THE LAST WIZARD OF OZ [OZILE]

Chapter 3 ~ Thorns Beneath the Crowns

The walls of the Great Hall shimmered with emerald stone, but the light felt cold. A long table stretched beneath the golden banners of the realm, each stitched with a blazing red crown and twelve jagged stars. The kingdom’s sigil. A warning and a promise at the same time.

Seated at the far end were the twelve most powerful people in Oz. 'The Council of Thorn' named not for beauty, but for pain. Each member ran a branch of Oz’s wealth. mines, trade, food, war, and law. But none of them dared to speak without the King’s permission.

Still, whispers moved like smoke. Lord Vellin, master of coin and foreign trade, was the first to break the silence.

“If we seal the borders as Your Majesty commands, our silver exports from the Eastern Docks will rot on the sand. We stand to lose a hundred thousand gold in the first moon.”

He paused, eyes scanning the room. “Not to mention the merchant guilds. They’ve started to panic.”

King Tharion leaned back on his throne, a wicked thing made of sharpened obsidian and carved bones. His eyes, cold and sunken, barely moved.

“And let them panic,” he said softly. “Let them remember who holds the crown.” Vellin frowned but said nothing. Another councilor a tall, thin woman in dark violet robes cleared her throat. Lady Aradine, Voice of the People.

“My king, if I may,” she began carefully. “Closing the roads means cutting off towns already on the edge of starvation. There are villages that depend on the valley trade routes. We could see riots. Rebellion even.”

The King slowly rose. His black cloak trailed the floor like smoke. He stepped down from the throne, boots echoing across the stone, and walked to the center of the table.

“Rebellion?” he repeated. “Against me?” No one answered. The King reached for the Royal Ring on his finger, the one forged from the stolen powers of the fallen magic-born. It pulsed faintly with blood-red light. A reminder.

“I took this kingdom from the hands of chaos. I destroyed the last of the witches. The sorcerers. The half-breeds and seers. And I wear their power now, here.” He raised his hand slowly. “I killed gods in the forests. Do you think I fear a few starving peasants?”

The room was silent again. Lord Branith, head of the Guard, cleared his throat. “Our scouts returned from the eastern border last night, Your Majesty. They claim something unusual occurred in one of the villages.”

“Unusual?” the King echoed, now intrigued. Branith nodded. “A fox dead without wound and the Priest reports of a strange child whose identity remains unknown. The scout said something moved in the air, but no one saw what did it.”

The King’s face darkened. “And the child?”

"Gone when they arrived. But locals spoke of a widow. One who keeps to herself.” The King turned to his spymaster, Maelrik the Hollow, who sat silently beneath a heavy hood, his face hidden.

"I want to speak with the panel of priests and send the Black Flame,” the King said coldly. Murmurs filled the hall. "The Black Flame?” Aradine whispered. “But... they’re only summoned when...”

“She’ll burn,” the King interrupted. “And the child with her. If even a flicker of magic lives in that village, I want it erased.”

Later That Night.

The throne hall emptied slowly. The council walked out in silence, careful not to show fear.

Back behind the throne, through secret corridors only the King used, Maelrik entered a chamber of mirrors. Twelve tall glass panels lined the walls, each foggy and humming faintly.

The central mirror glowed red. He removed the ring. The mirrors pulsed. A voice, not his own, filled the air it was dark and ancient.

"There is still one left... The child.”

The King narrowed his eyes. “I thought they were all gone.”

"He hides… but he is waking.”

Maelrik clenched his jaw. “Then I will burn the world to find him.”

"You wear our gift… but you are not invincible.” He pressed the ring to the mirror. "Then give me more.”

Mirna stood by the wooden gate, a woven basket slung over her arm. Her gray shawl danced lightly in the morning wind, and the sun cast a soft glow across their little yard.

Inside, Lucas was crouched by the chicken coop, tossing grains to the birds. His face was still puffy from sleep, his hair wild and unbrushed. Mirna watched him quietly for a moment, her heart tight in her chest. “Lucas,” she called softly. He turned, eyes lighting up. “Are you going to the market?”

“Yes, just for a little while.” She stepped closer, kneeling so they were face to face. “I need to pick up some vegetables. I’ll be back before the sun reaches the hill.” Lucas frowned a little. “Can I come?”

“Not today,” she said gently, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You remember what we talked about, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly. “No magic. No strange talk. Stay inside.”

“Good boy.” She kissed his forehead. “I made you bread and honey. It’s on the table. And don’t go near the woods again, do you hear me?”

Lucas looked down. “I didn’t mean to… with the fox.” She cupped his cheek. “I know. But things are changing, Lucas. There are people who wouldn’t understand what you are.” He looked into her eyes. “You mean what I can do?” She paused. “Yes. That.” Lucas nodded again, quieter this time. “I’ll stay inside.” She smiled. “That’s my boy.”

Mirna moved through the bustling rows of stalls, clutching her basket. The scent of baked bread, spice, and soil mixed in the air. She stopped at an old cart with a row of fresh turnips and carrots.

“Morning, Mirna,” the vendor, old Mara, greeted. “Out early today.”

“Trying to beat the rush,” Mirna replied, handing over a few coins. But her smile faltered as a sudden thunder of hooves echoed down the street. Dust rose. People scattered.

A group of six armored riders bearing the red-crowned emblem of the King galloped through the narrow road, their dark cloaks trailing behind them like shadows.

“Clear the path!” one shouted. “By order of the crown, all homes are subject to search!”

Mirna’s heart slammed in her chest.

She turned toward a group of market women huddled beside a grain stall.

“…they say the King’s council met yesterday,” one whispered.

“A mysterious child” another said, wide-eyed. “They said he killed a fox,"

""He is dangerous, who knows what his capable of". Mara echoed

“Witch-blood,” spat another. “They’re calling him a threat to the realm.”

“The Black Flame rides with them. Did you hear?”

Mirna dropped the carrots. Her breath caught.

Without a word, she turned and ran, shoving past carts and baskets, her skirts flying and the crowd blurred. Her only thought was Lucas.

Back at Home few minutes Later, The door burst open.

“Lucas?!” she called, voice sharp, breathless.

but there was silence.

Then his head poked out from behind the curtain, a half-eaten slice of bread in his hand.

“You’re back early.” Mirna exhaled in relief, rushing to him and pulling him into a tight embrace. He blinked, confused. “Did something happen?” She held him tighter. “We don’t have much time.”