Gris pulled off the soldier's mask and put it on his own face. He grabbed an empty bucket nearby and filled it with water from a barrel.

"What're you doing?"

He did not give the soldier any decent response. What he did next would either kill him or be the worst decision he'd ever make in his entire life. He dashed down a flame engulfed hall, praying every step of the way. He pointed the way out for stragglers and approached the winding staircase that led up to his chamber's front entrance. Fireguards appeared from an adjoined hall clear of fire but rising in smoke. Unaware of him, they drenched the walls, the doors, and the floor with water until the foyer began to appear like a lake.

He ascended the staircase and seethed his teeth from the heat seeping through the metal of his armor. He began stripping off the annoying armor and mesh and leaving on his undershirt. But even in that, he still felt he was melting. He did not care. He had to find Limp but prayed that he wouldn't find him at all. He prayed his good friend had left before the fire started. The floor creaked beneath his feet and looked darker than usual, but he kept moving.

"Hey," someone shouted behind him. He glanced back and saw Dargany was following.

He didn't stop to greet or talk, his friend needed him. He kept going and weaved his way down the corridor, ugly draperies rippled with fire. The doors to his chambers were wide open as if someone wanted the fire to enter or exit. He threw his bucket of water onto the fire claiming the floor of the entrance and cautiously entered.

"Limp!"

Dargany threw his bucket of water onto an area and entered. "Gris! You're going to get us killed."

"Limp!" He shouted and heard a deep cough or grunt upstairs. "He's upstairs."

Staying low, he ascended into his study. His precious study now devoured by hell weaving its way from the charred walls to the center. The floor of his surgical area had already caved in, and heat rose through the floorboards turning his study into a gigantic furnace.

He gasped. One of his workers, a twelve-year-old who had a beautiful singing voice lied in a puddle of his own blood. His eyes stared empty at Gris and his knees trembled, threatening a faint.

"Limp," he called again using the railing to keep himself erected.

He squinted through the thick smoke and searched the floor.

"Gris..." someone croaked. Tears fell from his eyes seeing his best friend leaning against a table's leg.

"Great gods," he said and stumbled to him. He dropped beside him, ignoring the hot floor.

"What did he do to you?" he said at the horror of his friend's face. Blood caped the entire left side of his face, spilling slowly from a large gash on his head. Gris couldn't help but notice a bloody chair leg lying nearby and cringed. Beneath the blood, Limp's face was swollen with cuts and bruises that made him wonder how he was still alive. He was partially conscious, and his breathing was low and raspy.

"A soldier," he managed to say.

"I know, Dargany told me about him," he said.

"Eron sent-," Limp broke into a nasty cough with blood spittle.

"Eron sent him?" he said, and Limp nodded. Gris couldn't help but give a frustrated scream. "I'm going to kill him!"

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.

"Limp. I'm going to get you out of here."

Dargany appeared holding a shield Gris had stuffed in a corner long ago.

"We need to get out of here now," Dargany said.

Gris took off his mask and put it on Limp and rewrapped his face with the cloth. But then Dargany shoved off the cloth and gave him his mask.

"A prince is not dying on my watch," the soldier said.

As if the servant was a pillow, the soldier easily picked him up to his feet. They each wrapped an arm about their shoulders and carefully went for the staircase. Holding onto the railing, they descended. Limp gave a loud moan and his head drooped, causing his body weight to increase.

"No," Gris said trembling in horror, hoping his friend didn't just die in his arms.

"Focus, Gris," Dargany said.

"Wake up, Limp," he cried, but kept moving. "Don't die on me. Please, Dawnis no."

A wretched creaking and moaning arose around them. They froze midway on the steps and Dargany searched about. Gris felt the step under his feet quake.

"The stairs are caving in," Gris shouted.

With every strength they could pull from Holy Sakon, they ran down the rest of the steps just as the top sucked inward and collapse. Gris' stomach heaved feeling the gravity leave under his feet, but he managed to propel himself forward. The three of them crashed to the floor. Debris, smoke, and fire embers burst around them. Gris coughed and choked. Dargany covered them with his shield the best he could and yelped from the burns claiming his exposed skin.

