Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 11: The King's Gambit
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Far from the cursed forests and haunted hills, beneath golden banners and marble pillars, the *Kingdom of Solmar* stirred in panic.
The *High King Alric II* sat at the center of the war chamber, his crown heavy with grief.
Before him knelt two figures—cloaked in silver and shadow.
The *Heroes*.
The King's most powerful weapons.
"…It has begun," said the archer, her voice clear and cold. "The boy in black has awakened something older than the gods. Therrow will fall first. The rest will follow."
King Alric stood slowly, aged eyes filled with fury. "I remember Therrow. That outpost is nothing. But if this threat is real…"
The second Hero, a warrior clad in white, unsheathed a massive sword etched in holy light. It hummed with divine power.
"It is real," he said. "We fought him once already. He escaped. Next time… he won't."
The King paced. "How many soldiers will it take?"
The archer shook her head. "Not many will survive. But he must be *slowed*. We need time to understand what he is becoming."
Alric nodded grimly.
"Then I send you both—*Seren of the Dawnbow*," he said, turning to the archer. "And *Aren the Brightblade*," he added, looking to the warrior.
"Take 1,500 soldiers. You leave at first light. If this… demon child dares rise from the rot, we will strike *before he breathes fire.*"
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*Days later – Outskirts of Therrow*
Kael stood atop a ruined spire, watching from the shadows as banners rose in the distance. Flags of Solmar.
He counted them.
"…1,500," he murmured. "And two not like the rest."
Nyzereth coiled in his thoughts. *The archer... she's blessed. The man — forged in light.*
Kael's eyes narrowed. He could *feel* them from here.
They were like anchors in the world. Fixed. Pure.
His opposites.
He descended the spire and returned to the woods, where his forces gathered.
Hundreds of undead, dozens of shadow beasts. Spirits from the old world. Wraiths from forgotten wars.
He had no human allies.
No mortals.
Only *monsters*.
And still… he smiled.
"They bring numbers," Kael said, voice as calm as ash. "I bring purpose."
He looked at the crystal vial on his belt—his sister's soul trapped within.
"You were wrong," he whispered. "They will never change."
He turned to his lieutenants—Fennira among them.
"They will strike at Therrow in three days. We strike tomorrow."
The spirits hissed in agreement
Kael raised one hand
A black eclipse shimmered over the moon
"no more waiting"
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