2025-02-09 07:08:38The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the kingdom in a warm glow as drums echoed through the streets, announcing the arrival of Prince Lucian and his royal guards. It was the last day of the month, and as tradition demanded, the prince rode through the villages under his rule, reinforcing his presence among the people and strengthening their loyalty to the crown.
Men and women lined the dusty roads, their faces alight with admiration. Children ran beside the royal procession, laughing and calling out Lucian’s name. Some villagers knelt in reverence, while others stretched their hands towards him, eager to catch a glimpse of their future king. For years, this parade had been a symbol of stability—a ritual that reminded the people that the throne still watched over them. Yet, for Lucian, it felt different this time. Seated atop his black stallion, his gaze flickered over the cheering crowd, his expression unreadable. His posture was rigid, and his right hand rested instinctively on the hilt of his sword. Something gnawed at his instincts—a feeling that something was amiss. His lieutenant, Rael, noticed his tension. Riding beside him, he leaned in slightly. “Your Highness, the people’s love for you only grows.” Lucian barely acknowledged the words. “It is their duty to revere the crown.” His voice was steady, but his eyes remained alert, scanning the sea of faces as if searching for something unseen. A sudden commotion rippled through the crowd. A small boy broke through, weaving through the legs of the spectators and dodging the hands that tried to stop him. He clutched something tightly to his chest, his bare feet kicking up dust as he ran toward Lucian. Gasps rose from the villagers. Some of the guards moved instinctively to intercept him. “Let him through,” Lucian commanded. The boy skidded to a halt before the prince’s horse, panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His small hands trembled as he held out a rolled piece of parchment. “My prince,” he stammered, “I—I made this for you.” Lucian dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. The air grew still. He crouched to the boy’s level and took the parchment, unrolling it carefully. A crude but heartfelt drawing met his gaze. It depicted Lucian standing tall, sword raised, with the villagers smiling behind him. Above them, a sun shone, casting light over the scene. Lucian studied the image in silence. His lips pressed together, betraying no emotion. “What is your name?” he finally asked. “Daru, my prince.” Lucian nodded and handed the parchment to Rael. “Keep this safe.” Then, turning back to Daru, he placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Daru.” The boy’s face broke into a wide grin. “You’re welcome, my prince!” The moment was brief, but something about the boy’s innocent admiration stirred something deep within Lucian. Yet, the unease in his gut remained. As he straightened, his eyes swept over the gathered crowd once more. The villagers were happy, their voices loud with celebration. But Lucian had learned to listen beyond the noise—to recognize when something didn’t belong. And something didn’t belong. “Rael,” he murmured. “Yes, my lord?” Lucian’s gaze darkened. “Double the perimeter. Something isn’t right.” Rael nodded sharply, signaling to the guards. The Assassination Attempt Jagaban and his men had spent weeks preparing for this moment, studying Lucian’s every move, his routines, his security patterns. The monthly parade was their best chance—one of the rare times Lucian ventured beyond the palace walls. Disguised among the crowd, the assassins moved carefully, waiting for their moment. One of them, a wiry man with sharp features, edged closer to the formation of soldiers. Beneath his tattered cloak, his fingers tightened around the hilt of a concealed dagger. The plan was simple: strike quickly, disappear into the chaos. But Rael’s sharp eyes caught the subtle wrongness in the man’s movements. “You there!” Rael barked, spurring his horse forward. “Step forward.” The man hesitated for the briefest moment—just long enough to confirm Rael’s suspicions. “I—I’m just a villager,” the man stammered. