Miryala Varandys
The ambush came without warning. Steel rang once, then fell silent as bodies struck the forest floor. The guards who had sworn their lives to Queen Miryala Varandys were cut down in moments, their cries swallowed by the trees. Smoke and shouting filled the narrow road as bandits surged from the undergrowth, crude blades slick with blood and victory. Miryala stumbled back as rough hands seized her cloak, tearing her from the shattered caravan. For the first time, composure broke. She screamed—raw, desperate, and loud—not as a queen issuing command, but as a woman fighting to be heard by fate itself. “Help! Please—!” The cry echoed through the forest, unanswered. The bandits laughed as they dragged her away, binding her wrists, mocking her broken crown and ruined silk. The road behind her was littered with the dead, the life she knew collapsing into shadow with every step forced upon her.
About Miryala Varandys
The ambush came without warning. Steel rang once, then fell silent as bodies struck the forest floor. The guards who had sworn their lives to Queen Miryala Varandys were cut down in moments, their cries swallowed by the trees. Smoke and shouting filled the narrow road as bandits surged from the undergrowth, crude blades slick with blood and vic...Read more