by C. A. Sabol
“Etoileon, what’s happening?” she yelled, as she stumbled over her dress and nearly fell.
He looked at her from over his shoulder and called back, “I think it’s an air raid on the city!”
“But ... why?” Her voiced thoughts went unanswered as the pair of them headed for the room exit.
They were almost out of the room when a small bomb launched itself into the courtyard next to them. Selene could feel the tremendous force as the bomb exploded, shattering all the windows. Etoileon and her were both knocked off their feet and thrown to the floor as the broken glass and the smell of smoke washed over them.
“Aemon,” Etoileon sneered as he tried to wipe the blood off his scraped hands onto his pants. He winced at the number of lacerations he’d received on his exposed flesh. His arms and hands stung at the slashes. A growing irritation could be felt in his mind as he stood up. “He did this, no doubt.”
“What?” Selene called out as she struggled to get back up on her feet. “What did you say, Etoileon?” She’d been pushed over to the middle of the room as she’d fallen. His words had been lost to her.
“This is Aemon’s work!” Etoileon yelled over the noise as yet another bomb was just being launched though the air. He’d heard the call for palace Fighters to go to their assigned areas, but with one glance at the princess and he knew he had to get her somewhere safe, and fast. “We’ve got to get you to safety, Your Highness!” He once again grabbed her wrist and pulled her after him as they headed for a safe place. “We’ve got to go, now!”
He could see through the windows as the enemy Fighter pilots streamed through the air, preparing, no doubt, to drop more explosives on the capitol.
She felt a panic arise as they wove a crocked path through the debris. The feel of Etoileon holding onto her hand briefly caused a blush to arise to her cheeks before another set of small explosions once again sent her spiraling into fear. Selene felt the ache of disappointment grow as she realized that she wouldn’t be able to tell Etoileon how she felt about him. She’d been so close! She refrained from shrieking as they stumbled over a pile of rubble. Selene supposed that she’d just have to tell him later, when this battle was over.
Chapter 7
Unending Nightmare
AEMON STOOD ON HIS ship with a feeling of triumph coursing through his blood. A smirk that had planted itself on his face said it all. The Rebellion had resurrected with his planned surprise attack on the capitol. His father would be proud.
Diamond City, long hailed as one of the most beautiful cities as well as one of the central political cities, was crumbling under the pressure of his force already. Buildings had holes in them, foundations were falling out, and the Diamond City’s centerpiece, the Royal palace, was damaged - the crown of the Table was wrecked with the work of rebel firepower.
An official came up behind him, bowing his head. “Sire, the rest of the missiles has been assembled and the strike team would like your approval before firing the last rounds.”
“Good, good,” Aemon muttered more to himself than anyone. He took the charts that his worker had presented to him. After a quick look through, he nodded. “Very well. Tell them I approve. But a small request from me, if they don’t mind.”
The official glanced up at his leader. The grim look on his face seemed to highlight his determination. His jaw was set and he had a firm look in his eye. “Anything for you, Sire. I will see to it myself.”
Aemon turned away, looking once again to the palace. His eyes centered their focus on the highest tower of the Royal palace, its walls untouched yet by any mark of violence. It seemed to almost mock him, as it stood as tall and as proud as the monarchs who held rule there. “I have it on good authority that the Princess loves to visit the highest tower of the castle often,” he stated thoughtfully. “Take careful aim and bring it down.”
“As you wish, Sire.” The commanding official bowed once more and hurried off to give direction to the hands below.
Aemon smiled. The Princess would be sorry indeed that she had refused him.
He’d been left alone in the world with his sister when he’d been just a child. His aunt had seen to taking care of them, barely managing to bring them all to live in the city a few short years after they’d been orphaned. She’d tell them tales of their father, and his bravery, his resolve, his belief that the monarchy was completely wrong and the system had failed.
Aemon had been in the city for years, but the stories of his father’s tragic ending had never reached him. It was only when he’d gone back to his original home, his Jewel Island, when he’d learned the truth.
His father had been a victim of more than a failing system; Ammos, his father, had been passionately in love with the lady from Diamond City, who had been chosen to become a queen. He’d been a victim of love, and all the dramatic calamity that came with it had followed.
It had been a crisis for Aemon. Having grown up being taught to admire his father, to grow up to be like his father, Aemon suddenly found his hero to be a suicidal lovesick soldier. And not only that, his father was one suicidal lovesick soldier who had abandoned his own family in pursuit of another. He hadn’t really wanted to be with Aemon and Cyerra’s mother, or their children. He had been a selfish romantic, caught up in his own dreams and regrets ... a man who hated the thought of living without a city girl so much he’d fought for her, only to end up killing himself over his depression when he realized that she could never be with him in this world.
His father had hardly been a hero - much less one that Aemon wanted to be like. After discovering the truth, Aemon had vowed that he would one day make the world pay for what it had done to him. Not only had it caused his father an unbearable sadness, but it had in effect robbed Aemon of any chance of happiness in his life as well. And now, fueled by his vengeance, he was going to take his rightful place on the throne of this world.
