A Heavy Price for Peace

Chapter 1 - Victoria

Rain tapped on moss-covered stone, filling the ancient hall of Equaterra with a percussive backdrop that contrasted the tense quiet within. Shafts of waning sunlight danced through the gaps in the overhead canopy and fractured clouds, illuminating statues of forgotten heroes with a ghostly glow.

Within the stone walls, the Boulder clan, rulers and protectors of the Greenwoods, stood with heavy armor and arms along with the weight of history on their shoulders. Queen Charlotte was an imposing figure in her military dress uniform. The tailored bodice of deep green-black clung to her lithe frame, augmented by nano-tech strands that rendered the garment both beautiful and functional.

To the queen's right stood Prince Darren, a tapestry of youthful arrogance woven through with threads of battle-scars, blood, and boldness. With arms crossed, muscles coiling in quiet tension, he radiated confidence that seemed to fill the room.

His face, remarkably handsome yet imbued with an insufferable smugness, was framed by neatly pulled back golden locks. He wore a half-jacket of reinforced graphene scales that served as a second skin, protecting him from dangers both physical and metaphorical. His trousers had stripes of deep forest green, the color of Boulder's ancestral home.

Beside him, Princess Victoria was an ethereal in her presence and delicate balance of grace and stoicness. Her hair, a cascade of red, framed a face adorned with freckles, each a tiny whisper of her inner fire. She wore a tunic of muted, sage green that flowed effortlessly around her slender form.

Victoria's posture was the epitome of controlled poise, yet her fingers clung tightly together. Her eyes, an intense shade of emerald, imbued with a wisdom that belied her youthful years, though they moved pensively across the room.

Across from the Boulders stood the Lunas. The all-female civilization revolved around a harmonious marriage of technological prowess and ancient custom. High Priestess Elara was a vision of ageless beauty, her golden skin setting off eyes as deep as a boundless ocean. Her attire was an artful blend of modesty and allure, intricate silver latticework offering tantalizing glimpses of the skin beneath.

Nyra, standing beside High Priestess Elara, was a figure of enigmatic allure, her appearance evoking both religious sanctity and beguiling femininity. Her gaze, perceptive and measured, seemed to sift through layers of pretense and tradition as it rested on each individual present.

She wore attire that appeared to be the sartorial articulation of a sacred text, mingled with the sensuality of the female form. Her gown was a rich palette of deep violets and celestial blues, colors associated with both spirituality and wisdom. The fabric, a blend of traditional silk and luminescent infinity-fibers, clung to her hourglass figure before expanding into a softer, flowing skirt that reached just below her knees.

Victoria could feel the weight of their collective histories, especially as she observed the Lunas' servants, the Sylas. 12 or so identical female clones with cherubic faces stood silently behind Elara and Nyra. Their seemingly emotionless demeanor only intensified the suffocating atmosphere of a room steeped in the echoes of a century-long conflict.

The air was thick with unspoken battles and hidden agendas, as if the very walls of the hall whispered secrets. Though three hundred years of strife had laid the path to this meeting, the weight of it felt far more personal. Each faction had their champions; their symbols of hope or ruin depending on which side of the border one stood. Today was no different.

Victoria glanced at her mother, Queen Charlotte, and then at High Priestess Elara and Nyra. Four women, she realized, each a figurehead for her people's aspirations, their last hope for a new dawn after countless nights of darkness.

As the four began the slow procession toward a small chamber in the back of the hall, the bustling noise dwindled into a muffled murmur, almost like a retreating tide.

Victoria caught Elara's eyes shifting momentarily to Darren and couldn't help but notice the change it wrought in the high priestess's expression—a subtle but unmistakable twitch, as if the air had suddenly turned brittle around her. Though it was a fleeting shift, it was enough for Victoria to sense that the tension in the room wasn't just a matter of longstanding warfare.

Elara's face regained its pristine composure. The look was one Victoria recognized well; it was the way a leader focused on a greater good, willing to put aside the bitterness of personal wounds for a communal peace.

And yet, Victoria couldn't shake off a single, disquieting thought—beyond the diplomatic niceties and the veiled words, revenge, too, had a seat at this table.

***

The dim glow of the lanterns on the walls bathed the room in a muted light, causing the shadows to elongate and dance on ancient walls. A scent of earthy incense filled the air, combining with the smell of rain-soaked stone.

Elara's calm yet determined gaze locked onto Queen Charlotte, "Now that we’ve agreed about your access to our Stoneblood mines, I have one more area we must discuss."

Victoria, sitting beside her mother, shot the high priestess of glance. “More?”

Charlotte put her hand on Victoria’s thin wrist. The topic both Boulder women had hoped to avoid was now inevitable.

"I've given you access to the mines, I've made concessions on trade, and agreed to rebuild the damaged regions," Queen Charlotte began, her voice bearing an edge of exasperation. "What more could you possibly ask of Greenwood?"

She paused, then added with clear defensiveness, "And if this is about Darren's actions, he acted against my express orders. Regardless, he is still the heir to the Greenwood throne and will not stand trial or face retribution."

Elara's unwavering gaze and Charlotte's clenched jaw set the room into an even deeper silence.

