"A time is coming. Darker than the darkest of nights. A darkness no light shall penetrate. A time of terror where friends shall kill friends, and family shall slay each other. The sun shall bleed, and the moon shall cease to light the darkness. The kingdom shall perish, and from its ashes, terror shall rise.
Darkness is coming. It is punishment. It is judgment. It will burn the people, and their blood shall quench its thirst. The fate of the kingdom shall rest upon the birth of two boys: one of royal blood, the other born to a peasant. One shall bring terror, and one shall be the savior. The yin and the yang.
The one who brings terror must not live. For if he lives, we die. And if he dies, we live."
The great kingdom of Eryndral had lived in fear ever since the prophecy was foretold. Panic clung to the air like a suffocating fog. King Kaelion, ruler of the twelfth dynasty, had tried tirelessly to calm his people. But the demand was relentless-to find the cursed child and kill him before he could bring ruin.
Kaelion, a towering man with the physique of a seasoned warrior and the mind of a tactician, had faced countless challenges in his reign. He had defended his throne, subdued neighboring realms, and outwitted enemies at every turn. But no amount of strength or strategy could prepare him for this-the prophecy that threatened his very legacy. The danger didn't come from foreign borders but from within his own kingdom.
The fear had spread like wildfire. Every expecting mother was shrouded in suspicion. Every unborn child was a potential harbinger of doom.
In the opulence of his chamber, King Kaelion sat on the edge of his grand bed, lost in thought. The weight of the kingdom bore down on him.
"My king, my poor king," Queen Aradelle whispered as she approached him, her voice soft yet trembling with concern. "You haven't slept since the prophecy. Please, my love, I still need you."
The queen, heavy with child, placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. Her emerald eyes pleaded with him to let go of the burden that consumed him.
"My queen," Kaelion said, his voice resolute but strained, "do not worry for me. I will endure. Take care of our heir-for he is the kingdom's future. I must find the cursed child. Only then will this nightmare end."
He gently helped her back to bed, his hand lingering on hers before he turned to leave. The hall awaited him, as did Ronan, his knight commander, who carried word of the search.
Ronan knelt before the throne as the king entered the grand hall. The chamber, though richly adorned with tapestries and gold, felt cold and heavy under the shadow of the prophecy.
"My king," Ronan said.
"Rise, Ronan," Kaelion ordered. "Speak. What have you found?"
"My lord, we have searched the kingdom," Ronan began. "We found many women who are with child. But, my king, there are too many. It is impossible to know which carries the cursed one."
Kaelion's eyes darkened. He stood, his towering form casting an imposing shadow.
"Bring them all here!" he thundered. "Every single one of them. And summon Lyrris, the seer. I want every villager-young and old-gathered before the palace in two days. If Lyrris cannot find the cursed child, I shall see to it that every baby is killed. Every last one."
Ronan's face paled. "My king..."
"No buts, Ronan!" Kaelion's voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. "Know your place and do as I command."
Reluctantly, Ronan bowed. "Yes, my king."
As he turned to leave, his steps were heavy with unease. This was not the Kaelion he knew-the wise and noble ruler he had sworn to serve. This was a man gripped by fear and desperation, teetering on the brink of something unrecognizable.
Ronan could feel it. Desperation was a poison. It clouded judgment, twisted intentions, and blurred the line between hero and villain.
The king's decree spread swiftly through the kingdom. From the eldest to the youngest, every villager prepared to gather before the palace as ordered. Fear mingled with uncertainty. Some clung to hope, believing the prophecy could still be averted. Others whispered of doom, their faith in their king waning.
As the crowd began to assemble on the appointed day, the palace gates loomed like the maw of a beast. Mothers clutched their swollen bellies, fathers stood rigid with dread, and children huddled close.
The stage was set. Unbeknownst to them all, the prophecy would soon unravel in ways none could predict. The fate of Eryndral-and its people-was about to take a fateful turn.