The Crownless Curse

Chapter 7: The Whispering Iron

The rain was still falling when Kael opened his eyes.

His body ached. Muscles stiff from sleep, cuts stinging with renewed pain. The scent of damp earth and burned ash clung to the cave’s air. For a second he lay still, listening. The silence outside was unnatural. No birds. No wind. Not even the rustle of distant trees. Just the slow drip of rainwater from the jagged ceiling of the cave, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something he could not name.

Then it came again. The voice.

Not a sound, not something his ears could catch. It was deep inside him, threaded through his bones. A whisper that tugged at the edge of his mind.

Kael...

He sat up sharply. His hand found the hilt of his sword before he could think. But the steel was quiet. No glow. No hum. The runes etched into the blade were dormant again, as if the events of the night before had never happened.

He looked at the mouth of the cave. Morning light struggled through the mist outside, pale and watery. Whatever had come for him last night was gone, for now.

Kael wrapped his cloak tighter and stepped outside.

The world had changed. Trees that once stood tall were split down their trunks, smoking slightly. Blackened craters dotted the clearing. The air held the scent of ozone and something fouler, like spoiled blood. Whatever magic had taken shape last night had left scars on the land.

Kael knelt and touched the wet soil.

The whisper came again. This time closer. Clearer.

You are not ready.

He stood, his jaw clenched. “Then tell me what I need.”

No answer. Just silence, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

He turned toward the direction of Haldrim. If there were answers, they would be there. He had delayed too long. His father's secrets. The truth behind the sword. The mark that burned now even when he was awake. They were threads in the same weave. He needed to pull them before it unraveled him.

Kael started walking. The storm had made the roads thick with mud, but he did not slow. His boots sank deep, his steps heavy, but the fire in his chest pushed him forward. He no longer cared who had sent the Black Riders. Whether they were summoned by the blade or drawn by his blood. The time for running had ended.

By noon, the clouds had broken. Patches of sunlight spilled across the broken path ahead. But even the light felt strange, like it did not quite belong. The road led him through an old ravine, cliffs rising steep on both sides, moss-covered and slick. Somewhere far above, a hawk cried out, and its echo danced between the stone walls like laughter.

Kael stopped.

He was not alone.

He turned slowly, hand on his sword. For a moment, nothing. Then movement, to the left. A shadow, quick and silent, darted behind a boulder.

“Show yourself,” Kael called.

No reply.

He stepped forward. Sword drawn now, the steel humming faintly, sensing danger.

Another flash of movement. Closer this time.

He raised the blade, its tip pointing toward the shifting shadows. “If you want to kill me, you’re wasting time. Others already tried.”

A voice answered, cool and mocking. “And yet here you stand. Not dead. Not quite alive either.”

From behind the stone stepped a figure cloaked in gray. Hood up, face hidden, but posture relaxed. Not like a soldier. Not like a threat. But not afraid either.

Kael frowned. “Who are you?”

“A question with too many answers. Let’s start with what matters. I was sent to find you.”

“By who?”

The figure chuckled. “Do you ever get answers the first time you ask?”

Kael tightened his grip. “I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“Good,” the figure said, stepping into the light. A woman, young but with eyes that had seen too much. “Because I’m not here to play games. I’m here to keep you alive.”

Kael did not lower his sword.

“You’re Kael, son of Rovan,” she continued. “Last of the Veylen line. Or what’s left of it.”

His breath caught.

“Your father made enemies,” she went on. “Powerful ones. But he also made a few allies. I am one of them. My name is Lira.”

He kept his eyes on her. “And what do you want?”

“To make sure you get to Haldrim. And that you do it before the Riders find you again.”

Kael hesitated. The whisper in his bones stirred once more, almost approving. He sheathed the sword.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

Lira gave a thin smile. “You’re not going to ask how I know all this?”

“No,” he said, walking past her. “If you wanted me dead, you would have done it already.”

They moved together, quick and silent. Lira’s presence unsettled him, not because she was dangerous, but because she knew too much. About his father. About the Riders. Even about the blade, though she had not said it aloud.

“Back there,” Kael said after a while, “you said the Riders would return.”

“They always do. Once they’ve marked you, they do not stop.”

“Why me?”

She looked at him. “Because you’re the last threat. And they fear what you’ll become.”

They reached the crest of a hill, and beyond it lay the valley where Haldrim stood. Or had once stood.

Kael stared.

The city was burning.

Smoke rose in thick columns, curling into the sky like black claws. Flames danced along the rooftops. Screams echoed faintly, too far to help. The outer wall had been breached in two places. Soldiers fought desperately in the streets, but it was clear. Haldrim was falling.

Kael stepped forward, his voice low. “We’re too late.”

Lira’s eyes were sharp. “No. We’re right on time. If we had arrived sooner, we would have died with them.”

Kael turned to her. “We’re going down there.”

“You will die.”

“Then I’ll die trying. That was my home.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Then let’s make sure your death means something.”

They descended the hill fast. Lira moved like a shadow, slipping between rocks and trees, unseen. Kael followed, sword drawn, fire rising inside him. The pain of his wounds forgotten. The past was catching up, and he was done running.

As they reached the base of the hill, the wind shifted. And with it came the scream.

Not human. Not beast. Something in between. It tore through the sky like a blade, and Kael froze.

He had heard it before.

In his dreams.

In the ruins.

A massive shape emerged from the smoke above the city, wings wide, body coiled like a serpent of fire and ash. Its eyes burned red. The creature shrieked again, and the very ground trembled.

Lira whispered, “A shadow wyrm. The Riders brought it with them.”

Kael stepped forward. “Then we kill it.”

“You don’t kill a shadow wyrm,” she said. “You survive it.”

But Kael was already walking toward the flames, the sword in his hand pulsing with light.

The mark on his chest burned like a brand.

And the voice whispered once more.

Now begins the reckoning.