All Chapters of Empire of the Plains: Chapter 11
- Chapter 20
44 chapters
Chapter Eleven – “The Storm Throne”
“From death’s ashes, a storm remembers its name.” The wind screamed over the plains, tearing at banners blackened by ash and rain. Where once the Dortracy tents had stood, only mud and smoke remained. In the ruins, a lone rider moved among the dead, his horse limping, breath ragged. The sky above was the color of bruised iron. “Leave them,” Serah whispered, her voice hoarse. “They’re gone.” Around her, the survivors of the Blood Oath war limped through the wreckage. Men who had followed Karan Dor’rak now walked with hollow eyes, muttering the same curse: The gods have turned their faces. It had been three nights since Karan fell—pierced through by Raiko’s blade and swallowed by the storm that followed. The battle had ended in chaos: thunder tearing open the sky, flames devouring the plain, and then… silence. But silence was never simple among the Dortracy. In the center of the battlefield, where the lightning had struck, the ground pulsed faintly with warmth. Beneath the
Chapter Twelve – “The Sands of Prophecy”
“The wind remembers every hoofprint, even those of ghosts.” “Water… we need water!” The cry rose from the back ranks as the Dortracy caravan dragged through the sands. The storm had carried them east — into the desert the shamans called Sareth Vaal, the Veil of the Gods. The air shimmered with heat; the horizon bled gold. Karan rode at the front, his stallion Kor’Vareth glistening with sweat, mane braided with black cords. The horse’s flanks bore old scars — the marks of their bond. Every Dortracy warrior carried such marks: one on the palm, one on the chest, where their horse’s first blood had touched them as infants. It was not mere tradition. Among the Dortracy, to lose one’s horse was to lose one’s soul. “Slow the march,” Karan ordered, voice cutting through the wind. “The herd breathes as one, or not at all.” He dismounted, running a hand along Kor’Vareth’s neck. The stallion pressed its muzzle against his shoulder — an intimate gesture, almost human. Their breaths
Chapter Thirteen – “The Silent City”
“All cities remember their kings, even the ones who buried them.” “Hold,” Karan said quietly. The command rolled down the line like thunder, and the Dortracy halted at once. Their horses stamped the sand, nostrils flaring. The air had changed—too still, too heavy, as if the desert itself was holding its breath. Before them, half-buried beneath centuries of dust, rose the Silent City. Its towers were blackened stone, fused by heat. Carvings of horned beasts and broken kings watched from the walls. Even the wind refused to cross its gates. Serah rode forward beside Karan, eyes narrow. “It looks dead.” “Nothing dead smells this alive,” Karan replied. Lyra rode behind them, veil drawn tight. “It’s said the city fell in one night. Its kings made war against the sky.” “And the sky won?” Serah asked, glancing over her shoulder. Lyra’s gaze lingered on the broken towers. “No. The gods sealed them inside.” Karan dismounted, boots sinking into sand that gleamed faintly under th
Chapter Fourteen – “The Lions of Velannis”
“Every empire claims to bring order. But first, it must kill what it does not understand.” “Ride closer, my king,” Serah warned. “Their formation’s changing.” Karan didn’t move. From the ridge above the dunes, he watched the golden banners rise—wave after wave of armored riders cresting the sands, their lances gleaming under the dying sun. The storm he had awakened at the Silent City still churned over his head, black clouds pulsing faintly with lightning, like the slow heartbeat of a sleeping god. Behind him, the Dortracy gathered in grim silence. Their stallions pawed the sand, uneasy but unbroken. Every man there had followed Karan through hell—through exile, war, and resurrection. Now they stood on the edge of legend. Lyra rode up beside him, the wind whipping her veil loose. Her eyes reflected the gold of the enemy’s banners. “They’re Velannian elites,” she said softly. “The Lion Guard. My father’s war host.” Karan turned his head just enough to meet her gaze. “Then the gods
Chapter Fifteen – “The Banner of Storms”
“The sky bows to no king, yet every king begs it for mercy.” “Is this what victory looks like to you?” Serah’s voice sliced through the smoke-filled air, low and furious. Karan didn’t answer. He stood at the edge of the burning camp, eyes fixed on the trail of fire stretching toward the horizon. The Dortracy banners that once flew proudly above their tents now lay trampled in ash. Behind them, warriors shouted, dragging buckets of sand to smother what remained of the blaze. Horses screamed. The night reeked of charred leather and blood. Lyra had done this. The captive lioness of Velannis—no longer captive, no longer chained—had set their world aflame with nothing but whispered words and fury. Karan’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t victory,” he said finally. “It’s warning.” Serah’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s answer it.” They rode through dawn in silence. The Dortracy horses, once sleek and proud, limped beneath the weight of exhaustion. The plains shimmered red with fire
