Becoming Mrs. Blackstone

                                                                 The Empire's Ashes

The wind, a continual reminder of the fall of the empire, murmured through the ruins. With her leather-clad fingers digging amid the ruins of a once-immensity palace, Zara knelt down. In the early morning light, the tall, hollow and cracked marble columns loomed above her, creating long, skeletal shadows. The smell of smoke, of something long burned and forgotten, filled the air. Even though she had been scrounging here for days, the scene remained the same: rusted weaponry, shattered statues, and the remains of a grandeur that had long since lost its significance.

The silence and emptiness that occupied the spaces where life had flourished should have become second nature to her by now. However, every day seemed brand-new, and every rubble pile presented a fresh challenge. Zara detested it. despised the memories they evoked, hated the ruins. The reason she was here, however, was to ensure her survival. Broken electronics, lost texts, and food or water scraps that would have meant the difference between life and death were among the items discovered in these ruins.

Under layers of dust and soot, the elaborate decorations on a broken urn were hardly discernible when she brushed her fingers over its jagged edges. Ash from the empire covered her flesh and clung to her clothing. The more she searched, the more she understood that the fire had just scattered the ruins of a broken world, even though she had previously believed it had destroyed everything. She had once been a part of a world that she had known.

Zara stopped, looking up at the bleak surroundings. Smoke erupted in heavy plumes from the remains of what had once been a flourishing metropolis well beyond the palace's shattered gates. She could just hear the cries of those who had battled to overthrow the empire, the yells of rebellion. Only ashes remained from the revolt's flames.

A slight sound—something moving, something out of place in the silence—broke her thoughts. Instinctively, Zara's hand went for the knife she carried with her. She was wise enough to not put her faith in things she couldn't see. There was no room for doubt because the scavenger's instinct was a severe instructor.

Silently, she crossed the debris and headed into the commotion. As she moved further, her boots crunched gently against the ashes, and she looked at every nook and cranny. With the relics of both ancient power and contemporary greed, the ruins were a perilous site. Loyalists, rebels, and raiders all battled for possession of what remained, each group eager to seize any loot that may be discovered.

The sound intensified—ragged, straining breathing. Zara's heart pounded. Someone was harmed, and someone was present. She slowed and moved in the direction of the sound. She gripped her knife handle more tightly. She wouldn't think twice about striking if it was a trap, an imperial soldier, or a rebel.

Then she caught sight of him.

A man with his back against a heap of broken stone, slouched on the ground. His face was pale and stretched with anguish, his clothing were ripped, and his shirt was stained with blood. Zara halted for a second as the silver of his armour glinted dimly under the mud. The once-proud, now-tarnished symbol was worn by the Empire's soldiers. Her stomach twisted at the thought of them, but she forced the emotion aside. She needed to be realistic. had to make it through.

With the knife still in her fingers, she took a step closer. There was something about the man that caused her to pause, even if his eyes were dull with fatigue and flickered open. A glimmer of familiarity flickered between them as his eyes locked with hers. She could see the depth of his pain and the fatigue in his eyes. Nevertheless, there was another element—a glimmer of something recognisable.

"Help me..." Zara couldn't help but notice the desperation in his voice, which was hoarse and hardly more than a whisper.

Zara squinted her eyes. She was wise enough not to provide assistance to anyone. Not after the losses, the betrayals, and everything that had transpired. However, she was unable to pinpoint the change that occurred inside of her.

"You're lucky I found you," she replied in a reserved, icy tone. "I don’t help people."

A terrible smile twisted the man's lips, and he extended a quivering hand in her direction. "The only person who can is you. You must pay attention. Please.

With her heart racing, Zara took a step back. She couldn't afford to give this man any thought. Like everyone else who had destroyed her home, he was a soldier and an ardent supporter of the empire. She had lost everything in the fire that had devastated the empire. Her future, her house, and her family. She was at her breaking point.

However, there was something special about him, something about the way his gaze met hers. The remains of a shattered world, the kind of man who, in spite of the ashes of his history, could still fight and have hope.

Her voice was flat as she enquired, "Who are you?"

He rasped, "I’m Kael," in a voice that was hardly audible. "Kael... the last heir of the empire."

Zara's throat tightened each breath. The final heir? She gazed at him, her mind racing with incredulity and perplexity. The empire had collapsed. The royal bloodline had been thought to have died in the fire. However, was this man the last of them?

"You’re lying," she said quietly, her voice filled with disbelief and resentment. 

Kael started to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden, forceful cough. His mouth gushed blood, leaving the floor discoloured. He struggled to stay conscious while flinching in agony.

"Please," he exclaimed, his eyes beseeching her. "You must assist me. I am aware of the weapon. The weapon that has the power to alter everything. It must be stopped.

Zara's thoughts were racing. A weapon? In the rubble? Among the surviving, the weapon was a whispered tale. There had been persistent rumours of a weapon that could restore the strength of the former empire, but no one knew if it was true. Should it end up in the wrong hands...

Zara tightened her hold on her knife, but her feelings and instincts were fighting each other. She had no desire to care for him. refused to believe him. She was unable to ignore the urgency in his voice, though. The weapon might be crucial to this broken world's future. It had to be destroyed if it existed.

However, Kael? He was the final descendant. The adversary was him. Would she be able to trust him?

Her voice was harsh as she screamed, "What weapon?"

Each word came more slowly than the last, and Kael's breathing was shallow. "It is concealed beneath the palace... beneath the city. There are the secrets of the empire. It will be the end for all of us if someone finds it.

Zara stepped back, her thoughts whirling. His remarks weighed heavily on the atmosphere. The weapon... the weapon that may wipe out the last glimmer of hope for this broken earth. Zara was unsure of what to think, but she was certain that she couldn't leave at this point. Not after everything.

She responded, "I'll help you," in a sharper, colder voice. "But you better be telling the truth."

Kael's breath was laboured and his eyes glowed with relief, but he said nothing. Zara's strength was the only thing keeping him standing as she reached down to help him.

She whispered, "Stay with me, Kael," "We’ve got a long way to go."

Her mind was already spinning, making plans while she raised him. The weapon must be found. More crucially, though, she needed to ensure that nobody—no one—ever used it again.