Frozen in Time

Fall of Faveria

I stepped out into the night.

The air was crisp, cool, and wonderfully real after the heavy incense of the Storyteller’s tale. I filled my lungs, savoring the relief as if it could cleanse the ghost of his voice from my mind. Around me, villagers clustered in twos and threes outside the tavern, whispering feverishly beneath lantern-lit eaves. Some eyes glimmered with hope, others narrowed in suspicion. It was as if no one could decide whether his story was a blessing… or a curse.

“I tell you, it’s a sign,” one woman whispered, clutching a charm around her neck. “A Storyteller, after all these years?”

“Aye, a sign of doom,” a man growled back. “No one stirs up the old blood without blood being spilled.”

I lingered only a moment more before turning back inside. Whatever the tale meant, I needed to hear the rest.

Sliding easily through the crowd, I found my seat again. The pillows were still warm, the lanterns still flickering. The crowd had grown even denser, bodies pressing in with silent anticipation. And in the middle of it all sat the Storyteller, surrounded by his circle of color and smoke. He sipped slowly from a clay mug of ale, eyes gliding over us like a wolf in the trees, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Then came the chime—his gong, soft at first, then building in echoing waves until once again we were still, breathless.

He smiled faintly. “Now,” he said, “to where we left off.”

“In the war room, Queen Cathy barked orders over the frantic voices of her council. The room trembled with urgency as she sought a path for her people to survive. Scouts were dispatched to search for hidden routes. Bakers and chefs were ordered to prepare a week's worth of rations for every citizen. Healers moved from house to house, checking who could endure a journey, and who might not survive the road ahead.

“Then—suddenly—pain. A sharp cry from the queen brought the chamber to silence. She dropped to her knees, hand on her stomach, eyes clenched shut."

“‘Your Majesty?’ one voice called, rushing forward. ‘Are you hurt?’"

“She waved them off and pushed herself up with visible strain. Her voice trembled as she spoke. ‘There is something you all must know. 'You must vow to keep this secret, for the kingdom’s future may well depend on it.’"

“All eyes turned to her, wide with confusion and dread.”

“‘I… am with child,’ she said. And then, with a heavy breath, added, ‘And it seems this child may not wait much longer to arrive.’"

“The council erupted—shouts, disbelief, questions tumbling over one another. ‘Why were we not told?’ ‘How could you hide this?’ ‘Does the King know?’"

“‘Yes,’ Cathy said. ‘We chose secrecy. You know how many envy our peace. How many have tried to take this crown. We believed hiding the child was the best way to keep them safe. But now...’ She gripped the edge of the war table. ‘Now I fear they may not live to see the end of this battle.’”

The surrounding room was still, hanging on every word. The flames in the lanterns seemed to lean toward the Storyteller as he continued.

“Another wave of pain brought Cathy to the floor once more. ‘Fetch the royal physician,’ one of the guards cried. ‘Get her to her chambers. Protect the heir!’"

“A gentle hand took the queen’s arm, guiding her with surprising strength. Cathy turned and saw a familiar face."

“‘Anna,’ she whispered."

“‘You’re in good hands now, my Queen,’ the woman replied."

“Anna, the court’s most gifted sorceress, was more than just a protector. She was a friend, a sister in all but blood. The queen’s safety was now her sacred charge.”

The Storyteller paused to take another sip, then set the cup down gently.

“Two days passed. Two days of relentless assault. The enemy launched flaming boulders without pause, striking the gates day and night. Cracks spread like veins in the walls. The defenders—smiths, mages, common folk—held the line, but exhaustion was setting in. Their resolve thinned like ice in spring."

“Then—hope.”

“Loud footsteps echoed down the hall toward the Queen’s chambers. A young lad burst through the doors, breathless. ‘My Queen! A captain… he found something! A possible escape!’"

“Cathy motioned him forward. He handed her a dirt-stained scroll covered in maps and notes. Her eyes scanned it quickly. It was dangerous—the path would lead citizens perilously close to the enemy encampment. But it was the only way.”

