The Blade That Burned (Part 1: Orders Carved in Blood)

The days after forging the contract were a haze of agony.
My bones felt like they’d been shattered and reassembled with fire. Every muscle screamed. My skin still bore the seared scars of that trial. I couldn't lift a blade, let alone protect anyone. But I breathed. Somehow, I still breathed.

On the second night, she came.

No guards. No attendants. Just her.

Princess Annya stepped into the room like a ghost, the flicker of dying candlelight dancing in her silver eyes. Her gaze didn’t meet mine at first. It lingered on the bandages, the blood. Then she sat beside me on the floor. Quiet. Still.

“You don’t need to do this…” she whispered.
“You’ll just die. I’m cursed. I don’t need saving.”

My throat was dry. But I turned my head. Looked into her eyes.
Eyes that had seen too much. Eyes that reminded me of flames and loneliness.

“…So am I,” I rasped.

A beat.

“And I’m not saving you because you need it. I’m staying because I choose to.”
“Even if it kills me.”

Something flickered across her face. Doubt. Fear. And then, for just a heartbeat, a real smile—fragile, trembling. Like ice about to crack. Like glass that had never known warmth.

And then—

BOOM.

The world shattered.

The sky itself roared as explosions tore through the palace walls.
The window behind us shattered inward with a shriek of steel and wind.
The floors quaked beneath our feet.

Then came the screams.
Screams of guards being cut down. Maids slaughtered mid-run.
Dark figures poured into the halls—hooded assassins and rogue mages, cloaked in smoke and red lightning.
The air stank of sulfur and blood.

I moved before I could think. My legs screamed in protest, but I stood. Sword in hand.
And beside me, like a shadow unleashed—

Jonathan.

The Blade Demon.

He was already drenched in blood. Not his own. Not yet.
His crimson blade gleamed like a demon’s grin under the burning chandeliers.
He didn’t speak. He just stepped forward—and hell followed him.

The hallway turned into a killing field. Steel clashed with steel. Magic ripped stone from the walls. I fought beside him, but I was slow. Weak. My arms shook with every strike.
He—he was a monster. A hurricane.

But there were too many.

A spear—engraved with glowing runes—tore through his chest.
The impact made the stone beneath his feet crack.

He coughed blood.
Didn’t fall.

An axe swung—took his eye.
He screamed. Swung back. Took off the attacker’s head.

Another rogue surged from behind—cleaving off his left arm at the shoulder.
Blood sprayed in a fan across the walls.

Still…
He. Didn’t. Fall.

One-eyed. One-armed. Chest torn wide.
He held the line. Sword dragging. Gritting his teeth. Breathing like a beast choking on its last breath.

And then—

“TAKE HER AND RUN!”

His voice—
It wasn't a shout. It was a roar. The kind that makes the world freeze.
I had never heard him raise his voice before. Not once.

And it shattered something in me.

“I SAID GO!!”

I froze. Annya stood trembling behind me, paralyzed.

Jonathan turned slightly—blood pouring down his face, into his mouth, dripping from his sword.

“You want to protect her? Then RUN! Don't let my death be for nothing—MOVE!”

That was his last command.

The command of a warrior who knew death was already on his heels.

Tears blurred my vision. But I obeyed.

I grabbed Annya’s hand. Pulled her with me.
And ran.

I didn’t look back—
Not yet.

But behind me, the sound of his dying battle still echoes like thunder inside my skull.