Aemon drew his attention out of his reminiscences as he heard the field commander call out from the lookout post, signaling the alpha attack run.
“Fire!” His arms waved onward, a signal to all weapon stations below to commence the shooting. “All stations forward advance!”
The planes all swooped, turning to prepare for the upcoming attack, their deadly missiles gleaming in the glow of the dawn’s early light.
DORIAN WAS FLUNG OUT of his bed as the royal bedchamber shook. He was flinging out his arms, flailing to grab onto something to anchor himself. Half asleep and still clinging to the night’s infectious lull, Dorian was in no mood for an early morning wake-up call, let alone an early morning bomb raid.
“What in the world?” he mumbled as the floor steadied for a moment and he was able to stand up. “Russert!”
Russert, the King’s royal valet, hurried in from the front room, nearly tripping over as an aftershock quaked through the area. “Your Majesty! It seems that we are under grave attack this morning!”
“Really? I had no idea,” Dorian grumbled as he started rummaging around his room, looking for the necessary armory he’d need. He waved the anxious valet aside as he tried to bring the King the adornments for the day. “Never mind me! Call the troops, and the Fighter squad! Have the palace pilots get to the sky hangar! Go!”
Dorian rolled his eyes as he watched his servant head out the door. Just why had he hired him in the first place? Dorian wondered. More pressing matters at hand forced him to abandon the question and return to the task at hand.
He was dressed for battle in record time. Once he was finished, Dorian hurried to find his weaponry. Though the King did little fighting in battle, it was considered mandatory by tradition that he at least look the part of a warrior.
Dorian was just about to grab his sword when a huge piece of castle wall came sailing through his large windows, crashing and smashing everything. The glass broke into thousands of tiny pieces and scattered everywhere. Dorian dove over his bed just as the glass shattered. He managed to avoid all the glass shards, but as he pulled himse
lf out of the tangled web of his silken sheets, he thought he heard the familiar voices of his crew yelling for help.
As more and more explosions rang out from the city’s landscape, Dorian rushed through the palace to help. A deep rage was settling in him as he vowed to punish those who were responsible for this.
ETOILEON ONLY HAD A vague idea of where he was headed as Selene followed him, close at his heels. He’d decided that she’d be safest in the center of the palace, the throne room. It was the logical decision to make, considering that the palace had been built on a hilltop.
He could hear her breathing harder as she ran after him. His hand had remained firmly wrapped around her wrist, as they’d made their way from the Fighters corridors to the entrance halls. Jumping over a pile of rubble, Etoileon let her go and grabbed her hands to steady her. “Come on, it’s just a bit further,” he urged her forward.
“Etoileon, wait.”
He noticed the concern in her voice and turned to face her. “What?”
“Your hands,” she explained.
He blushed. “Oh. Sorry,” he apologized quickly, letting go of her.
“No, no, that’s not it,” Selene blushed now, too. She took his hands in hers once again and turned them palm up, looking at the bloody cuts with concern. “You’re bleeding, that’s all.”
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it was just a bit of broken glass,” he explained. “It’s nothing. Come on, we’ll worry about it later.” As another rumble began to shake the floor, he pulled her along after him.
As they hurried onward, stumbling every now and then, Etoileon looked back and saw the worry on the Princess’ face as she uneasily watched the floor she was walking on. “Don’t worry, Selene!” he called back to her over the thunder of the explosions. “I’ll protect you!”
Just as he finished saying the words, the doorway in front of him collapsed. Etoileon skidded to a halt at once, Selene bumping into him as he tried to back them up as the granite and the woodwork fell. The resulting pile blocked the doorway, releasing a cloud of dust into the air as pebbles of the wreckage could be heard falling. Etoileon managed a grim smile. If Selene hadn’t stopped him a moment earlier, they would’ve been submerged in the castle’s ruins.
The ceiling was gone, and in the distance Etoileon could see a plane. It looked like it was heading towards them, and most likely it was not for rescue. He knew that they had no choice. They’d have to go back the way they came and head in another direction to get to the throne room.
“Etoileon, we’ve got to go back!” Selene called, tugging on his sleeve.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” he agreed. A sound above him caused him to look up. What he saw was the rest of the corridor ceiling beginning to crumble. A few of the larger cracks were beginning to grow even. “Move!” He pushed at Selene, forcing her back the way they’d come as the granite began to cave in. They barely managed to escape and turn the corner before the whole room was destroyed.
Selene could feel her body shaking. She wasn’t used to taking the lead, for one thing, and for another, she’d never been in this kind of situation before. She’d never thought in a hundred million years that anyone would attack her palace, would attack the city, killing all sort of people and destroying their homes ...
Her eyes felt the sting of tears as she slowed down in her running. Etoileon took over the lead, until he noticed that she had slowed down to a stop.
“Selene?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just can’t seem to deal with this, Etoileon ... I guess I’m a little shaken up.” Her face fell into her hands as she tried to wipe the tears away and found that there were more. She could feel the sobs wrecking through her as she stood there, crying.
