Five days had passed since the cataclysmic battle against the dragon. The once-proud city was a patchwork of rubble and grief. The air hung heavy with the scent of smoke and the unspoken sorrow of a thousand lost lives – lost knights, lost citizens, lost innocence. The empire was rebuilding, brick by painstaking brick, while simultaneously preparing for a funeral of unprecedented scale, a somber procession that would snake through every street, every village, every corner of the kingdom
The King, Cedric, was meticulously crafting his speech, a carefully balanced concoction of encouragement and raw emotion, designed to galvanize his people and solidify his position as their unwavering leader. But while the kingdom mourned and prepared, Ivel, Kaelion, Lirael, and Faelar remained locked away, completely oblivious to the carefully orchestrated charade unfolding above them
Deep within the shadowed recesses of the castle, King Cedric addressed Gareth, his trusted knight. "Gareth, my knight, how are the plans coming along?" he asked, his voice low and menacing
"My liege," Gareth replied, his voice steady and devoid of emotion, "everything is in place. The people await your speech. The preparations for Ivel's… 'trial'… are complete. The evidence is… persuasive."
A chilling smile touched Cedric's lips. With Gareth and Prince Lukas at his side, he walked towards the makeshift stage erected in the heart of the city. The crowd roared its approval, a wave of sound that crashed against the stone walls of the castle
Cedric's voice, amplified by the magic woven into the stage itself, boomed across the square. "My people! My empire! I greet you all! Everyone knows of the Battle of the Dragon – a fearsome and cruel day. Hundreds of our beloved people died that day! I feel your pain, as many of my loyal knights fell in that same horrific battle. We cannot change what happened. But we can move forward! Let this day mark a new beginning for our empire! Let the criminal behind this heinous attack face retribution!"
A hush fell over the crowd, their sorrow palpable. Cedric paused, his eyes scanning the sea of faces, before continuing
"If it were not for the bravery of Knight Gareth, here beside me, the dragon would have wreaked even more havoc! But do not fret, my people! We have captured the person responsible, the monster who brought this terror upon us! And we will see to it that they are publicly executed – a week from now! My people, let us rise again!"
The crowd erupted in a tumultuous wave of cheers, a complex symphony of grief, relief, and vengeful anger. The King had expertly played on their emotions, directing their sorrow and rage towards a convenient scapegoat
As Cedric began to descend from the stage, Prince Lukas approached him, his concern evident. "Father," he began, "that boy… Ivel… he is not ordinary. He possesses powers far beyond the abilities of any normal human. He reminds me of how Uncle Edric used to fight—"
Before Lukas could finish, Cedric cut him off with a sharp, silencing glare. The look was so potent, so filled with raw, uncontrolled power, that Lukas fell silent, his protest dying on his lips
"Silence," Cedric hissed, his voice dangerously low. "We do not speak of him. He is a threat, and a threat is dealt with swiftly. That is all you need to know." With a dismissive wave, he turned and walked away, Gareth at his heels
"Gareth," Cedric said, his voice softening slightly but remaining firm, "have you seen Darius? That boy… where is he? All this is happening, and he is gone."
Gareth paused, his expression unreadable. "My liege, Prince Darius has been absent since the day of the battle. I will look into his disappearance. I will locate him."
"Good," Cedric replied, a hint of urgency in his voice. "Find him fast. His continued absence could… complicate things."
Meanwhile, in their surprisingly luxurious confinement, Kaelion, Lirael, and Faelar were simmering with a mixture of frustration and fear. Their weapons and personal belongings had been confiscated, but their captors had ensured their physical comfort, a fact that only heightened their unease
"How long will we be stuck here?" Kaelion asked, his voice laced with restless energy
Faelar, ever the pragmatist, responded with a calmness that seemed at odds with the desperate situation. "We must have patience and calmness, Kaelion. Impatience will only make things worse."
"Calmness?!" Lirael exploded, her voice sharp and edged with panic. "We don't know where Ivel is, how he is, or what they're doing to him, and you want us to be calm? Ivel! He's probably being tortured! He saved us all, and they're going to kill him!" Lirael's voice cracked, the strain of worry and helplessness evident
Kaelion, sensing the depth of her fear, placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "Lirael, it's Ivel. He's strong. He's resourceful. I know you're worried, but Faelar is right. We have to remain calm and patient. We need to think strategically, to make the right move." He squeezed her arm gently, attempting to convey his unwavering belief in Ivel's resilience
Faelar nodded, his gaze distant but determined. "I've sent a message to brother Alarion," he announced, his voice regaining its usual composure. "The elven forces should arrive within a week. We will find Ivel. Do not worry." He spoke with an assurance that he didn't entirely feel, a carefully constructed facade to maintain hope in the face of overwhelming uncertainty
The week stretched on, each day bringing a fresh wave of agonizing uncertainty. The city, meanwhile, was consumed by a whirlwind of grief and manufactured triumph. The King's speeches, broadcast throughout the kingdom through magically amplified voices, painted a picture of a benevolent ruler, a heroic knight, and a monstrous traitor. Gareth, elevated to the status of a national hero, basked in the glow of public adoration, his every appearance met with fervent applause. The official narrative was airtight, a seamless tapestry of lies skillfully woven to conceal the truth
Meanwhile, in the depths of the castle dungeons, Ivel's ordeal intensified. The initial physical pain had begun to subside, replaced by a relentless psychological onslaught. He was kept in near-total darkness, the only sounds the drip, drip, drip of water and the distant echoes of the city's celebrations. His interrogators, shadowy figures who never revealed their faces, used subtle methods—sleep deprivation, calculated insults, carefully planted suggestions designed to erode his sanity and break his spirit
They wanted confessions, admissions of guilt, details about the obsidian egg, about his powers. They whispered tales of impending doom, predicting utter destruction if he did not cooperate. They taunted him, reminding him of his friends, his family, his lost kingdom. Their goal wasn't simply to extract information; it was to break him, to shatter his will, to make him a willing instrument of the King's cruel machinations
But Ivel, despite the relentless torment, held firm. He knew the truth, and he clung to it as a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. He remembered the lessons of his mentor, the power of resilience, the strength found in quiet determination. He meditated, focusing on the flow of mana within his body, using it not as a weapon but as a source of inner peace, a shield against the mental assaults. He visualized the faces of his friends, their courage, their trust, and it fueled his resolve. He would not break.