Page 1 of The Last Guardian

TODAY MARKED THE fifth anniversary of my death.

The gray clouds outside mirrored the hollow ache in my chest as I stepped inside the Sacred Domes. The cold atmosphere grew heavier with each passing second, depriving my lungs of air.

The hem of my black dress brushed the marble floor. Echoes of my footsteps resonated like a death knell as if I were walking towards my own coffin.

The High Priest stood at the altar, as always, dressed in his long ivory robe, carrying on his shoulders the sash of the saints in the shade of vermillion with sewn-on golden lilies. The guests walked inside the prayer hall, following the long red carpet on the aisle. Every one of them had dressed in their darkest garments for the occasion, and I had never hated this place more than now.

Rows of chairs, embellished with too much gold, filled the Sacred Domes. Guests from all around the continent were here, smiling, crying, as if they cared. White lilies hung from the altar of this sacred place, protected by our god and goddess—the Two Bound Gods. Bouquets of chrysanthemums lay discarded on the ground.

What a hoax, this so-called tribute to our late queen.

An event meant to honor her memory—yet not even her favorite flower adorned the room, not a single tulip in the blessed circle of souls.

The king sat on his red throne; at his side, one of the High Mages of Edoris.

Haedeon.

As the space filled with people, Haedeon smiled, his sharp teeth biting the corner of his thin lips as he stroked his dark gray robe. The matching chains around his neck and shoulders swayed with his every movement.

Haedeon looked like a walking corpse: from his white hair to his skin, so pale he looked almost bloodless; his red eyes stood out against the white, as if all his blood had gathered there. The sight of him made my skin recoil.

Whenever Haedeon entered a room, this strange sensation coursed through me, like the air had gone rancid.

His presence sucked the essence out of the room; his white hair glistened in the candlelight as his crimson gaze fell on me. Cold chills ran down my spine, and I looked away.

The High Mages were the real power in the empire of the four kingdoms of Perygan; they sat on the Great Council at Edoris, overseeing the peace between the four realms and the Four Kings to ensure the peace treaty established a thousand years ago was respected.

The Edorisian empire had ruled Perygan for a millennium, protecting us from the dangers that lived across the sea.

Although each king ruled their citizens, the true decision-makers were those who sat on the Great Council.

The High Mages.

And Haedeon was Vallen’s warden. The other High Mages never came here—to Lorath. They wandered the different realms of Perygan.

And thank the god, the goddess, the very stars for that. If only one High Mage could leave such an impact on a room, I would gladly pass on seeing the seven of them reunited.

From time to time, the Great Council sent one of the High Mages to visit the kings, to ensure a civil war did not brew and the treaty remained in place.

A reminder of who truly ruled the four kingdoms.

Haedeon ensured the smooth running of essential events in the kingdom, like a watchdog.

For the past five years, he had been here far too much, almost every month, constantly with Father since this tragedy.

The one we were apparently celebrating today.

I hoped Haedeon would be gone soon. The more distance I kept from him, the better; unfortunately for me, this was not his last day among us.

In two days, the capital would trade its somber colors of mourning for those of the celebration. For the wedding of Prince Asael Salonor, the heir to the throne of Kalor, to Princess Aurora Harenvald, the First Princess of Vallen—my older sister.

The First Princess’s wedding held as much importance as one of a crown prince; the king felt nothing but pride in offering her in marriage and cementing the peace treaty by forging an alliance with Kalor’s kingdom.

The wedding would happen in a week, but the king had planned an entire week of feasts, dinners, balls, and hunts to honor his favorite daughter. As tradition dictated, the wedding was to be held in the bride’s birthland, Vallen, marking her farewell to her origins.

The harp melody pulled me out of my thoughts.

I needed to focus for a few hours.