King Malagar stood atop the balcony of his obsidian tower, watching the chaos unfold beneath him. The Crown of Eternis lay shattered at his feet, its once-glorious gold and gemstones reduced to broken fragments. Power surged through the air, wild and untamed, as the magic within the crown lashed out in fury. Lightning crackled in the sky, casting eerie shadows over the burning capital of Eldoria.
The royal city of Valthorne was drowning in flames. Buildings collapsed under the weight of destruction, and screams of the innocent echoed through the night. Soldiers clad in dark armor stormed the streets, cutting down those who dared resist Malagar's rule. The king's lips curled into a smirk; this was the price of power.
A tremor shook the castle walls, and Malagar turned sharply. At the heart of the throne room, the shattered crown's remnants pulsed with raw energy. His advisors, standing at a cautious distance, eyed the shards with fear. One dared to speak. "My lord… the magic is unstable. The prophecy—"
Malagar silenced him with a glare. "The prophecy is nothing but the ramblings of fools. I have done what no king before me dared. The Crown of Eternis is mine no longer—it is broken, and now its power belongs to those who are strong enough to claim it."
Beyond the burning city, a great storm gathered over the horizon, its swirling clouds black as night. The destruction of the crown had sent a ripple through the very fabric of the world, and Malagar could feel it. Somewhere, the shards of the crown were calling out to those who would wield them. Some would seek to use their power. Others would try to stop him. It mattered not.
For King Malagar had no intention of letting prophecy stand in his way.
From the depths of the castle, a distant cry rang out—a child's wail, piercing through the night like a blade through flesh. Malagar's eyes darkened. The resistance was already taking shape. The child of prophecy had been born.
He would make sure that child never lived to see his destiny fulfilled.