2025-02-25 22:08:52
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Behind Closed Doors
The corridors of the Drake estate were quiet—too quiet.Even the servants knew better than to linger when Evan Drake returned from the palace with that look in his eyes. The doors to the private quarters slammed shut behind him, echoing through the stone halls like a judgment.Lila stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, golden hair spilling down in soft waves, untouched by any braid or crown. She didn’t turn when he entered.She didn’t have to.“So it’s true,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been ordered to kill him.”Evan paused in mid-step. His gloves dropped to the floor.“Don’t act surprised,” he replied. “It was always going to come to this.”Lila finally turned, her eyes shimmering—but not from tears. From fury.“You’ve always hated him. Not because he was a traitor. But because he was better. Better in the field. Better in honor. Better—” she took a shaky breath “—than you ever were.”Evan’s jaw clenched.“Careful.”“Why? Will you ki
The King's Command — Evan Drake
The chamber beyond the throne room was colder than usual—not from weather, but from intent.King Theron Ashford stood by the arched window of blackstone, gazing down at the training yards below, where soldiers sparred in formation. His cloak of crimson and obsidian hung motionless behind him, as though even the wind hesitated to disturb him this morning.Behind him, heavy doors creaked open.Footsteps, measured and confident, echoed into the hall. Then a voice—smooth, crisp.“Your Majesty.”Theron didn’t turn. “Evan Drake.”Evan approached with a bow, pride tucked neatly behind the practiced poise of a loyal subject. But his eyes gleamed—he had heard.He had always watched Calen Storm from the shadows—envied him, resented him. And now, at last, the crown had declared Calen an enemy of the realm. A traitor.It was time.Theron finally turned, expression carved from stone.“You’ve heard the decree.”“I have,” Evan said, his voice composed but edged with satisfaction. “Calen Storm has be
Calen’s Dream — The Storm Within
The darkness was not empty.It pulsed.A low hum filled the void—like distant thunder rumbling beneath the skin of the world. Then came the light. Not the warmth of sunlight, nor the wildness of fire, but something colder, deeper: a pale blue glow, soft as breath and sharp as sorrow.Calen stood in a place without sky or ground—only stormclouds curling around him like restless spirits, their forms shifting and whispering fragments of forgotten names. Beneath his feet, mist swirled in spirals, glowing faintly with stormlight. The air smelled of rain and ash.Then—a sound pierced the silence.A child’s cry.Fragile. Raw. It cut through the dream like a thread of lightning across endless dark. Calen turned, heart seizing, as the mist parted before him.There—a baby, wrapped in crackling white flame laced with veins of silver-blue stormlight, floated in the arms of a figure too radiant to discern. The child’s fists were clenched. Its eyes shut tight. But Calen felt it—an unspoken pull, pr
He Must Be Eliminated!
The war room of Aerondale lay cloaked in shadow, a hush so thick it seemed to absorb even the flicker of flame. Only the enchanted braziers, pulsing faintly with bluish fire, offered light—casting ghostly silhouettes on the towering stone walls and across the mosaic floor, where ancient runes had been carved and long forgotten. Figures in hooded robes stood in reverent silence, their cloaks pooling like spilled ink over the marble. Priests who read omens in ash, alchemists who bent metal to the will of time, and seers whose dreams whispered of fates yet to come—all gathered before the throne.At the head of the room, beneath the towering banners of House Ashford, sat King Theron, draped in silence and wrapped in tightly reined fury. His hands, scarred from old wars, were steepled beneath his chin. His eyes—cold, cutting, and unreadable—scanned the assembly like a drawn blade seeking its mark. At his side lay Ashrend, the legendary sword forged from the scale of Tharstan, the last Drag
The Connection
They sat in the grass, lungs still burning, silence stretching between them as the dust from the temple’s collapse settled into the air. The clearing was hushed—eerily still, as if even the forest held its breath. Smoke rose in lazy spirals from the sealed chasm behind them, curling like whispers from a forgotten mouth. It felt like the ancient place had finally exhaled its last breath, taking centuries of secrets with it.Carmen clutched the pendant tightly in her hand. Its radiant blaze had faded, but it hadn’t gone dark. It still pulsed faintly—steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat under glass. Alive. Waiting.She turned to Calen, her voice low but steady despite the exhaustion lining her features. “I saw something. Back there, when I collapsed.”Calen leaned toward her, worry tightening the lines around his eyes. Liora, crouched nearby and still catching her breath, tilted her head, half-curious but not interrupting.Carmen’s gaze shifted between them. “It wasn’t a dream. It felt too
The Fire Before the Fall
Darkness cradled her.Carmen drifted through layers of silence, heavier than sleep, deeper than dreams. And then—light. Faint at first, then blazing like memory returned.A vision bloomed before her.She stood not as herself, but within someone else—eyes she did not own, heart pounding to a rhythm not hers.A grand hall shimmered beneath her feet, draped in silver banners and carved obsidian pillars. Torches flickered with blue fire. The air was warm, filled with the scent of myrrh and ember-scorched silk. And on the dais ahead, a woman stood tall—regal, proud, yet with sorrow carved into the lines of her brow.The Queen.No name came to Carmen’s lips, but she knew. She felt it. This was the flameborne sovereign of old—ruler of Drakhtarion during its golden age. Her crimson gown billowed like fire itself, and in her arms she cradled a newborn, wrapped in scalesilk and light.A child.The Queen pressed her lips to the infant’s brow, her voice a tremor in the quiet. “You were born from
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