Chapter Sixteen – “The Valley of Fire”
“Every flame remembers the hand that first lit it.” “Tell me, Karan—how many times can a god drown before the world stops calling him one?” The voice tore through the heat like a whisper wrapped in smoke. Karan’s eyes flew open. Salt burned his lungs. He was half-buried in ash, the tide licking at his armor, hissing where molten embers met seawater. The air smelled of iron and smoke. The ground beneath him pulsed faintly—alive. He forced himself up. Every breath hurt. The horizon shimmered red. Rivers of flame cut across the black plain, spilling light over a valley carved by fire and time. He remembered the fall—the bridge collapsing, Lyra’s hand slipping from his. He had thought the storm would kill him. Instead, it had spat him out here. Karan staggered forward, dragging his sword from the sand. The wind howled through the valley, hot and heavy. Then he saw her. Lyra. Alive. She rode across the molten ridges on a horse of flame, her hair glowing like sunlight through blo
Chapter Seventeen – “The Blood of Kings”
“Every crown must bleed before it shines.” “Wake up, Stormborn.” The voice was distant, like thunder over the horizon. Karan’s eyes flickered open. Smoke veiled the sky. The world around him was quiet—too quiet. The valley that had roared with fire and lightning now lay still, carved into rivers of molten glass. His hand trembled as he pushed himself upright. Blood ran down his arm, glimmering faintly blue in the firelight. The storm inside him hadn’t died—it had changed. He remembered the last thing he’d seen: Lyra’s face, half in flame, half in tears, before the god’s light consumed them both. Now she was gone. Karan’s voice rasped. “Lyra…” Only the echo of his own voice answered. He staggered to his feet, every breath thick with ash. The ground steamed beneath his boots. Mountains that once blazed now stood hollow, black and broken. The god was gone—but its presence lingered. Every rock hummed with buried power. Karan knelt, pressing his palm to the ground. The heat puls
Chapter Eighteen – “The Serpent’s Pact”
“The world only remembers those who dare to break it.” “Don’t touch it.” Karan’s voice was low, almost a growl. Lyra froze, her hand hovering over the child lying in the ash. The newborn’s skin shimmered faintly—half flame, half storm. Every breath it took made the air tremble. “I said don’t touch it,” Karan repeated. Lyra turned slowly, her voice trembling. “It’s a baby, Karan. Look at it—” “I am,” he cut in, stepping closer. “And that’s no child.” The infant stirred, its small fists glowing blue and gold. The earth beneath it cracked. Sparks rose around them like fireflies. Lyra whispered, “It’s alive.” Karan’s tone hardened. “Alive doesn’t mean safe.” The sky above flickered again, lightning dancing across the clouds. Every flash answered the child’s heartbeat. Lyra met his eyes. “It’s us.” “What?” “The blood. The power. It’s ours.” Karan’s breath caught. “Then the gods aren’t gone they’re reborn.” The wind screamed across the scorched land. Every flame bowed toward
Chapter Nineteen – “The Shadow King”
“Power does not return as it was—it returns with a memory.”“Tell me the truth, Lyra—what did you see before he vanished?”The voice came from across the firelight, rough and uncertain.Lyra looked up slowly. The Dortracy chief, Rael, stood before her, his tattoos faintly glowing in the night. Around them, the warriors muttered, their gazes sharp and fearful.She whispered, “I saw him die.”Rael’s jaw tightened. “And yet the sky still calls his name.”Lyra’s fingers curled around the sleeping child in her arms. “The storm doesn’t belong to him anymore.”Rael’s eyes narrowed. “Then to who?”Lightning flashed over the horizon, as if answering.Lyra turned away. “To whatever he’s become.”The days since Karan’s disappearance had been endless gray. The air felt wrong—alive, like something unseen watched them from the clouds.The Dortracy tribes were restless. Some called Karan a god reborn; others whispered that he had become the serpent itself.Lyra rode at the head of the caravan, cloak
Chapter Twenty – “The Desert Crown”
“Empires are not born of peace—they are born of those who survive the fire.”“Did you hear what they’re calling him now?”Serah’s voice was cold, quiet.Lyra didn’t look up. She sat by the dying campfire, her fingers tracing the serpent mark scorched into the ground. The baby slept beside her, wrapped in a torn Dortracy banner.“They call him the Shadow King,” Serah continued. “Some say he’s leading the eastern tribes already.”Lyra’s jaw tightened. “They would follow a ghost before they’d follow a woman.”“He’s not a ghost.”Lyra finally looked up. “Then what is he?”Serah hesitated. “Something the world will never forget.”They had been on the move for days, crossing the shattered plains of Dortra. What once was Karan’s kingdom now belonged to fire and dust.Lyra rode at the front, Kael tied to her chest. The boy rarely cried anymore; the storm seemed to hush when he slept.Serah kept pace beside her. “The tribes to the south are gathering. Word is spreading fast—he’s building somet