THE LAST WIZARD OF OZ [OZILE]

Chapter 5 ~ Scars Before Dawn

The throne room was in ruins. Stone walls cracked like eggshells. Fire licked the velvet curtains. The chandeliers had melted into puddles of gold. Soldiers lay everywhere slumped over steps, their armor sliced through like paper.

And on the throne, the King of Oz sat frozen. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. Only what he could do was watch. A boy stepped through the broken doors, barefoot, hair tousled, eyes glowing the color of stormlight. His clothes were torn, but the air around him shimmered like heat.

Magic. Pure, unfiltered, ancient magic.

"You thought you could erase us," the boy said, voice echoing without moving his lips. "You burned our names. Buried our bones. But you forgot one thing, Your Majesty..."

The King tried to rise. His fingers twitched. His lips parted in a gasp but it couldn't make a sound. He watched helplessly. No Voice,. No strength.

"You forgot me..."

The boy raised his hand. A fierce wind rose, it was howling, unnatural. The torches blew out. Shadows coiled like snakes around the throne. And then light exploded from the boy’s palm.

Straight toward the King’s chest.

Immediately Tharion woke up choking. Sweat soaked through his royal nightgown. His heart pounded so loud it echoed in his ears. He grabbed the sheets, ripping them off the bed as he stumbled to his feet.

“Guards!” he barked hoarsely. “Lights!”

Torches flared instantly. Two guards rushed in, followed by a hunched figure in a black robe.

“Your Majesty,” said the familiar voice. “Another dream?” The King dropped into the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

“He was here this time, Lareth. He came into the throne room. He destroyed everything.”

Lareth, his advisor, stepped forward calmly. “Did you see his face?”

The King looked up slowly. “I always do but it's always the same. The boy... with the glowing eyes.”

Lareth nodded thoughtfully. “Then the prophecy is already unfolding.”

“Don’t speak of that cursed prophecy again!” the King snapped. “I’ve hunted their kind for twenty years. I wear their power on my finger!”

He held up his hand. The royal ring pulsed dimly.

“Yet this child still haunts you, in dreams and rumors,” Lareth said quietly. “Dreams that feel like memories. Rumors that smell like truth.”

The King stood, gripping the window frame. He looked out across the sleeping city of Ozile.

“What would you have me do?” Lareth stepped beside him.

“Gather the villagers. Speak to them. Warn them. Make it known that you are in control. If the boy is real, the panic will expose him. If not… it calms the kingdom.”

The King was silent for a long time. Then he nodded. “Call for a gathering. First light.”

~ Mirna’s Cottage – Early Morning ~

The rooster hadn’t even crowed when Lucas sat up in bed, heart racing. He’d had another strange dream but he couldn’t remember most of it. Just fire… a ring… and voices calling his name.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned. From the kitchen, the smell of roasted yam and onions crept in. He padded quietly toward the soft humming voice.

Mirna was already at the stove, stirring a pot, her back turned to him. Her graying braid swayed gently down her back.

"Morning, Ma," Lucas said, stepping in with a crooked smile. She turned around, her warm eyes lighting up.

"You’re up early. Bad dream again?"

He shrugged. "Sort of."

She nodded, handing him a wooden bowl. "Here. Eat something. We’ve got enough strange things happening without you starting the day on an empty stomach."

Lucas chuckled. "Like what?"

Before she could respond, a loud gong echoed from the town square.

BONG.

They froze. Another BONG followed. Then another.

"That’s... the royal bell." Mirna’s voice was low now. Cautious.

Lucas frowned. "They never ring that unless..."

"Get your cloak." She dropped the spoon. "Something’s wrong."

They all headed to the Village Square, it was already Midday at this time The entire village had gathered under the cloudy midday sun. Farmers, bakers, weavers, men, women, children, faces filled with curiosity, some with dread. Mirna held Lucas's hand tightly as they slipped through the crowd.

"Stay beside me," she whispered. "No matter what happens."

Lucas nodded. The guards emerged first marching with spears raised. Then came the King’s personal knights, dressed in black and gold, riding past the villagers with proud sneers.

Finally, the King himself appeared, flanked by his advisor Lareth and a column of hooded priests from Dellwyn. His red robes dragged along the marble stage as he took his place before the crowd. He raised one hand and silence fell.

He cleared his throat as he begins.

“People of Ozile,” the King said, voice cold and regal. “Dark times return to our lands.”

Murmurs swept the crowd.

“For years we have known peace,” he continued, “because we eradicated the root of chaos known as magic.”

Lucas’s heart skipped. He looked up at Mirna, but she kept her eyes forward, face unreadable.

“But there are whispers now. Whispers of a boy. A cursed child born with the very magic we destroyed. He threatens the kingdom. Your safety. Your children’s futures.”

Gasps erupted.

“So I declare this, Anyone found hiding, protecting, or failing to report signs of magic shall be treated as traitors to the crown.” Dead silence.

Lucas felt his throat dry. His fingers curled tightly.

“We will search every home, every barn, every cellar,” the King added. “Until the boy is found. Or until he turns himself in.” Then he stepped back. The crowd remained quiet and shaken.

Lareth stepped forward, delivering a chilling final word.

“The prophecy is not a story. It is a warning. One we intend to rewrite by eliminating its subject before it blooms.”

his dark robes sweeping the stone platform as his eyes scanned the sea of anxious villagers.

“Let there be no confusion,” he followed, voice sharper than the morning chill. “This is not a plea. It is a decree.” He paused, letting the silence settle like a shroud.

“For years, we have bled to build a kingdom free of chaos, free of the cursed filth that once darkened our skies and shattered our lands. Magic is not salvation. It is corruption. It whispers lies. It devours innocence.”

He pointed a gloved hand toward the crowd.

“If you harbor the boy, you are not protecting a child. You are planting the seed of war. If you remain silent, you are siding with ruin. And if you think you can outrun the King’s justice remember, the ring sees all.” The villagers shifted nervously.

“The crown does not ask for loyalty. It demands it. And in the coming days, we will learn who among you deserves to remain in Oz... and who must be purged from it.”

He stepped back, eyes locked on the crowd, voice low and final:

“One boy may carry the prophecy… but it is your silence that will destroy you.” He finally quoted as he vacates the stage.

As the villagers dispersed in stunned silence, Lucas and Mirna moved quickly toward the edge of the crowd.

"You heard him," Lucas whispered. "They're looking for me."

Mirna’s eyes were stern, but her voice calm. "That’s why we’re going to prepare. Tonight, we’ll talk. But not here. Not now."

Lucas hesitated. "You believe it too, don’t you? That I’m the boy from the prophecy?"

She paused.

Then, gently, she said.

"I believe the King should be afraid. But not because you’re dangerous... Because he knows you’ll never kneel."