"Dargany," Gris shouted.

"I'm fine," the soldier said, but when Gris finally could see his face, it was decorated in red burns.

The fiery ceiling above them moaned and shifted, taking the wall near Gris with it. They didn't need to say what was happening. Fear of being trapped spewed their adrenaline. They stood, grabbed Limp, and ran through the fiery door with Dargany's shield just as the ceiling and wall crumbled and caved in. Nasty cracks formed from the doorway and continued to spread down the corridor.

"Run," Dargany shouted.

Partly lifting Limp off the floor, they ran the half-devoured corridor shaking in its own earthquake. The floor jerked downward under Gris' feet and a thunderous sound arose behind them. He forced himself to not look back as his chambers succumbed to its conqueror. Explosions erupted sending Gris' heart leaping into his dry throat. Scorching heat slammed into his back, tempting him to turn around.

He did. For a second. He screamed.

A burst of fire and smoke violently consumed the corridor. Swift and murderous, the explosion shattered through the glass windows and incinerated any remainder of the ugly draperies. They turned the slight corner to the stairway and almost slid down the trembling steps. Fireguards below shouted for people to run. The stairway did a sudden shift to the right, knocking them off their feet.

They slid down a few steps, but not fast enough. The explosion erupted from the corridor and spewed hell into the air. Dargany covered them with his shield again, but Gris could still feel hot debris slamming into his legs. As fast as it happened, the explosion sucked inward, most likely exiting out the windows. But tiny flames were scattered everywhere, and Gris patted the sparks on his and Limp's clothing.

Fireguards quickly went to put out the flames while others came to help them. Some ascended to the balcony to shut the doors to the corridor. They then threw buckets of water onto the door and the floor.

"Are you okay, Your Highness?" Captain Polni said.

"Yeah, but my friend, he's badly hurt," Gris said turning to Limp who lied terribly still. "Limp!" He went and patted his face, but he wasn't responding. He gave a cry.

"Lay him in here," Polni ordered.

Dargany and two guards moved Limp out of the watery foyer and into a hallway. Gris' heart clenched in his chest. They laid Limp on the floor and Dargany checked for a pulse.

"His pulse is very low," he said. "He's lost too much blood."

"Help him," Gris said unable to think medically as he stared at his friend's lifeless body.

"We need to get him to the infirmary," Dargany said to the captain.

The captain bellowed orders and two soldiers ran into the hall with a wooden carrybed. They carefully placed him on it and strapped him down. Quickly, they carried him through the palace to the infirmary, now busy and crowded to the core. With Gris' royal privilege they were placed as priority. A nurse found an empty bed for Limp, and Joras approached them eyes wide in horror.

"What happened?" he said.

"Eron sent someone to kill him."

"Eron? What?"

"He has a huge gash on his head," he said then grabbed the doctor. "Please save him."

"I cannot promise anything," Joras said and went to do his job.

The curtain was shut in front of his face.

"I'll stay here with you," Dargany said placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No. Go back and help with the fire," he said unable to move from his spot.

"You are injured, you need to be checked."

"I'm fine," Gris said but he could care less about himself right now. His best friend was literally knocking on Dawnis' door into his halls. Again!

"You don't look fine-,"

A scream erupted from the far back of the infirmary. There were so many heads, Gris couldn't see who had done it and where it was coming from.

"Their dead!" the woman screamed.

Gris recognized the voice. Lady Liana. He shoved his way through the crowds of people. That's when he noticed temple guards running towards a single direction.

He gasped. "Oh no Mageia," he said and ran to the halls of private rooms.

"Move," he ordered to everyone standing jaw dropped.

When they stepped aside to allow him pass, he could not believe the sight before him. Temple guards, seven of them, lied dead in puddles of blood. Already his neck stiffened with tension of the expected and entered the room.

A doctor and a nurse worked fiercely to stop the bleeding overflowing from Hercones' abdomen. Lying still in their blood was a temple slave and a nurse, executed like cattle. But the thing that filled in the rest of his horror was the empty bed and Mageia nowhere in sight.