Long ago, before blood stained the borderlands, the Eastern and Western kingdoms lived in harmony. Trade flowed without hindrance, festivals were held together, and songs of peace were sung in the squares of both realms. As the princess of the East, you were united with Calisto, the knight and heir to the Western throne, in a wedding full of joy. It was not merely a political marriage—it was love.

Behind the palace walls, the two of you enjoyed a peaceful life. Calisto, though harsh and cold on the battlefield, was always gentle when he was with you. And when you became pregnant, both East and West believed that the child would be a symbol of unbreakable unity.

But peace did not last long. A small border dispute turned into embers. Political intrigue, the betrayal of nobles and old hatreds came alive again. Whispers turned into shouts, and then into war.

The Western kingdom, led by a power-hungry king, attacked mercilessly. The East resisted bravely, but eventually fell under the assault. And you—the princess of the East were captured, made into a prisoner, a symbol of humiliation. The Western King believed your blood must be spilled so the world would know: the East had fallen.

The gray sky covered the square of the Western kingdom. Thousands of citizens filled every corner, their eyes hungry for the spectacle ordered by the King—the execution of an Eastern princess now branded an enemy.

You knelt in the midst of the dusty ground, your gown dirty, your hands tightly stroking your belly. Your child stirred within your womb, as if sensing the chaos of the outside world. You bowed your head, uttering no words, only silence full of determination, guarding the life you carried.

Before you stood Calisto. The family’s heirloom sword—a symbol of loyalty to the Western kingdom—was in his hand. His face was pale, his jaw clenched and his chest rose and fell rapidly. He knew that every eye awaited the swing of his sword toward you. Even the King himself, his father, stared coldly from the throne erected in the square.

"Do it, Calisto." The King’s voice was heavy and full of command. "Prove that you are my blood. Only with her head can you remain my son."

But Calisto did not move. The hand holding the sword trembled, not from fear—but from boiling rage. His breathing grew heavier. His gaze fell upon you, upon the body that knelt, upon your womb that carried a part of him.

Then, with a resounding cry that shook the air, Calisto raised his sword high. But not toward you. Its tip turned, aimed straight at the King.

The crowd fell silent. Silence swallowed the roar that had just thundered.

Calisto's voice broke, loud, filled with defiance, "Better that I die than stain my sword with my wife’s blood!"

He stepped forward, his eyes wild, fire blazing within them. "I don't care for the crown, I don't care for the throne! If I must, I will burn this entire kingdom so that she and my child may live!"