"He owes a debt," said Elara.

"It's war."

Elara's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, capturing and refracting the ambient light like cut gems. "War is one thing. Bombing the repository of our generational heritage is another."

Charlotte sighed. "I will not let you kill our heir."

"It would appear you have another," said Elara, turning to Victoria.

Victoria felt the weight of Elara's gaze lock onto her, and for a moment, it was as though the High Priestess was peering into the very depths of her soul. The high priestess’ eyes, sharp and analytical, seemed to ask a thousand unspoken questions. The room seemed to close in on the princess.

In that instant, Victoria became acutely aware of her own heart's pounding, but she fought to keep her composure. Her eyes met Elara's directly, refusing to look away first.

"As honored as I am to be considered," Victoria began, her voice maintaining a steady, diplomatic timbre, "my brother's actions should not reflect on his worthiness to lead, nor should they place me above him in that respect."

Elara's eyes remained fixed on Victoria. "Interesting perspective, Princess. Does the Greenwood often permit its future leaders to act in such cruel ways that could jeopardize its continued existence?"

Victoria felt the edge of the barbed challenge. She chose her next words with care, fully aware that she was threading the needle between defending her family and acknowledging the gravitas of Darren's actions.

"In any family, kingdom, or alliance, there will always be individuals who act against better judgment. We aim to guide them back to the path of righteousness, not discard them when they err."

A moment of silence ensued, as though Elara was pondering Victoria's words. Then the High Priestess turned back to Charlotte. "It seems your daughter is not just eloquent but also wise beyond her years. May the Greenwood's future would shine more brightly in better hands."

“Perhaps there is a different way,” Nyra said, lifting her head.

Elara nodded to Nyra, allowing her to continue. Nyra’s eyes, filled with empathy yet resolve, met Charlotte’s. "Yes, our demands center around punishment and retribution, but, as you said, Princess, there can be a path back to righteousness.”

“What do you propose?” asked Charlotte.

“We both know this war cannot last forever and we both know the boy is not fit to rule. He is to ascend to the throne in what, 12 months? We will simply find ourselves back at war.”

Nyra paused, letting the thought of countless more dead sink in.

“What he did in our society is unforgivable,” she continued. “The boy is a monster. If we cannot kill this creature, then we will confine and transform it into something my people will no longer fear.”

Charlotte's voice was sharp. "Be plain, Nyra. What transformation do you speak of?"

Nyra took a deep breath. "The prince would be our honored guest…

“Hostage,” said Victoria, cutting her off.

“Call it what you may, but he would also serve as the centerpiece of our rebirth ceremony. Over the course of three months, he will come to embody abundance and fertility, a symbol of regaining what was lost.

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“During the next three moons, he will fatten to a near inhuman level and become a prisoner in his own body, unable to perform the simplest action," said Nyra.

“No more wars for the prince,” chimed Elara.

Victoria watched as Charlotte's face tightened. She could see her mother wrestling with a storm of emotions. "It's a mockery. You're asking for him to be a living spectacle."

Victoria interjected, her voice shaking with emotion, "He is my twin, my other half. I can't bear the thought of him in that state.”

“Would you rather see him dead?” Elara asked. “Or worse, thousands more dead once this endless war would begin again? Besides, we can ensure his new…condition… wouldn’t affect is overall health.”

“How can we be sure you won’t harm him further?" asked Charlotte.

“Mother!” Victoria said. “You can’t be considering this.”

Elara leaned forward, "I swear by our goddess and the spirits of our ancestors, Prince Darren will not be harmed, and we will keep his health intact. Once the ceremony ends, he can live out his days in tranquility within our lands."

Charlotte's voice quivered, "So he remains a prisoner."

Elara shrugged. “Call it what you will, but these are our terms. And, you must choose before we leave this room.”

“This is not a decision I can take lightly,” Charlotte said.

“But it’s a decision you must make.”

“You speak of Darren’s cruelty but what of yours.”

Elara paused for a moment before folding her hands together. “You son destroyed the ability for thousands of my people to have a child of their own. As a mother, I believe you can empathise with what it’d mean to lose even the chance at that joy.”

The air hung heavy in the room. Victoria could see the wet forming in her mother’s eyes and a tremble vibrating through her veiny hands.

“Leave me to counsel with my daughter.”

Elara smiled and stood, pulling back her shoulders and looking down at the Boulder women. She seemed to be seven feet tall and glowing with a fierce warmth. Nyra joined the high priestess in a courteous bow.

The dusty wooden door clicked shut behind the two Lunas, leaving a heavy silence in the room. Charlotte turned to face the window, her reflection a mere silhouette against the night sky. Raindrops splattered the glass, each drop a reminder of the tears she'd shed over this war.

Charlotte’s gaze lowered, her voice barely above a whisper, "If this is the path to peace, should we not consider it? For all we've lost, for all who might still be saved?"

“But what of Darren?”

Charlotte pulled Victoria into a tight embrace, both rulers grappling with the weight of sacrifice for the sake of their kingdom. The room remained heavy with anticipation and the echo of heart-wrenching choices yet to be made.

