Home / War / Empire of the Plains / Chapter Fourteen – “The Lions of Velannis”
Chapter Fourteen – “The Lions of Velannis”
Author: Emí Otunba
last update2025-10-12 19:18:22

“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
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  • 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 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 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 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 Ten – “The Blood Oath”

    The plains were black with thunder again.Rain hissed against scorched sand, washing the blood from the bones of men who had died twice once for kings, and once for ghosts.At the center of it rode Serah.Her cloak streamed behind her like tornstormcloud, her braid bound in silver thread, the faint glow beneath her skin pulsing with each heartbeat. To those who followed, she was no longer merely the Stormborn’s companion. She was the voice of the storm itself.They called her Kor’Serah, the Lightning Bride.But to Varr, who had known her before gods began whispering her name, she was still just the woman who buried a man she loved and refused to let him stay dead.The Dortracy camp lay beneath the ruins of the old fortress — Raikor’s fortress, once the Lion’s Crown. Smoke rose from cooking fires, the smell of roasted horseflesh thick in the damp air. The warriors sat in silence, sharpening blades, their tattoos glistening with rain.Serah stood before them on the old altar stone, her

  • Chapter Nine – “The Judas Pact”

    The storm was gone.For three days, the sky over the plains stayed. clear, the air heavy with ash and silence. The bodies of men and horses lay scattered across the dunes like broken offerings to gods that no longer listened.Serah buried Karan herself.No priest, no song — only wind and salt on her lips. She tied his braid with a strip of her cloak, whispered the old Dortrac words over his grave.“Kor’vaan et shaar dor’kai. The wind knows your name.”When she was done, she stood there long after sunset, watching the last of the embers fade from the horizon. The storm might have chosen another, but the plains had not yet forgotten the man they had called Stormborn.Behind her, Varr limped forward, his arm bound in a blood-soaked sling. “The men are restless,” he said quietly. “They think the gods abandoned us. Some are saying Raikor’s spirit walks again.”“Let them talk,” Serah replied. “Fear is all they have left.”He studied her face. “And you? What do you have left?”She looked at

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