Chapter 8
(Dark Born)
Everyone had heard the noise and echoes of power. The villagers, who had been hiding throughout the chaos, slowly emerged once the air settled. When everything calmed, they ran to the scene.
The clearing, once a battleground, now shimmered with a fragile peace. The lingering scent of frost and blooming vines mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest. Eric stood at the edge, his gaze fixed on the swirling portal that pulsed with ethereal light. Aethelgard beckoned—a distant echo in his soul, a forgotten melody tugging at his heart.
"Are you ready?" Clare asked softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension.
Eric turned to Cynthia, his eyes searching hers with a silent question. She met his gaze, her expression a mixture of love and understanding.
"Wherever you go, I go," she said, her voice steady with unwavering loyalty.
He smiled—a genuine, heartfelt smile that warmed his frosted features. "Then let us go together."
Esther stepped forward, her eyes deep with wisdom and concern. "The journey will be perilous," she warned, her voice low and resonant. "Aethelgard is not the same kingdom you left behind, Eric. Darkness has taken root, and your return will not be welcomed by all."
"We will face whatever awaits us," Clare declared with quiet resolve. "We've already faced worse."
Philip, ever the loyal companion, placed a reassuring hand on Eric's shoulder. "We'll be with you every step of the way, brother."
Esther fell silent, her eyes locked on the portal, expression unreadable. She seemed to sense something the others could not—a hidden danger lurking within the swirling light.
One by one, they stepped through the portal, the world dissolving into a kaleidoscope of light and sound. The transition was jarring—a disorienting shift from Tryzo's vibrant greens and earthy browns to Aethelgard's stark, crystalline realm.
They emerged into a grand hall, its towering ice columns gleaming under a pale light, its vaulted ceiling etched with intricate frost patterns. But what had once been majestic was now marred. Cracks webbed across the icy walls. Shadows clung to corners. The air was heavy with unease.
Aethelgard had changed.
At the far end of the hall stood a group of cloaked figures. Their faces were obscured, their posture authoritative, their eyes glinting with cold calculation.
"Welcome home, Prince Eric," the leader said, his voice a smooth, chilling baritone. "We have been expecting you."
Eric stepped forward instinctively, his hand hovering near the hilt of his ice-forged sword. "Who are you? And how did you know I was coming home?" His voice was laced with suspicion.
"We are your loyal subjects," the leader replied with a subtle smirk. "We've waited patiently for your return—to restore you to your rightful place."
Clare moved beside him, her eyes narrowed with fury. "You do not speak for Aethelgard," she said, her voice sharp with authority. "What have you done to our kingdom?"
The leader chuckled, the sound like cracking ice. "We've brought order to chaos," he said, fixing his gaze on Eric. "Aethelgard suffered in your absence, Prince. We have restored its glory."
He gestured behind him. The cloaked figures stepped aside, revealing a horrific scene: Aethelgardian citizens chained to the icy walls—pale, gaunt, eyes hollow with fear.
Clare gasped, her voice trembling. "What is the meaning of this?"
"They are dissenters," the leader said coldly. "Those who oppose the new order."
Eric's eyes narrowed, his fury rising. "You've enslaved my people."
"We've given them purpose," the leader answered smoothly. "Aethelgard needs strength and discipline. We cannot afford weakness."
Cynthia stepped forward, her voice fierce with nature's power. "You've twisted the very heart of this kingdom. You've turned beauty into cruelty."
The leader's gaze shifted to her, eyes gleaming with a dangerous curiosity. "The Nature Princess," he murmured, a trace of threat in his tone. "A valuable asset."
Eric moved protectively in front of Cynthia, drawing his shimmering ice blade. "You will not touch her," he growled, his voice low and menacing.
The leader smiled—cold, cruel, and full of promise. "We
shall see," he said, his voice echoing through the hall.