Chapter 14

Miu’s POV

The ride to the northern border took longer than I expected.

The road thinned the farther we went, asphalt giving way to stone, then to mud. The car lurched and swayed, forcing me to grip the seat beside me just to stay steady. Every bump rattled through my bones.

“The roads up north are still underdeveloped,” Lena explained calmly, as if the jolting ride were nothing out of the ordinary. “Most of the places here remain rural.”

I nodded, even as my fingers tightened.

I turned toward the window, letting my eyes wander. Rolling fields stretched endlessly, patched with small homes and crooked fences. Despite everything, the view was beautiful in its own quiet way. Honest. Untouched. I found myself wishing the window were open, wishing I could breathe in the air properly—the kind that smells like soil and rain,

The car slowed even more as the road worsened.

After a moment, Lena spoke again. This time, more carefully. As if weighing each word before letting it go.

“There’s something you should know,” she said. “Things may be… complicated once we reach Tungsten.”

I glanced at her. “Why?” I asked, simply.

She exhaled, eyes fixed ahead.

“Tungsten has openly expressed its hatred toward the palace,” she said. “King Arthur’s rule was… cruel to them. Entire lands were stripped. Families displaced. Promises broken.”

My chest tightened.

“They no longer trust the crown’s authority,” Lena continued. “So they chose to stand independently.”

The words lingered between us, heavy as the clouds gathering above the hills.

I looked back out the window, the scenery suddenly less peaceful.

My heart broke before I even fully took it in.

The city stretched out before me like a scar on the earth. Homes were splintered, roofs caved in, walls cracked and leaning like they might fall at any moment.

Streets were mud-choked, littered with debris—broken furniture, shattered glass, soaked clothes. People wandered through the wreckage with vacant stares, their faces pale and coated in dust and grime. Wounds untreated.

Children clutched whatever scraps of fabric they could find, their cries echoing through the empty shells of buildings.

This… this was far worse than I had imagined.

My throat tightened as I tried to swallow the lump that had formed there.

How? How could this–

“I have been trying to send reliefs to the city,” Lena said quietly, interrupting my thoughts, “but they always ended up returning to the palace the next day. That’s why I decided to come myself.”

I turned to her, seeing the resolve in her eyes even amidst the chaos. Somehow, despite everything, she stood poised, unshaken—like she carried the weight of the city in her shoulders and wasn’t about to drop it.

“But… how… did it become this bad?” I asked her.

Because even before the tsunami, I could see it—in their eyes, in their faces—the weight of years of suffering etched into every wrinkle, every hollow cheek.

Lena let out a heavy sigh, her gaze scanning the ruined horizon as if she could take it all in at once. “During King Arthur’s reign… criminals plundered and destroyed this place,” she said softly. “I know you’re familiar with them.”

I turned my head to her, trying to keep up.

“The Ducaines,” she continued, her voice low but steady, “they’ve taken so many people in this land. They’ve always targeted cities near the border… because it was the most neglected during King Arthur’s reign. It was easier for them to run their human trafficking deals here, slipping in and out of other nations without anyone noticing.”

I sat in silence, my eyes flitting back to the city. Beyond the broken houses, the abandoned farming fields stretched like a pale scar across the land. Dried earth cracked under the harsh sun, with barely a blade of grass to be seen anywhere.

The desolation seemed endless, a quiet witness to years of suffering that no storm alone could create.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as I realized… This wasn’t just a disaster. This was a wound left to fester for years.

It’s all my fault…

“Please. Stay in the car.” I said suddenly, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Excuse me?” Lena responded, her brow knitting in surprise.

“You heard me,” I continued, forcing the words out. “You said it yourself—they don’t trust the palace. Let me speak to them.”

I may not be the sole cause, but I am in part responsible for all this suffering.

I opened the car door and stepped out, ignoring Lena’s startled call behind me. The uneven road beneath my feet, the wind tugging at my hair—it didn’t matter. My mind was only on them.