Etoileon froze, unsure of what he could say to make this easier for her. Selene had such a good heart, he thought. No wonder she was crying. She’d never imagined this kind of evil in her life before, let alone experienced it. The closest things she’d had to this were the heated arguments that broke out between himself and Dorian over breakfast.
He hesitantly walked up to her and reached out, touching her shoulder. “Selene,” he started. “Uh ... well ... ” he sighed. “Please don’t cry. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
She nodded, her face still buried in her hands. Sniffing loudly, she lifted her now red face up to see him and swallowed harshly. “Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” Etoileon smiled tenderly at her. His face turned serious a moment later. “We’ve got to get to the throne room now.”
She nodded. Sniffing again, she wiped the wetness off her cheeks.
They continued running, this time at a slightly more relaxed pace. They didn’t have a ceiling falling on them anymore; the sounds of the world outside the palace were muffled and faded against the people running past them, calling for this and that, carrying supplies, demanding supplies, crying, weeping, screaming, grimacing, or looking off into space, too emotional to be anything but stoic. No one bothered the two of them, as Etoileon reached out and took hold of the Princess by the hand and hurried her along down the damaged corridors towards the throne room.
They were just about three corridors away when a wall opened, causing Etoileon and Selene to halt momentarily. A secret passageway had opened up. A familiar face came into view.
“Your Highness,” Kadrianne materialized onto the scene. “There you are, at last.” Her voice was too practiced to reveal all of her relief. “We’ve been looking for you all over. We all were sure that you were dead.”
“No, I’m fine,” Selene tried to put on a convincing smile. Her smile turned more genuine as she looked over at Etoileon. “My protector was with me. We’re both fine, thanks to him.”
Etoileon felt his face turn warm from her praise. He would never feel worthy of the credit she gave him, he thought.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Kadrianne spoke up once again. “But I fear that you are not out of trouble just yet. Please, you must hurry after me.”
AEMON SAW THE THREE Fighter jets he’d commissioned fly straight for the palace. He could feel the rapid pounding in his heart as his anticipation mounted. He only wished that his family could be with him in this moment of victory.
Come to think of family, where was Cyerra? He wondered when she was coming to meet with him. She’d been upset with him a few days ago, something about not being able to go to the Reception Ball with him ... and then there was that issue with her being upset about staying away from the palace and the palace workers. Still, surely she was over it by now and her impudence towards him was done with. The guards had been unable to find her earlier, but surely they had located her in time for his moment of victory, Aemon thought as he glanced around. A sense of unease overtook him, as he still could not see her. He turned to his guards behind him. “Guard!”
His call brought forth a servant of his, one whose name he could not recall just then. The servant bumbled to Aemon’s side, rigidly bowing. “Yes, Sire?”
“Guard, tell me ... where is my sister, Cyerra? Is she onboard?”
The servant held his bowed position and answered hesitantly to Aemon’s question. “No, Sire, Lady Cyerra has not been checked in on this ship,” he responded.
“What?” Aemon’s tone was tight between incredulous and irritated. “Why not?”
“It seems that she has acquired a new job,” the servant remarked. “She was called in for duty early this morning and left the house before you had arrived in port. Her Highness Princess Selene has summoned Cyerra to her court.”
“What!” Aemon was dumbfounded. It was one of the rare times he was caught off guard. “You mean she’s in the palace as we speak?”
The servant nodded. “Yes, Sire.”
Aemon felt a dread take over his body. He cared little for the fate of anyone in this world. But the one person he made an exception for was Cyerra. She was his twin sister, after all.
He could not, and would not, abandon her as his father had done to them. He hastily picked up his two-way radio and fumbled with the buttons. A moment later, a voice on the other side responded to his call.
“Call off the attack!” Aemon yelled. There was a certain bite to his words and a growl in his throat as he issued the command. It was clear that he absolutely despised calling off his troops. “Retreat! I repeat, retreat!” He gritted his teeth in a cross of self-disgust and anger. “We’ve done enough damage.”
“At once, Sir!” the commander on the other end complied.
But it was too late to call off all the attacks; it was only time enough to divert them. Aemon felt like cringing as a loud crashing noise met his ears. He turned around to see that the missile for the High Tower had been launched. The pilot had been ready to launch it just as the Aemon called for retreat—he’d pulled out of the attack run just in time to have the bomb released at the wrong angle degree. The missile was launched.
Time seemed to slow as the missile flew by the tower walls, missing them only by a few feet.
Rocketing into the palace keep with a loud blast, the explosion caused granite debris to be scattered everywhere in the nearby vicinity.
Aemon looked back to assess the damage. Large quantities of smoke from where the bombs had landed hung all over the once spotless, glittering landscape. The palace had a large hole in the center. A revived sense of satisfaction rose within him.
He hoped that Cyerra was safe. And if she was, he was going to give her the lecture of her life when he found her. His hand clenched around his radio communicator in frustration. His sister was important to him. But her foolishness had cost him the ultimate victory against the monarchy.
