Shadows of the crown

Chapter 4: Into the Abyss

They rode through the mist-filled valley, the castle rising afar, its once-proud walls now shrouded in the very shadow that had set in, infecting the land. It was deathly quiet but for the rustling of unseen things that lurked in the darkness. With each heavy breath-one that seemed to carry within itself the air laced with some kind of curse that had spread throughout the kingdom-their breathing felt laborious.

The closer they got to the edge of the castle, the more Evans could feel the tugging of the crown, louder now. It was like a gnawing sensation at the back of his mind, this constant whisper that reminded him of the inevitable confrontation to come. He knew full well that the moment he stepped into the throne room, there would be no turning back. The crown awaited him there and wanted him to fall.

Jorin, ever watchful, turned to Evans with a hint of concern. "Are you sure about this? The closer we come, the different you act."

Evans didn't answer right away. He was quite aware himself-the shiftiness in his own mind, the tempting power of the crown offering him strength and dominion. Yet he knew all the same that he had to resist it. He had come too far to fall now. The kingdom depended on him.

"I'm fine," Evans said, though the weakness in his voice didn't hold a grain of truth. "We have to get inside the castle, past the guards. We need to reach the crown before it's too late."

Jorin hefted his sword. "Then let's move fast. The shadows are closing in."

The gates of the castle were eerily unguarded. As they entered the courtyard, it was stiflingly silent. What once had been the busy center of all things royal was desolate, a ghostly place. The air was thick with malevolence, and the familiar architecture now felt foreign, twisted by the curse. The statues of those who once honored the heroes of the kingdom appeared to watch them with hollow eyes, their faces cracked and distorted by the creeping darkness.

Evans and Jorin hastened down the vacant hallways, heavy with their mission. Every step echoed off the corridors of the castle; each passing moment was full of a brave shadowiness on its walls. It slithered, alive along the walls, curling and twisting in its attempt to reach out and ensnare them.

Suddenly, the earth beneath their feet started to shudder. The ground cracked, and from the fissures crawled creatures—warped beings of shadow, their forms shifting and distorted, barely humanoid. They moved with a grace so slow, so deliberate, their empty eyes fixed on Evans.

Jorin unsheathed his sword, stood between the creatures and Evans, and yelled, "We haven't got time for this! We have to get to the throne room!"

Evans yanked his blade free, his heart pounding against his chest. But as he faced the creatures, he realized one thing—they were drawn to him. Their blackened hands reached out as if beckoning him, and a deep voice, not unlike the whispers of the crown, filled his mind.

"Come, prince. Embrace what is yours."

The crown was calling him, luring him deeper in with these wretched creatures. He gritted his teeth, raising his sword. "Not today," he growled, charging forward.

With Jorin at his side, they cut through the creatures with swift precision. But even as their bodies dissipated into mist, more emerged from the shadows, crawling toward them like a relentless tide.

"We cannot fight them all!" Jorin yelled, his sword flashing as he parried another attack. "We need to get out of here!"

Evans knew that he was right; the creatures were endless, manifestations of the curse's growing power. They needed to reach the throne room-or they would be overrun.

"Follow me!" Evans yelled, forcing his way through the pack. He took off in a sprint down the corridor, Jorin hot on his heels as he whirled and cut at the creatures to stop them from following. The shadows reached out, raking through the two, but neither stopped; their resolve remained unwavering.

At last, they found themselves before the door to the throne room. The huge doors loomed ahead of them, carvings of the symbols of the old kings etched into the dark wood. The aura of the crown was palpable now, a smothering presence that seemed to pulsate with life.

Jorin heaved the doors open with all his might, and they stepped inside.

The throne room was nothing like Evans remembered. The great hall had become a pit of pure darkness now; the tapestries that once hung opulently were now tattered and faded. At its center, upon a raised dais, sat the crown. It hovered above the throne, suspended in midair by tendrils of shadow that snaked out from its base, reaching toward the heavens like the claws of a dying beast.

That was not the worst of it, however.

Seated upon the throne was King Alden.

Evans froze as his father sat with eyes hollow and without a bit of humanity in them, as pale as the creatures they had fought. His skin was pale, his hands once so strong now clamped onto the arms of the throne with an unnatural strength, as if he had merged as one into the darkness surrounding him.

"Father." Evans whispered, his heart breaking at the very sight.

Slowly, the head of King Alden turned, empty eyes locking on Evans. The voice that emanated when he spoke was not his own. It was deep and ancient-fraught with the weight of a thousand and more lost to the soul of the crown.

"Evans," the king rasped, his lips barely moving. "You have returned. to claim your destiny."

Evans lurched another step closer, his hand shaking with the intent of his sword. "This isn't you. This is the crown working its magic within you. I'm here to set you free."

A twisted, gross smile then spread over the king's face. "There is no freedom. only the crown. And soon you'll understand its power."

The tendrils of the crown pulsed, the shadows around the throne growing tighter. Evans could feel the pull-stronger now than it ever had. Whispers in his mind grew loud, begging him to take the crown-to take its power and become what his father had become.

But he could not. He would not.

"I will not let it consume me," Evans growled through his gritted teeth. "I will not be like you."

The king's hollow eyes darkened. "Then you will die."

Without warning, the shadows lashed out in a tidal wave of darkness charging toward Evans. He raised his sword in time, but the force of the attack sent him sprawling across the floor. The shadows writhed and twisted around him, trying to drag him into the abyss.

Jorin yelled, charging forward to help, and the king raised a hand, a wall of shadows erupting between them, cutting him off.

"Evans!" Jorin yelled, his voice muffled by the barrier.

Evans struggled against the shadows, his strength weakening. The crown's voice was louder now, deafening, filling his mind with promises of power, of salvation, of control. All he had to do was to reach out and take it.

But he couldn't.

As he plunged in the sword to the floor, anchoring against the darkness, Evans felt that last burst of strength. He looked up to the crown as its malevolent presence loomed over his head.

"I will stop this," he said, probably more for himself than for anybody else.

Thus, on he pressed towards the throne-to his father-and to the crown that had cursed them all.