, conveniently weakening the foundation of the kingdom. Repeated disputes with neighboring nations prove no allies to be found in that regard. So here she stood, teetering on the edge between reality and delusion.

A young noble doggedly followed the concealed assassin, constantly cracking jokes to gain her attention. She seemed to respond in earnest interest. Was that the victim? An estranged son of a wealthy businessman, his inability to do even simple arithmetic led him to pursue politics instead. He had only recently returned after a few years of guidance by a famous philosopher. Thinking back, he did present a valid invitation, complete with a wax seal of His Majesty. While crime may be rampant elsewhere, especially in the slums, bribery is not tolerated under the captain’s handiwork.

The assassin snapped her head around, as if she felt the captain’s gaze, and her elegant body relaxed when she made direct eye contact, coyly winking and smirking. Without even looking, she reached for his hand and began to almost drag the noble off his feet, an amazing show of force with that lithe frame, leading him towards the balcony. He stumbled and was caught off guard, distracted by a certain pair.

Near perfect, the captain shook her head, silently reprimanded herself, and continued to gaze at the remaining guests, brushing off the distraction. Seconds later, one of the patrolling guards cycling shifts came inside with stretched arms to joke about the waste of these safety precautions, and the captain lied in agreement.

The peaceful chatter died away as the host descended down the towering staircase, carrying an enormous cake above her head. Her appearance was lopsided, emphasized by the fact that she only wore a single earring, and the confection jiggled dangerously with every step. The sound drained from the room, before the tide returned viciously. Muttering filled the air, as the palpable tension only increased tenfold. At the edge of her peripheral vision, a figure frantically pursued the princess, closing the gap in seconds.

The captain, with sudden clarity, became aware of the danger and rushed forward, a symphony of clashing metal. Only a few steps behind the princess did a gunshot ring forth. Reacting instinctively, a hand already placed on the princess’s shoulder and preparing to shield her with her own body, the sight of a man with a fist wrapped around the neck of a freshly opened champagne bottle snapped her back to reality.

She exhaled slowly, allowing the adrenaline to dissolve. Embarrassed and unwilling to reveal this fact, the captain stooped slightly and whispered, “This is not according to plan.”

The princess’s defiant response would cower most, but her protector smiled slightly underneath the helmet, pleased with the turn of events.

As the guests were ushered out, the captain glimpsed a figure staring into the moon, as if captivated. She strode to the balcony and recognized the man. Leaning against the rail, his left arm braced to support his weight, the cold air fluttered past him, poised eerily still. There were no signs of any struggle, nor any pools of blood. Confirming his death with a closer inspection, the captain noticed that the noble’s right hand was extended, face up. Laying in the center, as if an artifact on a pedestal, was a lone earring.

The maid gently shook her arm. She had to repeat the motion a few times.

“Hmmph?” The groggy girl bolted upright, before letting gravity do its job once again.

“Today’s the day!”

In response, the blankets began shifting into an impenetrable cocoon, anchored on top of an enormous bed.

As she sat in front of a small table next to the wall, she intently stared at her own reflection while the maid tidied up her nest of hair with silent remarks. Her eyes started to dart around the spacious room nervously. Sensing her distress, the maid inquired about her worries.

“Where’s my other earring? Look! It was here last night!” Jabbing her index finger, there was indeed only a single earring.

Glancing at her disheveled state, the maid was skeptical of that exclamation. “Don’t fret. I will find it soon.” She began to lace the corset after a sharp jab to the girl’s side, who had held her breath to counteract the tightness of the bodice.

“Mother’s going to be angry…” she wheezed with the remaining air in her lungs.

The maid had a sudden flashback of witnessing the queen’s wrath firsthand, permanently dismissing a pair of drunk guards for dereliction of duty. The premonition dissipated as she also performed a visual check of the messy surroundings.

Given to the princess as a gift for her last birthday, the trinket of gold encircled a polished emerald. The luster was pristine, and the hue, a perfect match with her eyes. Crafted by the master jeweler, whose works take months to accomplish, this was about to be a very expensive problem. Could the day get any worse?

A sharp rap on the door sealing the bedroom garnered their attention. The maid was greeted by the sight of the wizened butler, head of the operating staff. The crease on his forehead was the only noteworthy sign of his otherwise impeccable appearance, consisting of a monocle and a tuft of wispy hair. A series of whispers was frantically exchanged, and the princess could wait no longer as her impatience erupted outward.

“Well?” she exploded. Acting like an adult would take some time to learn.

With a small bow towards her, he retreated.

The maid sighed. Why does she have to be the sole bearer of bad news? “It seems the baker did not arrive by his expected appointment. Now, you wanted lavender, right? I shall inform the florist.”

Everything had to be perfect today, for it was the princess’s sixteenth birthday, which marks the coming of age celebration.

A few hours later, the butler updated the maid on the situation. Two guards were dispatched to investigate, and what they found was grim. She had to be quick witted and asked if the princess would like to craft her own cake, to represent her birth into adulthood. Accepting the challenge and bored of lounging aimlessly, the princess headed to the kitchen on the second story, with the maid in tow.

The chefs were in awe as the princess passed them, never being so close to one of such high rank. The maid waved away any questions as they reached the back of the room. The roaring heat of the open flames could barely be felt at this distance.

The princess’s sweet tooth was evident from the copious amounts of chocolate sacrificed for her creation. The brown mountain grew larger and larger as the maid silently watched, afraid to interrupt. Strawberries were attached to the base of the cake. Like a clock, thought the maid, based on how they were evenly distributed around the outer edge. The reference of time was a brilliant addition, such a smart girl! But why were there only eleven strawberries…? Gleefully proud of her culinary skills, the princess hoisted her birthday cake and burst out of the kitchen with a powerful kick.

“Please wait, this is not how a princess should behave!” The maid scrambled after her, fearing for judgment when word of this debacle gets thrown around.

The princess squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright light of the main hall. From where she was standing, the peaceful chatter lazily floated upwards. Impulsive and wanting to be the center of attention, she began the descent between the parallel gold railing, careful not to trip on the velvet carpets.

The crowd grew silent, then whispered to each other in hushed tones; this was not a dignified entrance befit for royalty. Her personal bodyguard watched the scene unfold from the back, before moving into action. Setting the cake down upon the massive dining table, she searched for a knife nearby to no avail, forgetting to bring one from the kitchen. Fully immersed in her task, she jerked in surprise as a hand grasped her shoulder and the weight made her knees buckle. Turning around, face to face with the captain, her feet suddenly  became very interesting as she endured a reprimand.

“But it’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want!” Interpreting the captain’s silence as anger, she gave a meek apology.

Laughter rang out; seeing the rambunctious princess being humbled was a rare sight. The butler discreetly passed a knife to the maid, who stepped to the other side of the princess, slipping the cutlery hilt first into her hand.

Wielding the large knife, she expertly cut the gelatinous cake into multiple servings, surrounded by applause and congratulatory cheers. By her side were three figures she had known throughout her entire life. The maid, assigned to be a lifelong companion, nursed her as a baby and was her primary caretaker. The butler, a cranky old man, scolded her frequently as her sloppy handwriting never improved. And the captain, adept at fixing any problem, has never let the princess down even once. Unlike the king and queen, busy with managing the kingdom’s affairs and unable to visit their daughter even for this prodigious moment, these three became her surrogate family, nurturing and guiding her. If only this moment could last forever.