"Mother, you know as well as I do that Darren is headstrong. He wouldn't survive their...ceremony, not in spirit."

Charlotte nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "I know, but the weight of so many lives rests on this decision. Our people, the future of Greenwood..."

Victoria's eyes welled with tears. "But he's my brother, your son. How can we trade his dignity, his freedom, for peace?"

Charlotte's shoulders slumped, the weight of the decision evident. "I'm torn, Victoria. Every fiber of my being screams to reject their proposal, to protect Darren at all costs. Yet, the queen in me knows the price of continued war. So many have already perished. How many more will if we don't find a path to peace?"

Victoria leaned against the table, biting her lip. "But is this the right path? Submitting to such a ritual, allowing them to turn him into...whatever they wish, it feels wrong."

Charlotte took Victoria's hands into her own. "I feel it too, the pain, the guilt. But remember, your brother also played his part in this. His actions led us here."

Victoria's gaze dropped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I wish there was another way. A middle ground where we don’t have to sacrifice so much."

Charlotte sighed, pulling her daughter into an embrace. "So do I. But sometimes, leadership demands painful decisions. We have to think not just of Darren, but of every soul in Greenwood."

They stood like that for what felt like hours, and old ruler and the future bound by blood and duty, grappling with an impossible choice.

As the two women turned to the grand window, their reflections melded together, a symbol of their unity and resolve in the face of adversity. The fate of Prince Darren, and Greenwood itself, hung in the balance.

***

Massive stone pillars, intricately carved with ancient symbols and depictions of forgotten wars, stood sentinel in the main hall. The high ceiling, adorned with ethereal frescoes of night skies and celestial events, created a cavernous space. Floor to ceiling windows made of exquisite crystal reflected the cool blue glow of the moonlight filtering through the vast stained-glass.

The atmosphere hung with anticipation. Every step echoed in the vast expanse, resonating with a hollow, surreal sound. The Lunas, in their flowing, silver-tinged garments, stood with a palpable, collective tension, like a bowstring pulled taut. They waited, their eyes locked onto the grand doorway at the hall's end.

As Queen Charlotte entered, her heavy, military boots clacked on the floor. All eyes turned to her, searching for a hint of her decision. The Queen’s posture was upright, her face giving nothing away. She met Elara’s gaze, and in that moment, a subtle, almost imperceptible nod passed between them.

Victoria, following close behind her mother, seemed like a specter of despair. Her eyes, thick with tears, moved past the small crowd to settle on Darren. As she approached him, her gait faltered, a raw blend of sorrow and guilt etched on her face.

Darren, the usually confident and fiery prince, looked at his sister with a mixture of confusion and compassion. He sensed the gravity of the moment but smiled awkwardly. "Victoria?" he said with a calming smile, noting her anguish.

She took a step closer, her lips quivering. Tears overflowed from her eyes, but no words formed, her choked sobs the only sound amidst the suffocating silence.

Before Darren could question further, a half dozen Sylas began to circle. Their fair skin contrasted starkly with their dark, form-fitting attire. Each wore an almost serene smile, their eyes holding a peculiar glee. As they neared Darren, one Syla produced a pair of gravity cuffs that glowed in her hand.

Darren's instincts kicked in, and he tried to pull away, but the Sylas were unnaturally quick. They grappled with him, the sound of scuffling feet and muffled exclamations filling the air. The prince tried desperately to fend them off, his confusion turning to panic. "What is this? Guards!”

The rest of the room remained still. Darren caught a glimpse of his mother and sister holding their hands up, keeping the rest of the Boulder’s delegation at bay.

“Victoria? Mother?"

Darren freed his hand to throw a punch, but his body seemed to freeze before a tidal wave of pain crashed over him. One of the Sylas had him by the balls and squeezed with ungodly force.

Two Sylas fought to move his hands behind his back while two others forced Darren onto his stomach on the ground. He tried to yell, but another wrapped a cloth around his mouth and head, gagging the prince.

Above the commotion, Nyra's voice rang out, authoritative and unwavering, "In the name of peace, and as reparation for the sacrilege committed upon the Selene Vault, the sacred repository of our genetic ancestory, Prince Darren of Greenwood will submit to a Rite of Atonement. He will henceforth be an honored guest of the Lunas, bound to us in perpetuity."

Darren's eyes widened in realization, his struggles intensifying. But the Sylas, with their eerie smiles, were relentless. The cuffs snapped shut while the clones, with their cold, embrace held Darren down, making every movement an immense effort. He was immobilized, helpless.

Charlotte, with sorrow in her eyes but with a resolved face, stepped forward. “As of today, Darren shall no longer be prince, nor will he become king upon his 19th birthday as punishment for disobeying a direct order from his queen and needlessly prolonging the war.”

She glanced down at her son. His muffled and angry words echoed in the hall.

“I hereby decree that Princess Victoria will now inherit the crown,” Charlotte said, turning away from Darren.

Victoria's sobs grew louder, her heartbreak palpable. She had hoped to protect her twin from this fate, but now, she could only watch in anguish as he was taken from her. The hall, once filled with the grandeur of royalty, now echoed with the sounds of betrayal and the price of peace.