Blade of the Fallen Kingdom

Chapter 12 – Whispers in the Dark

The forest was quiet again, but it was not the silence of peace—it was the silence of something watching. The survivors moved like ghosts, speaking only when necessary, their eyes darting toward Kael when they thought he wouldn’t notice. Some clutched charms, whispering prayers to ward off the darkness he had summoned.

Kael felt their fear more than he heard it. Every step he took seemed heavier, every glance from them like a blade pressed to his throat. He wanted to tell them he was still the boy who once played in the riverbanks of their fallen kingdom, the one who carried water for the elders, who laughed when his little sister smeared ash across his face. But that boy felt like a shadow now, fading behind the weight of the Blade.

Mira walked beside him, her steps firm though her face was drawn with fatigue. She had not left his side since the battle. “You’re quiet,” she said finally.

“Would words change what they think?” Kael murmured, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

She studied him, then shook her head. “Not them. You. You’re fighting something inside, I can see it.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping them alive.”

Mira’s hand brushed his arm. “It matters because if you lose yourself, you won’t be saving anyone. You’ll just become another enemy we can’t survive.”

He looked at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were steady, but he saw fear there too—fear not of him, but for him. It was enough to keep him silent, though inside, the Blade whispered. She doubts you. She fears you. Cast her aside, before she becomes a weakness.

That night, when the survivors settled around a small fire, Kael drifted to the edge of the camp. The moonlight silvered the Blade at his side, and the whispers grew louder.

You felt my strength. The way the forest fell before you. The way even death bent to your hand. They should kneel, not tremble. Take the throne not as a man, but as something greater.

Kael pressed his palms to his temples, gritting his teeth. “Leave me.”

But the Blade only laughed, a sound that seemed to echo inside his skull.

Mira approached quietly, carrying a waterskin. She sat beside him without speaking for a while, watching the stars peek between drifting clouds. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “The Thornbound were right about one thing. The forest won’t forget. What you unleashed… it left a mark. Not just on them. On you.”

Kael took the waterskin, his fingers brushing hers. He drank deeply, though it did little to wash away the taste of ash that lingered on his tongue. “If I hadn’t, we’d all be dead.”

“I know,” she said. “But I also know power like that never comes without a cost. What are you willing to pay?”

Kael stared into the firelight, the faces of the survivors flickering in its glow. Mothers clutching their children. Old men whispering stories to keep the young from crying. People who had lost everything, clinging to scraps of hope.

“Anything,” he said at last. “As long as they live.”

Mira searched his face, as though trying to measure the truth in his words. Then she nodded slowly, but her expression was troubled.

The next morning, the survivors continued their march. The deeper they traveled, the less welcoming the land became. The forest gave way to rocky plains, where jagged stones jutted like broken teeth. Food was scarce, and water scarcer. Tension grew with every passing hour.

That was when Kael saw them.

At first, just shadows on the horizon. Then the glint of steel under the sun. Riders. Scouts of the kingdom.

“Down!” Kael hissed, pulling Mira into cover behind a ridge. The survivors crouched low, pressing against the earth, hearts pounding.

The riders approached in formation, their armor gleaming with the king’s crest. There were ten of them, armed with lances and bows, their eyes scanning the plains like wolves searching for prey.

Mira’s voice was tight. “If they find us—”

“They won’t,” Kael said quickly. But his hand had already gone to the Blade. It pulsed under his grip, eager, hungry. Draw me. Ten souls, ripe for the taking. Their screams will feed us both.

Kael’s breath hitched. He could feel the shadows stirring within him, eager to surge out. He clenched his fist around the hilt but did not draw. Not yet.

One of the riders halted, his gaze sweeping the ridge. His eyes narrowed. Kael’s heart pounded.

A child among the survivors whimpered. Too loud. The rider’s head snapped toward the sound. He barked a command, and the riders spurred forward.

There was no time left.

Kael stood, drawing the Blade in a single motion. Darkness erupted like a storm. The riders reined back their horses, some shouting, others raising weapons in alarm.

Kael descended the ridge in a blur of black steel, shadows lashing out like living chains. The first rider barely had time to scream before Kael’s blade cut him down, his body crumpling to ash.

The others charged. Lances struck, arrows whistled, but the shadows deflected them like brittle twigs. Kael was everywhere at once, his strikes too fast, too merciless. One by one, the riders fell, their cries swallowed by the night that clung to him.

When the last rider lay broken, the Blade pulsed like a heart ready to burst. Kael stood over the corpses, chest heaving, black fire flickering in his eyes.

Behind him, the survivors watched in horrified silence.

Mira came forward slowly. Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled. “Kael… you saved us again. But look at them. Look at what’s left.”

He turned. The bodies of the riders were not bodies at all—just piles of ash scattered on the stones. Nothing human remained.

The Blade whispered, softer now, almost tender. See? They fear you. They need you. You are their savior, their executioner. Without me, you are nothing. With me, you are everything.

Kael’s grip tightened until his knuckles whitened. He forced the Blade back into its sheath, though the effort left him shaking. The whispers did not stop.

Mira touched his arm, searching his face. “Kael… how much longer can you keep fighting it?”

He didn’t answer.

Because deep inside, he feared the truth—one day soon, he might not fight at all.

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