I abandoned them. This nation. These people. I ran away from my duties. I ran away from my promises to this land. Ten years of running, of hiding, of survival… all of it had brought me here, to this truth.

If given a chance… I want to atone for my sins…

The city stretched before me, broken, battered, yet alive. And for the first time in a decade, I felt the weight of responsibility settle over my shoulders. My heart pounded, not from fear—but from the fire of resolve.

—

Lena’s POV

There’s something about her…

I don’t know why, but that woman—so small, yet so determined—had managed to make me follow through on her demand. I stayed seated in the car, silent, my eyes fixed on her as she strode toward the people of Tungsten. There was no hesitation in her movements, no trace of fear, just a raw, undeniable resolve.

“Give me your earpiece,” I ordered the royal guard sitting up front.

He instantly complied, removing it and handing it over. I slipped it into my ear and keyed the microphone.

“Keep your lines open. I want to hear everything happening out there,” I told the staff on the other end of the line.

They confirmed, voices steady in my ear. I kept my gaze on Miu. Every step she took drew attention; the dusty, tired faces of children and elders lifted toward her. Soon, questions began to fly, curious, tentative.

“Who are you?”

“Are you here to help us?”

“Please… We haven’t eaten for days…”

Miu stepped forward, her posture straight, her voice clear and deliberate as it carried across the courtyard.

“I am Miu Lancaster, from the palace,” she said, and it was no timid whisper, no unsure plea for mercy. Her voice was sharp, deliberate, carrying over the crowd like a bell tolling in the silence. “I do not ask for your trust lightly… for I know it has been broken. Your anger is earned, your doubt justified. For years, promises were made… and for years, they were left unfulfilled.”

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over them, the murmurs quieting as if the very air had thickened. “But hear me now. The Palace wants nothing more than to see your families safe. Fed. Strong. Able to rebuild what was taken from you, brick by brick, day by day. Not for appearances. Not for politics. For you.”

Her eyes swept across the crowd, unwavering, almost piercing. “So I ask… no—I am begging you earnestly… accept this help. Allow us the honor of proving that the palace is no longer blind to your suffering. Allow us… to make this right.”

The crowd stirred uneasily, some shifting on their feet, others whispering urgently to their neighbors. Then a sharp, angry voice cut through the murmur. “We cut ties with the palace long ago! We do not want your help!”

Miu did not flinch.

“I hear you,” she said, her voice smooth but carrying an unshakable authority. “Your anger is justified. You have been overlooked. Forgotten. Ignored. And I cannot undo what has been done. But the past… the past does not have to chain the future.”

She stepped slightly forward, letting her words reach every corner of the gathered crowd. “The Queen… and her people… we are not those who abandoned you. If you allow us, we will show our commitment—not with empty promises, not with words meant to soothe—but through action, through work, through results you can see, touch, and feel with your own eyes.”

Her eyes met the elder’s, unwavering, and for a moment the chatter of the crowd hushed, caught between disbelief, hope, and the raw weight of her sincerity.

I felt my brow lift, my grip on the earpiece tightening. The way she spoke… the confidence, the intelligence woven into every sentence… it was unsettlingly precise.

There was an authority in her tone, a polish that shouldn’t exist in someone who, from all I knew, had no training in leading, no exposure to diplomacy or governance.

Her words were sophisticated, yet humble. Each pause deliberate, each inflection carefully measured to convey empathy without surrendering command.

She didn’t just speak to the crowd—she commanded them, bending their attention, guiding their thoughts, and yet no one seemed aware of it.

I caught myself leaning forward in the car seat, squinting at her through the distance. Something about her… didn’t sit right. It was almost too refined, too controlled. Not ordinary. Not someone who could have mastered this from simply watching others. Every gesture, every carefully chosen word hinted at experience, education, and… a history I couldn’t place.

My mind raced.

Who is this woman, really?

And why did she feel… familiar, as if I had glimpsed this air of command somewhere before?