Standing tall amidst the ruins of Calvard, the weight of the recent victory felt heavy, yet hollow. The triumphant cheers of the soldiers, the proud glint in Percival's eyes, and the grim satisfaction on Father's face—all of it faded against the stark reality of what lay before me. The castle, once a symbol of the enemy's power, was now a tomb of shattered dreams and broken lives. And in its darkest corner, a discovery that turned my blood to ice.

The air, thick with the stench of smoke and despair, did little to mask the cold dread that seeped into my very bones. My gaze was fixed on the scene unfolding, a tableau of my deepest fears made manifest. The whispers, the warnings, the pleas—all of them had been ignored, dismissed as the ramblings of a foolish child. Now, the consequences were laid bare, etched in blood and pain.

A year. It had only been a year since Father, blinded by the promise of an alliance, had sealed my fate. Percival had raged, foreseeing this very horror, but his voice had been drowned out by the clamor of politics.

The scene opens with King Caspian and Crown Prince Percival in a dimly lit, heavily damaged chamber within the Calvard castle. Dust motes dance in the sparse rays of light that pierce through broken windows. The sounds of distant, subdued activity from the subjugated castle can be heard faintly. Caspian stands with his arms crossed, his jaw set, a thunderous aura emanating from him. Percival, however, is on his knees, his usual boisterous demeanor replaced by a look of utter devastation, his hands hovering, trembling, over a figure huddled on the cold stone floor.

The figure, clearly Rubii, is chained to a wall. Her exquisite white hair, once a symbol of her unique grace, is matted and stained. Her body is a ruin of bruises and lacerations, her regal attire torn and soiled. Her eyes, usually bright with a gentle spirit, are vacant, staring blankly into nothingness. The lifelessness in her gaze is a chilling testament to the horrors she has endured.

Caspian's voice, when it finally breaks the heavy silence, is a low growl, barely contained rage.

"Rubii," Father's voice was a strangled whisper, each syllable laced with a pain so profound it threatened to shatter the very air. His normally stern features were contorted, his eyes, usually so full of kingly authority, were now wide with horror and a grief that ran deeper than any wound. He clenched his fists, the knuckles white, as if trying to physically crush the agony that threatened to overwhelm him.

Percival, his legendary swordsman's hands now unsteady, reached out, his fingers gently brushing against Rubii's tattered sleeve. A shudder ran through his frame, his breath catching in his throat. The roar of battle, the thrill of victory, the pride of conquest—all of it meant nothing now. All that mattered was the broken girl before him, his sister, his Rubii. His voice, when it came, was a raw, ragged sound, devoid of its usual confidence.

"Rubii, my little sister..." Percival's voice cracked, tears finally spilling over, tracing paths through the grime on his face. "I... I am so, so sorry. I failed you." He choked back a sob, his entire body shaking with grief. "This... this monster... he will pay. By the gods, he will pay!" He looked up, his eyes burning with a fierce, protective fury that was a terrifying echo of his father's.