Shadows of the crown

Chapter 6: The shadow still Linger

With the dawn creeping through the broken windows of the throne room, the reality of what had taken place weighed heavily upon Evans-like some sort of suffocating blanket. Kneeling silently beside the still body of his father, his mind was race-scrambled with the realization that this victory, though hard-fought, came with a terrible cost. The battle was won; the curse, supposedly, lifted-but Evans couldn't shake this uneasy feeling in his chest. The kingdom was saved, yes, but at what cost.

Jorin, bruised but breathing, walked forward gingerly. He laid a hand on Evans's shoulder, his voice at a mere whisper. "We have to go, Evans. The people-they have to know it is over."

Evans nodded, but the action seemed empty. He knew Jorin was right. The council, the people-they needed to hear of the curse's end, to see their new king. But as he rose from the cold stone floor, his eyes again fell upon the crown, lying near the base of the throne. It lay quiet, yet it was hauntingly present. An air of dark energy radiated from it, though now dulled. Yet, something about it didn't quite feel right. An eerie lull fell over the room-the type that comes before the storm.

Then, a low, guttural sound reverberated throughout the huge chamber.

The whispered utterance, upon the wind, at first barely audible, grew loud and more insistent, echoing down the halls like some sort of haunting call from a creature lurking just out of sight. Evans's heart pounded against his chest as he scanned the room. The shadows-they shouldn't have been there. The light of dawn seeping in through the broken window, yet across the room, darkness clung to the corners.

"No," Evans whispered, his voice shuddering under the weight of realization. "It's not over."

Jorin's hand turned white on the hilt of his sword, bleaching of color. "What are you talking about? You broke the curse!"

Evans's gaze didn't leave the shadows. "I thought I did."

Suddenly, the shadows started to shift-first slow, then quicker. They slithered across the floor like living things, creeping toward the crown. The darkness swirled about it, lifting the once-dormant object into the air. With the shadows wrapping themselves around the crown, it pulsed anew with life. A deep, throbbing hum filled the room, and from within the crown, its dark energy would return once more, stronger than ever.

"Evans!" Jorin exclaimed in alarm. "What is this?!"

Evans' heart was racing as he stepped back. The cursed object floated in the air, wrapped in a swirling mass of darkness. He watched with utter horror as the shadows began to take form-twisting and writhing until they coalesced into a humanoid figure: tall, monstrous, otherworldly. It loomed over them, its body made up completely of dark, swirling mist, with two glowing eyes that burned like embers in the dark.

The figure's voice was low, guttural, and full of malice. "You think you can destroy the crown, prince? You are a fool. The crown is no object-it is a doorway."

Evans's blood ran cold. "A doorway? What the hell do you mean?"

The shadowy figure stepped forward, its presence filling the room with a suffocating pressure. "The crown was never meant to be destroyed. It is a conduit to something far greater. Your father was merely its vessel. And now, you shall be the next."

Evans’s breath caught in his throat. His sword felt heavy in his hand as the weight of the creature’s words settled on him. The crown wasn’t just cursed. It was part of something much darker, much more powerful. "I won’t let you take me," Evans said through gritted teeth, his heart pounding in his chest.

The figure’s eyes flared, its voice a low growl. "You have no choice. The crown’s power has already begun to seep into you. You can feel it, can’t you? The shadows call to you."

Evans hesitated. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he realized the truth. The faint whispers at the edge of his mind, the strange dreams he’d been having—they were the crown’s doing. It wasn’t just a curse; it was a force, an ancient power that had been passed down through his family. And now, it wanted him.

With a sudden roar, the shadow lunged at Evans. He barely had time to react, raising his sword just in time to block the creature’s strike. The force of the blow sent him staggering backward, and he slammed into the throne with a painful thud. Jorin rushed to his side, but the shadow moved faster than either of them could comprehend. It extended a clawed hand, sending a wave of dark energy hurtling toward Jorin. The impact knocked him off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby pillar.

"Jorin!" Evans shouted, panic surging through him. He tried to push himself to his feet, but the shadow was relentless, its dark tendrils wrapping around his limbs like chains. His vision blurred as he struggled against the creature’s grip. Desperation clawed at him. He couldn’t defeat this thing—he couldn’t fight shadows.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Evans saw it. The shard of light—the remnant of the kingdom’s magic, still glowing faintly in his hand. He had almost forgotten about it in the chaos. But now, it pulsed with warmth, a small beacon of hope in the darkness.

The shadow’s eyes flickered as it saw the shard, its voice filled with fury. "No! That light cannot save you!"

But Evans wasn’t listening. With a burst of strength, he drove the shard of light into the creature’s chest. The impact was immediate. The shadow screamed, its form writhing and convulsing as the light spread through its body like fire. The dark tendrils that held Evans melted away, and the room was filled with a brilliant, blinding light.

The shadow let out one final, tortured scream before it exploded into a cloud of black mist, dissipating into the air. The crown fell to the floor with a deafening clang, its dark energy snuffed out.

Evans collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. His body ached, his mind reeling from the battle, but he had won. The creature was gone. For now.

Jorin limped over to him, blood trickling down his face. "Evans," he said, his voice shaking. "Is it over?"

Evans looked at the fallen crown, the shard of light still glowing faintly in his hand. "For now," he whispered, his voice hollow. "But the shadows… they’re not gone."

The crown lay still on the floor, but Evans knew, deep down, that the battle was far from over. The crown’s whispers still lingered in the back of his mind, a haunting reminder of the darkness that had yet to be fully vanquished.

As Evans stared into the faint morning light, he realized one terrible truth: the worst was yet to come.