Prince Ivel felt the weight of the day settle upon him as he lay in his chamber, eyes growing heavy with sleep. The echoes of laughter and revelry from the evening's festivities filled his mind, soothing him into a state of peace. Just as he began to drift away, a thunderous explosion rattled the very walls of the castle, jolting him awake.
"What in the name of Eldoria?" Ivel murmured, his heart racing. He shot upright, the festive memories of laughter quickly overshadowed by the blood-curdling screams that erupted from the kingdom's front entrance—normally a bastion of safety, now a harbinger of chaos.
The sounds of metal clashing and panicked voices reached his ears, blending with the shouts of his guards and the frantic cries of the people outside. Ivel's chest tightened with dread. He could not stay idle. Rising hastily, he dashed down the corridor, adrenaline propelling him forward as he headed towards the King's Hall.
As he entered the grand chamber, a horrific scene unfolded before him: King Edric stood valiantly against a group of masked assassins, his sword flashing in the dim torchlight. Queen Liora, his mother, fought beside him, her determination palpable as she swung her own blade in defense. The hall, once filled with joy, was now steeped in violence.
"No! Stay back!" Ivel yelled, fear gnawing at him as he took a step forward. Just then, one of the assassins found an opening, plunging a dagger into the King's side. Ivel's heart sank. His father staggered, eyes wide with shock and pain, as the Queen gasped in horror.
"Father!" Ivel cried, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos. In an agonizing instant, another assassin struck, knocking Queen Liora to the ground. Ivel felt as if the world had spun off its axis; it was as if time itself froze.
The King collapsed, his life extinguished before Ivel's eyes, and rage welled up inside him like a volcano ready to erupt. The loss was unbearable, igniting a fire of vengeance he had never known.
In that moment of overwhelming despair, he reached for the legendary sword, Zelfur, that had been passed down through generations. It came to him with a brilliant glow, resonating with his soul, a testament to his family's legacy.
Summoning every ounce of courage, Ivel charged at the assassins who remained, the weight of his loss fueling his attack. "You will pay for this!" he shouted, swinging Zelfur with all his might. But the assassins were skilled, and despite the power of his heritage, he was young and inexperienced. They parried his strikes with ease, their movements fluid and calculated.
With each failed attempt, despair clawed at him, and soon one of the assassins landed a brutal blow across his side. Pain shot through him, blinding him momentarily.
As he stumbled, breathless and desperate, he glanced up, his heart sinking further as he recognized the leader of the assassins. The mask slipped away, revealing the face that mirrored his own—the face of his uncle, Lord Cedric.
"Cedric!" Ivel gasped, a mix of disbelief and rage washing over him. "Why? You betrayed us!"
"Ah, my dear nephew," Cedric sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "What a tragic ending for your family. But this kingdom deserves a ruler who knows how to seize power—not one who merely clings to it out of misplaced loyalty. Your father was a fool, leading Eldoria into ruin. I will take what is mine!"
As Cedric's words sunk in, Ivel felt the dark weight of betrayal settle over him. The surge of anger was replaced by an icy reality as he collapsed to his knees, the world spinning around him.
With the last of his strength, he looked up at the man who had betrayed everything they once held dear, their bloodline intertwined with sordid ambition. But before he could utter another word, darkness began to creep into his vision, pulling him under like a deep ocean tide.
As consciousness faded, Ivel heard nothing but the distant echoes of chaos—the last remnants of a kingdom crumbling before him. With the final breath of hope slipping from his grasp, everything went black.