2024-12-09 21:24:02Evan sneered, stepping closer to Calen until they were nearly nose to nose. “Afraid? Why would I be afraid of a pathetic worm like you? You dare to challenge me? Fine. I’ll crush you under my boot like the insignificant insect you are!”
The room erupted into laughter and jeers, the nobles and courtiers treating the challenge as a source of great amusement. The idea of Calen—Aerondale’s greatest disappointment—facing Evan, its most promising warrior, was nothing short of absurd to them.
Even King Ryan chuckled, his voice booming over the crowd. “This will indeed be an entertaining spectacle. Very well, Calen. I will allow this duel. Let us see what shred of honor, if any, you have left.” He paused, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “But let’s make this interesting. If, by some miracle, you win, not only will you avoid exile, but I will reinstate your honor. You will take your place in the military as a captain—or even a general!”
The hall exploded in laughter, the nobles doubling over at the idea of Calen holding such a prestigious title.
“Can you imagine?” one of them said between gasps. “The weakling Calen Storm giving orders in the military? He’ll probably trip over his own sword!”
“Don’t worry,” Evan called out, his grin broad and menacing. “He won’t make it that far. I’ll end this farce before it begins.”
Calen stood firm amidst the laughter and mockery, his resolve unshaken. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, the once-familiar warmth of power coursing through him again.
“You’ll regret underestimating me, Evan,” Calen said, his voice low but steady. “I’ll prove to all of you that I am more than the man you think I am.”
Evan barked a laugh. “Bold words for a man who can barely stand. Fine, Calen. Let’s see if you have the courage to back them up. Meet me at the training grounds at dawn. And prepare to face your end.”
The room buzzed with anticipation as the crowd began to disperse, already treating the duel as a foregone conclusion. Calen, however, remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on Evan, who smirked smugly before walking away. Tomorrow, he would prove them all wrong.
The next morning, the training grounds were packed with spectators. Nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike had gathered, eager to witness what they believed would be a one-sided spectacle. Cries of “Evan! Evan!” echoed across the field as the towering warrior raised his massive sword high above his head, basking in the adoration of the crowd.
“You’ll all have a show to remember!” Evan declared, his booming voice drawing even louder cheers. He turned in a slow circle, his confidence radiating as if the duel were already won.
When Calen stepped into the arena, the cheers turned to mocking laughter and sarcastic applause. Dressed in his bloodstained, rain-soaked clothes from the day before, Calen looked like he was already defeated. His slight frame and unremarkable presence stood in stark contrast to Evan’s broad-shouldered, armored figure.
“Look! It’s the court jester!” one spectator shouted, drawing laughter from the crowd.
“He doesn’t even have proper armor!” another jeered. “This will be over before it starts!”
Calen ignored the taunts, his gaze fixed on Evan. His hand rested on the hilt of his family’s sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the morning sunlight. Beneath the surface of his calm demeanor, he could feel the energy coursing through him, stronger than ever.
Evan smirked, pointing his massive blade at Calen. “You’ve got guts for showing up, I’ll give you that. But guts won’t save you.”
The king, seated on an elevated platform overlooking the arena, raised his hand to silence the crowd. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Let the duel begin! Show us your strength, Evan—and you, Calen… well I don’t have a word for you...” He finished with a laughter.
A hush fell over the crowd as Evan strode forward, his sword resting casually on his shoulder. “Come on, Calen. Make your move. Or are you too scared to swing that toothpick you call a sword?”
Calen unsheathed his blade in a fluid motion, its edge glinting with a strange light. The crowd murmured, noting something unusual about Calen.
“So you can pull out your sword now, huh? Let’s see what you can do!”
Evan lunged, his massive blade arcing toward Calen with devastating speed and power. The crowd gasped, expecting Calen to crumble under the first blow.
But Calen moved.
In a blur, he sidestepped the attack, his body lighter and more agile than anyone could have anticipated. Evan’s sword crashed into the ground, leaving a deep gash in the earth. Before Evan could recover, Calen was behind him, his blade poised and ready.
The crowd fell silent, their laughter replaced with astonished murmurs.
Evan turned, his expression shifting from smug confidence to confusion and anger. “What the—?”
Calen’s voice was steady, almost cold. “I told you not to underestimate me.”
The duel had only just begun, but the tide was already shifting.
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The Ambush
The pale light of dawn had not yet kissed the treetops when Carmen and Liora rode in silence across the mist-choked lowlands. The world around them was painted in shades of silver and slate, the air damp and heavy with dew. Their cloaks clung to their bodies, drawn tight against the biting chill that had not yet yielded to the sun. Even the horses' breaths steamed visibly in the air, soft puffs of white that vanished almost as quickly as they came.Nestled deep inside Carmen’s inner coat pocket, the pendant throbbed gently—cold against her skin, its pulse alien and dissonant, as if it beat to the rhythm of something ancient and watching. It felt neither alive nor dead, but aware—a silent passenger, ever-present and impossibly still.Their horses moved swiftly but cautiously, hooves softened by the damp loam of the forest trail. Each clop against the earth echoed a little too loud in the silence. Ahead of them, the outline of the Forbidden Forest grew ever larger, a jagged line of shad
It Make Sense
The silence that followed was not empty—it was heavy, like the aftermath of thunder on a battlefield, thick with the weight of things unsaid and truths too long buried. The runes beneath their feet pulsed faintly with a fading rhythm, as if the stone itself was trying to remember.Then Aelion spoke, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade through silk. Low. Measured. Grim.“There’s more you must understand, Calen. Much more than what you’ve been told.”Calen turned to face him, the shadows playing across his features. His jaw was tight, eyes storm-dark, but attentive.Aelion took a slow step toward the edge of the rune circle. The ethereal blue glow danced along the hem of his silver cloak, throwing ghostly reflections against the obsidian walls.“Aerondale…” he began, his voice nearly a whisper, “nearly destroyed us. Not with numbers. Not even with strength. But with knowledge.”He glanced at Calen, his gaze sharpened like steel drawn under fire.“They used what they had
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
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