“‘Bring me the captain,’ she ordered."

“‘Your Majesty,’ said Anna, ‘you must rest.’"

“‘I will rest when my people are safe,’ Cathy snapped, adjusting herself in bed despite her pain.

“For two more days, she remained in her chambers, watching, waiting. Her body weakened, but her mind never dulled. Anna tended her carefully, using spells to dull the worst of the aches, but labor looming near.”

I felt the familiar sting behind my eyes, that strange pull between awe and dread. The Storyteller’s voice wrapped around us like a spell.

“When I was young,” I whispered to myself, “this story was my favorite.”

I remembered it all so vividly—re-enacting the scenes with my friends, pretending to be the hero who would rise from the ashes and defeat the Blood King. In our version, the kingdom survived. The child grew up. Hope won.

Foolish dreams.

I used to believe I was destined to find Faveria, to restore what was lost. But fate… fate has sharp teeth.

Fate, I’ve learned, is a b***h.

“BOOM!”

The Storyteller’s shout tore me from my thoughts. The crowd jumped, a few stifled giggles echoing like birds taking flight. I smiled to myself.

“Ignius had been bombarding the front gates for six long days,” the Storyteller continued. “Every hit chipped away at the wall and the morale of the defenders. On the seventh day… the Queen went into the last hours of labor."

“Screams of pain echoed alongside the crash of boulders. The royal bed was soaked in blood and sweat as Cathy fought to bring life into a dying world. The King never left her side."

“‘One more push, Your Majesty,’ the doctor said."

“With a scream that nearly drowned out the thunder outside, Cathy delivered her child. The baby cried—loud, strong, alive. The nursemaid cleaned and wrapped the infant, placing the child gently in the queen’s arms."

“Tears streamed down both parents’ faces. Their joy was real, but short-lived. The wall would not hold for much longer."

“‘Find me a trusted guard,’ the King ordered the nursemaid."

“She returned swiftly with one—a veteran with loyalty carved into every scar. The King pressed the child into his arms. ‘Go. Run. Protect this child with your life. Someday they must return. Someday, they must reclaim what is theirs.’"

“The guard nodded, eyes wide with sorrow and determination, then vanished into the shadows with the future in his arms.”

A stillness fell over the room.

“The King and Queen watched their child disappear, their hearts heavy but resolute. There was no time for grief. Only war.”

The Storyteller’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Then… the final blow."

“The last boulder struck."

“The walls gave way.”

I could feel it—felt it like a memory I never lived. The crash. The screams. The smoke.

“Debris rained down like fire from the heavens. Ignius stood at the gates, licking his lips as he shouted, ‘Forward march! Kill all in your path. Leave the rulers to me!’"

“He stepped over the ruined threshold—and the world lit up."

“A blinding light exploded across the battlefield. It seared the eyes, silenced the chaos."

“And then… nothing."

“When the light faded, there was no kingdom. Only a shattered, scorched forest.”

Gasps filled the tavern.

“Enraged,” the Storyteller said, voice low and trembling, “Ignius turned on his men, cutting down dozens in his fury. When he finally calmed, drenched in blood, he raised his arms and declared:"

“‘The world is ours. As of this day—I am your BLOOD KING!’”

He let the words hang in the air.

“The rest,” he said quietly, “is history.”

Silence followed.

Around me, I saw wet cheeks and tight jaws. Mothers clutching their children. Fathers holding back tears.

Me? I stayed dry-eyed. This part never moved me like it did the others. Maybe because I’ve never had children. Maybe because I never wanted to. I didn’t dream of hearth and home. I dreamt of swords and smoke, adventure and freedom. Not chains disguised as rings.

And yet…

That look in the Storyteller’s eyes. The ache. The way his voice cracked when he spoke of the Queen’s cries.

It was like he’d been there.

Like he wasn’t just telling a story.