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to walk here. I—I meant no harm.” Rael dismounted smoothly, his eyes locked onto the man’s shaking hands and sweat-slicked forehead. “Show me your hands,” he commanded. The man hesitated again. Too long. Before he could react, Rael struck, seizing his wrist and yanking back his cloak. The dagger flashed in the dimming sunlight. “Assassin!” Chaos erupted. The soldiers closed in immediately. The crowd screamed and scattered as Lucian’s men moved with military precision, drawing their blades. But the assassin was fast. Twisting violently, he broke free from Rael’s grip and lunged into the panicked mob, vanishing before an arrow could find its mark. Lucian’s jaw clenched as his soldiers tried to track him through the fleeing villagers, but it was too late. The attempt had failed—but only by chance. Jagaban’s Wrath Deep in the forest, Jagaban paced furiously, his eyes burning with rage. “Fools! Incompetent fools!” he roared, his voice shaking with fury. Skakur leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his expression one of barely concealed contempt. “This is getting embarrassing,” Skakur sneered. “Twice now, and you still can’t kill one man?” Jagaban stopped pacing, his sharp gaze snapping toward him. “Watch your tongue, Skakur.” Skakur stepped forward. “No, you listen. We’ve wasted resources, time—everything. You swore you had this planned. And yet, Lucian still breathes.” Jagaban’s jaw clenched. “You underestimate him.” “No. You overestimate yourself.” Silence. The air crackled with tension. Jagaban’s lips curled into a slow, menacing smile. “Enjoy your insults while you can, Skakur. The next time we meet, Lucian will be dead. Mark my words.” He turned to his men, signaling for them to move out. Skakur remained where he was, watching them disappear into the shadows. His fists clenched at his sides. For the first time, he wondered if Jagaban was truly the man to finish this war. Back at the Palace Lucian stood at the palace gates, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The night air was cool, but the fire inside him burned hotter than ever. The parade had always been a symbol of stability, a reminder to the people that the crown watched over them. But tonight, it had been something else. A warning. A challenge. Rael approached cautiously. “Your Highness, shall we increase security? The assassin escaped, but he won’t be the last.” Lucian didn’t turn. “No.” Rael hesitated. “No?” Lucian’s grip tightened. “Let them try again.” Rael frowned. “You want another attempt on your life?” Lucian finally turned to him, his expression unreadable. “I want to know who’s truly behind this. They’ve shown their hand, but I won’t be caught off guard again.” His voice was low, steady. “Next time, I’ll be ready.” He turned back toward the dark horizon. “And when they come… I will not miss.”
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
EPISODE 79 – SHADOWS IN THE SILENCE
Scene 1 – A Rift Between Master and Student. Karmora’s night was alive with quiet sounds—the rustling of trees, the distant murmurs of late-night traders, the occasional bark of a stray hound. The sky stretched vast and dark, speckled with stars that barely outshone the flickering lanterns of the village. The streets were calm, but the air carried the weight of something unresolved. Jagaban stood at the edge of the path leading to Amara’s hut. His gaze was fixed ahead, watching as Zafar approached from the riverbank. The young warrior’s form was shrouded in exhaustion—his shoulders heavy, his sword dragging just slightly in his grip. But his eyes were sharp. He saw Jagaban. He knew he was there. And yet, he walked past without a word. Jagaban exhaled, then followed. His steps were slow, deliberate, as if giving Zafar a chance to acknowledge him. But the boy never did. Near the hut, Zafar halted. He didn’t turn around, but his hands clenched into fists. “What do you want
Episode 78 – Shadows of the Past
Scene 1 – Karmora Prepares for WarThe streets of Karmora carried a different kind of energy now. The usual buzz of merchants and craftsmen still filled the air, but beneath it, there was tension—an unspoken awareness that change was coming.Word had spread. Whispers in the taverns, quiet conversations in shadowed alleys—Jagaban was moving again.Inside his quarters, Jagaban sat at a wooden table, a dim lantern casting his silhouette against the walls. His hands, rough and scarred from years of war, traced an old map of Karmora and its surrounding lands. Small markings—some new, some from battles long past—covered its surface.He picked up a quill and began writing.Names. Locations. Call signs.Allies who had once stood beside him. Some had disappeared into the wind, some had sworn never to return to war. But war had returned to them.Crow entered without knocking, carrying a scroll under his arm. He tossed it onto the table. “Loans,” he muttered, as if the word alone left a bad tast
