Blade of the Fallen Kingdom

Chapter 8 – The Whispering Tide

The water-being advanced, its form rippling with every step. Faces flickered across its surface—men, women, children—all screaming silently before melting back into its body. The gorge trembled as though the river itself carried a soul, ancient and furious.

The survivors huddled behind Kael and Mira, whimpering. One clutched a broken spear, another a jagged rock, but their fear was raw. None dared move closer.

Mira spat to the side, her voice tight. “This isn’t flesh. Steel won’t bite it.”

Kael’s stomach churned. He knew she was right. Even the bravest strike would pass harmlessly through water. Yet the Blade throbbed at his side, its whisper filling his skull. I can cut what cannot be cut. Let me drink. Let me devour.

“No,” Kael muttered, shaking his head.

Mira glanced at him, sweat beading her brow. “Kael… what are you holding back?”

He didn’t answer. The words stuck in his throat. How could he explain the Blade—the curse—the way it gnawed at him like hunger?

The creature lunged. Its arm stretched like a torrent, slamming into the bank. The ground exploded in spray and shards of rock. Survivors screamed, scattering. One woman stumbled too slow; the water-arm coiled around her waist.

“Help me!” she shrieked.

Kael’s instincts screamed to act. His hand moved before thought caught up. The Blade slid free, its black edge glimmering even in the gloom. Shadows curled from its surface like smoke.

The air shifted. The river itself seemed to recoil.

Kael’s vision swam, half consumed by the Blade’s pull. The whispers grew louder. Yes, Kael. Strike. Split the tide. Feed me.

He slashed downward.

The Blade cut the water-being’s arm clean in two. A hiss, unnatural and piercing, echoed across the gorge. The severed limb dissolved into steam. The woman collapsed onto the bank, sobbing, free.

Gasps rippled through the survivors. Some looked at Kael with awe. Others, with terror.

Mira’s eyes widened—but she didn’t step back. Not yet. “That sword…” she whispered.

The creature staggered, reforming itself with shuddering waves. Its many faces screamed in unison. Then, shockingly, it bowed—its watery head dipping toward Kael as though in reverence.

Kael froze.

“You see?” the Blade hissed, smug. Even the cursed bow to you. You are not merely a man—you are a harbinger.

The water-being straightened, its faces chanting one word in fractured voices:

“Chosen. Chosen. Chosen.”

Kael’s chest tightened. “I am not your chosen,” he snarled, forcing the Blade down. His hands shook. He could feel it digging into his mind, rooting deeper with every strike he made.

The being lunged again, no longer with hunger but with desperation, as though it needed him. Kael slashed, and once more the cursed edge ripped through liquid, parting water as though it were flesh.

But each strike left a mark on him. His vision blurred. Shadows crawled at the edges of his sight. Every breath came ragged, as though the Blade were feeding on his strength as much as on the creature.

“Kael!” Mira’s voice cut through the haze. “Stop! You’re killing yourself!”

He wanted to stop. Gods, he wanted to. But the Blade urged him onward, relentless. The creature shrieked, staggering back, dissolving into mist. Its final cry echoed across the gorge like thunder:

“Free us… Chosen…”

Then it collapsed into the pool, leaving only ripples behind.

Silence fell.

Kael dropped to his knees, gasping, the Blade still humming in his grip. His arms trembled violently. Every vein in his body burned as though molten lead flowed through them.

The survivors stared, too stunned to speak. Some bowed their heads in gratitude. Others clutched each other, whispering prayers.

Mira approached slowly, kneeling beside him. Her eyes searched his face, her voice low. “That sword… it’s not just cursed. It’s alive, isn’t it?”

Kael swallowed hard, avoiding her gaze. “It wants control. Every time I use it, I feel less like myself.”

She reached for the hilt, but he flinched away. “Don’t,” he rasped. “It won’t let you.”

The Blade purred in his mind. Wise. She would not survive touching me.

Mira’s jaw tightened. “Then you need to master it before it masters you. Because whatever that thing was—it knew you. And it won’t be the last.”

Kael forced himself upright, leaning on the Blade like a crutch. His body screamed with fatigue, but something heavier pressed on him: the survivors’ eyes. They looked to him as though he were a savior. But he knew the truth—he was as much a danger as the monsters hunting them.

One boy stepped forward, his small voice trembling. “You saved us. The sword… it’s a gift from the gods, isn’t it?”

Kael’s stomach twisted. He wanted to scream no. But he saw the hope in the boy’s eyes, fragile and desperate.

He said nothing.

Mira broke the silence. “We move at dawn. This gorge is cursed. Whatever force drives the river won’t stop. If we stay, we die.”

The survivors murmured agreement.

Kael sheathed the Blade, though it resisted, sliding back into its scabbard like a beast chained. He turned to the group, his voice hoarse but steady. “Rest while you can. Tomorrow, we climb out of this gorge. And we keep moving east.”

The people clung to his words like lifelines. But Kael’s thoughts were elsewhere—on the Blade, on the water-being’s plea, and on the single word it had screamed before vanishing.

Free us.

That night, Kael couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces in the water—their hollow eyes, their desperate cries. And beneath it all, the Blade whispered, patient, ceaseless.

You cannot run from destiny, Kael. You are mine. And soon… all kingdoms will know it.

Kael sat in the darkness, staring at the cursed sword in his lap. His grip trembled. His heart hammered.

For the first time, he wondered not if he could master the Blade—but whether it had already mastered him.

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