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The Alliance and The Lie
Author: Cindy Chen
last update2025-06-10 16:02:36

Aelion’s torch cast shifting golden light across the ancient stone corridor as they descended deeper into the heart of Drakhtarion’s hidden sanctum. Calen’s boots echoed against the polished obsidian floor, each step amplifying the tension coiling up his spine. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became—dense and laced with a sharp, metallic tang, like the breath of a slumbering beast.

They emerged into a vast chamber carved directly into the mountain’s core. The arched ceiling soared high above, ribbed like the hollowed bones of some forgotten god. Dormant magic thrummed in the air, vibrating faintly beneath their skin, as if the mountain itself remembered.

Calen slowed, then stopped.

The prison was not made of iron or stone.

It was a monument.

Towering columns formed a circle around a central pit inscribed with glowing runes—draconic script etched into the earth, pulsing with a deep crimson light. Chains, thick as tree trunks and forged from an iridescent alloy unlike any meta
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  • How He Died?

    Calen’s voice broke through the silence again—quieter than before, but heavy, as if each word had to push through a lifetime of unanswered questions.“Then… how did my father die, exactly?”The question echoed faintly within the ancient chamber, swallowed slowly by the glowing runes that pulsed beneath their feet like the heartbeat of something sleeping—something dangerous.Serenya turned to him, her expression softening. There was something in her eyes—grief, yes, but also reverence. Respect. Even guilt. She drew in a breath, then let it out in a slow, pained exhale.“He used everything he had,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but unwavering. “His strength, his sword, his life… all of it. He gave everything to seal this place. To lock Tharstan away before his wrath could burn the world to ash.”She stepped forward, her boots making no sound against the smooth stone, and approached the edge of the platform. There, the vast ring of runes shimmered in a spectral glow, pulsing gently bene

  • History of The Past

    Serenya and Aelion exchanged a glance—heavy with memory, grief, and something more elusive.“It began,” Serenya said slowly, “with your father.”Calen’s brows knit. “What?”Aelion stepped forward. “Your father… was among the first envoys sent from Aerondale. His mission was simple, or so it seemed: to serve as a diplomatic gesture. To live among us. To learn our ways. But more specifically… to train the daughter of King Tharstan in the art of combat.”Calen’s breath caught. “The daughter of the king…?”Serenya gave a faint, sad smile. “Her name was Elira. Princess Elira Tharstanis. The fairest soul in all of Drakhtarion. Her beauty was known across the realms—silver hair like moonlight, eyes as deep and endless as the ocean. But it wasn’t just her beauty that captured hearts… it was her strength. Her wisdom. Her kindness.”Aelion nodded solemnly. “And your father fell in love with her. Against all odds, against all the rules.”Calen stepped back, stunned. “Are you saying…?”“Yes,” Ser

  • The Alliance and The Lie

    Aelion’s torch cast shifting golden light across the ancient stone corridor as they descended deeper into the heart of Drakhtarion’s hidden sanctum. Calen’s boots echoed against the polished obsidian floor, each step amplifying the tension coiling up his spine. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became—dense and laced with a sharp, metallic tang, like the breath of a slumbering beast.They emerged into a vast chamber carved directly into the mountain’s core. The arched ceiling soared high above, ribbed like the hollowed bones of some forgotten god. Dormant magic thrummed in the air, vibrating faintly beneath their skin, as if the mountain itself remembered.Calen slowed, then stopped.The prison was not made of iron or stone.It was a monument.Towering columns formed a circle around a central pit inscribed with glowing runes—draconic script etched into the earth, pulsing with a deep crimson light. Chains, thick as tree trunks and forged from an iridescent alloy unlike any meta

  • Your King?

    The moon hung low over Drakhtarion, casting long shadows through the crystalline arches of the High Spire. A hush had fallen over the city, broken only by the occasional cry of nightbirds circling far above the towers.Calen stood near the central window of the observatory, unmoving. The night wind tousled his dark hair as he stared into the distance—toward the invisible thread tugging at him again. It was back.That pull.It had come before—subtle, fleeting—during the evening meal with Serenya and Aelion three nights ago. He had dropped his goblet mid-sentence, breath catching in his throat, overcome by a strange warmth in his chest. At the time, he had said nothing, brushing it off as fatigue from the communion rites.But now?Now it burned.A pressure beneath his sternum. A whisper at the edge of hearing.Her.The girl. The pendant.He couldn’t explain it—only that he knew she was real, and she was in danger. And the pendant was not done with him.The heavy wooden door creaked open

  • It Won’t Let Me Go

    The fire crackled louder now, like a living thing stirring awake—its flickers dancing against the stone walls of Liora’s cottage, casting strange, twitching shadows. Outside, the wind howled against the wooden shutters, as if protesting the silence that had settled between the two women.Carmen sat stiffly by the hearth, her shoulders tense, her eyes fixed on the pendant resting in the cradle of her palm. The light it gave off had dimmed since the storm—no longer a blinding beacon, but a steady, pulsing glow. Like a heartbeat. Like the slow, deliberate thump of something ancient… something watching.Liora stood nearby, arms folded tight across her chest. She hadn’t said a word in minutes. She was studying the pendant too, but her expression held no curiosity now—only unease.Then, quietly, she spoke.“There’s still a way out of this.”Carmen blinked, startled from her trance. “What?”Liora nodded toward the fire. “Get rid of it. Throw it in. Or bury it. Drop it in the well, smash it w

  • I Wont Survive This

    Liora didn’t hesitate.She stepped forward, mud streaking her skirts, her breath coming in ragged gasps. In her trembling hands, she clutched a jagged branch snapped from a fallen tree, bark still raw and bleeding sap. She raised it like a sword, planting herself between Harlan and Carmen. Her eyes burned with defiance.“Stay back!” She shouted, her voice quivering with fury and fear. “You don’t get to touch her!”For a moment, everything went still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.Harlan halted, amused. His lips curled into a cruel smirk, as if watching a child pretend at war. “How quaint,” he said softly, his voice a mockery of politeness.Then came the strike.A flash of metal—a gauntleted hand swung with brutal precision. The crack echoed like thunder, reverberating through the clearing. Liora’s head snapped sideways. She staggered, then crumpled to the ground, her makeshift weapon tumbling from her grasp. She landed in the grass with a soft, broken moan, one arm limp ben

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