Episode 77: BLOODLINES REUNITED
Scene 1 – The Arrival of an Old SoulThe outskirts of Karmora were quieter at dawn, the night’s cold mist still clinging to the narrow streets. Merchants stirred in their stalls, setting out fruits, spices, and silks as early buyers shuffled past, their voices hushed. Horses whinnied in the distance, and the faint clang of a blacksmith’s hammer rang out, shaping iron under the rising sun.Wrapped in a hooded cloak, Elya moved through the crowd with careful steps, her heart pounding harder than her worn boots against the cobbled ground. Delani walked beside her, scanning the area like a hawk, ensuring they weren’t being followed.“This city breathes differently,” Elya murmured, taking in the rugged stone walls, the bustling markets, the lingering scent of roasted meat and damp earth.Delani smirked. “Karmora’s built on its people. They keep it alive, for better or worse.”Scene 1 – The Arrival of an Old Soul Elya’s grip tightened around the strap of the satchel slung over her shoulder
EPISODE 76:WHISPER IN THE SHADOWS
Scene 1 – Darius Tightens His Grip (The Hunt for Amara Grows Ruthless)The great hall of Otharion was colder than usual, despite the torches burning in the sconces. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of wax and burning wood, but even that did not mask the stench of blood that had been spilled just moments before.A noble’s lifeless body lay sprawled at the foot of the throne, his throat cut cleanly—a warning.Darius sat above it all, his expression carved from stone. He did not blink. He did not waver.Shakur stood at his side, as always, his face unreadable. The court was silent, nobles and commanders alike afraid to meet the king’s gaze.Finally, Darius spoke. His voice was calm, but laced with venom. “Double the spies again.”No one moved.Shakur cleared his throat. “They are already stretched across the lands, my king. Another expansion will leave us—”Darius turned his sharp eyes to him. “Are you questioning me, Shakur?”A beat of silence. Then Shakur bowed his head slightly
Episode 75: THE STORMS APPROACH
Scene 1 – Unseen ShadowsThe air in Karmora was still that night, but Crow felt it—the shift, the disturbance.From his perch on the watchtower, he scanned the distant outskirts, his eyes narrowing as he caught unfamiliar movements. The figures moved carefully, avoiding torchlight, their steps calculated.They weren’t ordinary men.Mercenaries? No. Spies.And not just any spies—they moved like royal operatives, trained to observe, to blend in.Crow’s fingers tapped against the hilt of his blade.He turned sharply, descending the watchtower with swift purpose. Jagaban needed to know.Crow didn’t hesitate. He descended swiftly, weaving through the narrow pathways until he reached Jagaban’s quarters.Inside, Jagaban sat at his desk, sharpening a dagger. He didn’t look up, but he knew.“You saw something,” he muttered.Crow exhaled, folding his arms. “Not something. Someone. Multiple. Spies.”Jagaban’s hands stilled for a brief moment.“Otharion?”Crow nodded. “Most likely. They’re statio
Episode 74-SHADOW IN MOTION
⸻Scene 1 – Delani Returns to VhadirThe streets of Vhadir were still alive even as the sun began to set. Merchants packed up their goods, mothers called their children inside, and the distant sound of blacksmiths hammering iron filled the air. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread lingered as people moved about, finishing their day.Through the bustling roads, Delani rode in, his horse covered in dust from the long journey back from Karmora. His face was hardened with exhaustion, but his mind was sharp. He had seen enough to be certain.He didn’t waste time. He made his way through the narrow alleys, past small homes and wooden huts, until he reached the familiar path leading to Elya’s home.Elya stood outside, her hands covered in flour from making dough. Her face, though aged, held a quiet strength. The years had worn her, but they had not broken her. Her once smooth skin now carried lines of grief, her eyes held the weight of a mother who had lost everything. She no longer bot
