Eryndell was a kingdom of paradoxes. Its streets thrived with the promise of prosperity, yet its shadows carried the weight of secrets too great to speak. In a world where names held unimaginable power, silence was both shield and weapon.
At the heart of the kingdom stood the Crowns, chosen by the divine to bear the burden of knowledge. They ruled not by might but by the careful management of truths. The Crowns were guardians of the secrets of true names, bound by divine scrutiny and human ambition. Every monarch walked a tightrope, where a single misstep could unravel the balance of power.
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The afternoon sun was bright and unyielding, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Eryndell. Merchants hawked their wares in the bustling square, the air alive with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clang of a blacksmith's hammer. It was a vibrant scene, full of life, yet King Silver felt a faint unease threading through his thoughts as he stepped out of his carriage.
He had insisted on minimal guards for this outing. The people needed to see their king as one of them, unhidden behind layers of formality and protection. His steward, Mist, trailed behind him, ever dutiful and ever wary, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd.
"Majesty," Mist murmured softly, leaning in. "The mood feels...off."
Silver gave him a sidelong glance, his lips twitching in a faint smile. "You're always saying that, Mist."
"Because it's always true," Mist replied, his tone sharper than usual.
Silver laughed softly. "Relax. We're here to deliver a speech about unity, not to fight a battle."
Mist didn't respond, though his hand lingered near the hilt of his blade, hidden beneath his cloak.
The king climbed the steps to the platform in the square's center, his silver hair catching the light and his crimson cloak billowing behind him. The crowd quieted, all eyes turning toward their young ruler. His presence was commanding, though not through force but through an undeniable charisma, a blend of nobility and relatability.
"People of Eryndell," Silver began, his voice ringing out clearly. "Today, we stand together as one, bound by our shared history and our dreams for the future. The power of unity lies not in the strength of one Crown, but in the strength of all who wear their names with pride."
The crowd stirred, murmurs of approval rippling through the masses.
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It happened in a blur.
A figure darted from the crowd, their movements swift and calculated. Silver caught the glint of a blade in the sunlight a split second before Mist surged forward, placing himself between the king and the assailant. The knife struck Mist's shoulder, blood blooming across his cloak as he grunted in pain.
"Down!" Mist barked, shoving Silver back toward the platform's edge.
Another attacker emerged, followed by a third. The crowd erupted into chaos, screams filling the square as people scrambled for safety.
Silver's mind sharpened in the heat of the moment, the instinct for survival honed by years of court intrigue and his parents' violent deaths. He raised his hand, and a faint shimmer of energy rippled around him, his soul's essence manifesting as an almost imperceptible barrier.
The first assailant lunged again, their blade bouncing harmlessly off the barrier. Silver stepped forward, his silver eyes cold and piercing. "Who sent you?"
The attacker hesitated, their confidence faltering under the weight of the king's gaze. But before they could respond, another figure stepped onto the platform—a man clad in dark, weathered leather, his demeanor as sharp as the twin blades strapped to his back.
Coal.
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"Late, as always," Silver remarked, his voice laced with a hint of dry amusement.
"Fashionably late," Coal corrected, his smirk revealing a set of unnervingly perfect teeth. He drew one of his blades, the steel humming faintly with energy. "Figured you'd appreciate the dramatic entrance."
The assailants exchanged uneasy glances, clearly recognizing Coal. His reputation preceded him, even in exile.
"You boys picked the wrong monarch to mess with," Coal said, his tone light but his stance coiled with lethal intent. "Let me guess. Fellmar sent you? Or was it someone closer to home?"
The second attacker snarled and lunged at Coal, their movements wild but deliberate. Coal sidestepped effortlessly, his blade slicing through the air in a graceful arc. The attacker froze, their weapon clattering to the ground as blood seeped from a shallow cut on their arm.
"I'd think twice about trying that again," Coal said, twirling his blade before resting it casually on his shoulder.
Silver watched the scene unfold, his unease tempered by the faintest hint of amusement. "Must you always play with your prey?"
"It's called psychological warfare," Coal replied. "You should try it sometime."
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The third assailant, perhaps emboldened by desperation, charged directly at Silver. Mist, still clutching his wounded shoulder, moved to intercept, but Silver raised a hand to stop him.
"I can handle this," the king said, his tone calm but firm.
As the attacker closed in, Silver extended his hand, and a pulse of energy erupted from his palm. The force sent the assailant stumbling backward, their weapon flying from their grasp. Silver stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he loomed over the fallen figure.
"Tell me who sent you," he demanded, his voice carrying an edge of steel.
The attacker glared up at him, defiance flickering in their eyes. "You wear the Crown, but you'll never hold the loyalty of its people."
Coal snorted. "That's original."
Silver's gaze didn't waver. "You'd rather tear the kingdom apart than see it thrive. I won't allow that."
The attacker spat at his feet, but before they could utter another word, Coal's blade pressed lightly against their throat.
"Careful," Coal said, his tone deceptively casual. "My cousin here might be the forgiving type, but I'm not."
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The remaining assailants, seeing their comrade subdued, hesitated. Coal's presence was like a predator's shadow, a tangible reminder of the danger they faced.
Silver lowered his hand, the energy around him dissipating as he turned to Mist. "Are you all right?"
Mist nodded, though his jaw was tight with pain. "It's a scratch, Majesty."
Coal rolled his eyes. "You've been skewered, Mist. Don't be so dramatic."
Mist shot him a glare. "And you're as insufferable as ever."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Coal replied with a grin.
Silver sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can we focus, please?"
Coal gestured to the subdued attackers. "What do you want to do with them?"
"Interrogate them," Silver said. "Discreetly. If they're connected to Fellmar or anyone else with ties to my parents' death, I want to know."
Coal's smirk faded, replaced by a rare moment of seriousness. "Understood."
__________
The crowd, now cautiously peeking out from their hiding places, erupted into cheers as Silver addressed them once more.
"This kingdom will not fall to fear or treachery," he declared, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him. "Together, we will stand strong against those who seek to divide us."
As the cheers swelled, Coal leaned in, his voice low and teasing. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic."
Silver gave him a sidelong glance. "And you always did have a knack for getting on my nerves."
Coal chuckled, sheathing his blade. "That's what family's for."
_________
Far from the commotion, a golden-haired girl watched from the shadows of a narrow alley, her blue eyes sharp and unyielding. She lingered just long enough to see the king's barrier shimmer and fade before slipping away into the labyrinth of the city.
Her adoptive parents would be furious if they knew she'd come this close to the center of power, but something about the scene had drawn her in. There was a pull, a faint thread of recognition she couldn't quite place.
She disappeared into the crowd, her presence as fleeting as a candle's flame.