Years had passed since the king issued his decree, and each of the princes had ventured into their assigned realms to prove their worth. Prince Helard, with his fiery temper, continued to struggle in the watery depths of the Merman Realm, where his flames could find no purchase. Prince Wilord, the calm and composed one, grappled with the icy intelligence of the Giant Tortoises, attempting to master his control over ice as he fought the creatures on equal terms. Prince Gust, the tempestuous master of winds, fought a seemingly endless battle against the Earthen Serpents, whose rock-hard bodies rendered his mighty gusts ineffective. All three princes remained locked in fierce, grueling battles, far from victory.
But while his brothers were entangled in their struggles, Prince Trallod had long since completed his conquest. The Realm of the Thundering Wolves had already fallen to his unyielding power. The beasts, once proud and untouchable, now bowed to him. Every creature in the realm knew his name, and all life within those borders trembled at the mention of the Calamity, the one who could command the very ground beneath their feet.
For Trallod, the conquest had not been about power or glory. It had simply been an expression of his dominance over the earth. He had no desire to sit on a throne, but now, having explored every corner of the land, he felt a strange restlessness. He had no need for battles, and no creature dared to defy him any longer. As the years passed, he grew tired of wandering aimlessly through the realm he had subdued.
One day, Prince Trallod found himself standing in an empty expanse of land, a barren and silent place. The wind blew softly, carrying with it the scent of wild grasses, but no living creature dared to approach him. He looked around, taking in the solitude, and a thought crossed his mind.
"It's time," he whispered to himself, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
With a single stomp of his foot, the earth responded. The ground began to tremble and shake, as if the very world was waking from a deep slumber. Slowly, the soil shifted and moved under Trallod's command, and from the depths of the earth, something massive began to rise.
The land rumbled as enormous blocks of stone lifted from the ground, each one perfectly formed and aligned. Over the course of minutes, these stones stacked themselves together, creating towering walls and intricate arches. Pillars of solid rock rose into the sky, forming the framework of a structure so massive, it dominated the landscape. Every part of the structure was flawless, shaped and molded by the prince's will. The earth obeyed him completely, as if eager to fulfill his command.
What emerged from the ground was a castle—a fortress of stone, grander and more imposing than any palace his father had ever built. Its walls were thick and unyielding, carved from the very earth itself. The towers rose high into the sky, reaching for the heavens, while the battlements stretched out across the horizon. It was a fortress fit for a king, yet Trallod had built it with little effort, a simple display of the power he wielded.
As the final stone settled into place, Trallod stood back and admired his work. His new castle was a reflection of his power—strong, unmovable, and imposing. It was a symbol to the realm that he had claimed it, though he had no interest in ruling. This castle was not a place for royal courts or councils of war. It was a place of solitude, a testament to his freedom and strength. Here, he could live without interruption, free from the burdens of conquest or politics.
While his brothers struggled in their respective realms, facing challenges that tested their abilities and strategies, Trallod had already secured his domain. Every creature in the Realm of the Thundering Wolves bent to his will, acknowledging him as their sovereign, though he did not demand it. His brothers may still have been vying for the throne, but Trallod was beyond such trivial pursuits. His castle was not a symbol of ambition—it was a reminder that power was his to command, and that he had already won a victory greater than any crown could offer.
Standing at the entrance of his newly raised castle, Trallod looked out over the empty plains, the earth now still beneath his feet. He felt no need for celebration, nor any desire to boast of his accomplishment. His power spoke for itself. And while his brothers fought for the approval of their father and the glory of the throne, Trallod had already found what he truly sought—freedom.
Yet, as the silence of the barren land surrounded him, a single thought lingered in his mind: What would come next? He had no interest in ruling, and he had already proven his strength. The other realms still remained unconquered by his brothers, but Trallod did not wish to interfere.
But deep within him, there was a quiet curiosity—what would his brothers do when they learned of his success? Would they continue their quests, or would they recognize that their youngest brother had surpassed them all? And, more importantly, would his father see that Trallod had never needed the throne to prove his worth?
As he stood atop the castle walls, gazing across the vast expanse of the realm, Prince Trallod allowed himself a rare moment of contemplation. His journey might have ended in this land, but his story was far from over.
For now, though, the earth was silent, and the Calamity rested, waiting for whatever came next.