Page 93 of Emylia

Whenever I came to town, I sought out the storytellers or passers who had a tale to wield. The stories and legends of old enticed me. Bards of battles, epics of fighters, and magnificent tales of heroism were among my favorites.

Olag usually told his stories early in the morning and late in the afternoon. Fortunately, he had only just started. Not that it would’ve mattered–this story I’d heard a million times before.

Truthfully, I doubted there was even one of Olag’s stories I hadn’t heard before, however, this one was my favorite.

“Who here has heard of the tale of Agertheria?” Olag’s voice was resonant and strong, despite his fragile demeanor.

A girl no more than six piped up enthusiastically, her hand stretched toward the sky. “It’s the story of the long-lost princess.”

“Ah yes, Gail, you’re right. I’m about to tell you the story of the long-lost princess.”

I rolled my eyes.

Ever since I heard the story of Agertheria when I was a little girl, no more than three, I’d fallen in love with it. However, not in the same way as the other young girls.

Each of them had pretended to be the long-lost princess. Convincing themselves that they would one day reunite the kingdom when they finally took the throne. I, however, was spellbound by the conquest, bravery, and heroism of the warriors. Nevertheless, I always loved hearing it.

Olag started, leaning his body forward and dropping his voice for effect, “Just under twenty years ago, we were all still under the rule of one great kingdom. Not just us but the fearsome Western Warriors, the untamed beasts of the west.” Not a sound could be heard in the small gathering as Olag mentioned the Western Warriors.

For our people, the Western Warriors were almost legends, both feared and revered for their violent upbringing that molded them into creatures that were more like predators than humans.

“Agertheria was a kingdom in which no one dared challenge,” Olag began, his voice low and sonorous, carrying easily across the clearing. “With a King and Queen who were respected and loved by all their people. For generations, the Agertherians and the Western Warriors lived in harmony, joined together in peace and prosperity.”

The stillness shaped the air around him, commanding attention the way only a master story wielder could. Even the mist curling around his boots painted him in reverence, framed by the skeletal arms of leaf-bare trees.

“With a kingdom so full of joy and an unyielding love for their leaders,” he went on, stepping forward slightly, “no one ever thought their rule would turn to ruin. But alas, it is an all-too-human trait to strive for our own personal rise to power, regardless of the consequences and havoc it will cause others.”

He paused, eyes glinting beneath his hood, then slowly began to pace—slow, measured steps through the dew-damp grass, his hands clasped behind his back, cloak trailing lightly over the ground.

“Spiteful that an Agertherian King and Queen had the gall to rule over the Western Warriors, a warlord by the name of Crixus rose an army like Agertheria had never seen.”

A few children leaned in. One of the younger boys tugged his knees to his chest, eyes wide.

“For the first time in over two centuries, Crixus was able to breach the unbreachable castle and take it for himself, obliterating the Agertherian armies in a sea of blood.”

A little girl in the front row whimpered before bursting into tears. Her shoulders trembled as she scrambled to her feet and ran to her mother, who lifted her without a word and pressed a kiss to her crown.

Olag didn’t acknowledge the interruption—his voice steady, unwavering.

“Crixus was ruthless. With not a shred of mercy, he killed every man, woman, and child that stood in his path.”

He let the silence hang—sharp, deliberate, calculated. Even the birds seemed to still, as if the forest itself leaned in to listen.

“Upon breaching the castle, he captured King Kailen and Queen Thia, dragging them through the streets before publicly killing them while their citizens watched—powerless.”

A hush rippled through the circle, a collective shiver threading through the crowd. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, my fingers curling in the fabric of my cloak.

“Blinded by ambition, Crixus made one fatal mistake,” Olag said, his voice deepening. He turned slowly, gaze sweeping across us like a blade.

“He failed to see that the King and Queen gave themselves up willingly—sacrificing their lives so their newborn daughter could be smuggled to safety before he could claim hers.”

Goosebumps prickled across my skin. The implication of that sacrifice struck me like a blow. They’d suffered a fate worse than death... all for a daughter they’d never see again.

“It was foretold,” Olag continued, his voice soft now—almost reverent, “that in the child’s nineteenth year, she would rise again. She would reunite the Agertherians and the Western Warriors when she took her rightful place as queen.”

The air thickened around me, catching in my lungs. A murmur moved through the group like wind through grass. Some children gasped. Others sat utterly still.

“Crixus was so afraid of the prophecy,” Olag said, pivoting back toward the center, “that he sent his men across the realm to hunt and kill any girl who might be the Princess of Agertheria. All while hiding behind the walls of his stone fortress—untouched. Unbeaten.”

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