Chapter 2: Shadows of the Crown
The news of the murder spread like wildfire across the kingdom of Eldrin. The capital, Aelthor, was abuzz with whispers in the taverns, markets, and even the royal corridors. "The friend of Prince Deymos is dead," they murmured. "Murdered by a recruit during the final selection."
The citizens were torn between fear and curiosity. They knew Prince Deymos to be ruthless, a man who wielded power like a weapon and mercy like a forgotten relic. To strike at someone close to him, even accidentally, was a death sentence. The kingdom's soldiers roamed the streets, silencing those who spoke too loudly, but the tension was uncontainable.
Meanwhile, in the royal courtroom, Shank knelt before the throne, his blue eyes burning with desperation. Blood from the training grounds still stained his hands, though the act had been unintentional. The hulking figure of King Aldred loomed above him, his crown glinting in the torchlight. His expression was impassive, unreadable. Beside him stood Deymos, his son, his face a mask of malice as he leaned casually on his ornate sword.
"Your Majesty," Shank pleaded, his voice trembling. "It was an accident. Ozi didn't mean to kill him—it was the heat of the fight, nothing more. Spare us, please. We trained for this day our whole lives. We only wanted to serve the kingdom!"
King Aldred's cold gaze did not waver. His silence was deafening.
"Father," Deymos finally spoke, his voice smooth but dripping with venom, "accidents do not excuse disrespect. He was *my* friend, and their carelessness took him from me. A punishment must be severe, or your crown risks appearing weak."
Aldred turned to his son, his thick brows furrowing. "What would you have me do, Deymos? Execution?"
"No," Deymos replied, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "That would be too kind. Let them rot in the Black Cells for five years. Strip them of their dreams, their dignity, their families."
Shank flinched at the word *families*, but Aldred nodded, his judgment sealed. "So be it. Guards, take them away."
That night, Shank and Ozi were shackled in chains, awaiting their transfer to the Black Cells—a dungeon infamous for its darkness and despair. Both young men sat in silence, their dreams shattered, their futures stolen.
But their punishment had only just begun.
As the moonlight poured through the barred windows of the holding room, the heavy iron doors creaked open. In walked Prince Deymos, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow of death. Behind him were ten royal guards, dragging several figures bound and gagged.
Shank's breath caught in his throat. His heart shattered into pieces as he recognized the faces. His mother, father, younger sister Ella, and baby brother Laris. Ozi's family was there too—his aging father, his kind-hearted mother, and his two-year-old brother, Malen, who whimpered softly.
"No… no… please, not them!" Shank screamed, tears streaming down his face as he lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the chains.
Deymos stepped forward, unsheathing his sword with a deliberate slowness. "Do you know what happens when someone dares to defy me? Their bloodline ends. Here and now."
"No! They're innocent!" Ozi shouted, thrashing against his bindings. "Kill me instead! Please, don't hurt them!"
Deymos ignored him. He gestured to one of his guards, who grabbed Malen, the toddler, and held him up by one arm. The child's cries echoed in the chamber.
"Please," Ozi sobbed, his voice breaking. "He's just a baby. Let him go!"
With a sinister smile, Deymos plunged his sword into Malen's small chest, twisting it as the child's wails turned into silence. Blood dripped onto the stone floor.
"NO!" Ozi's scream was primal, filled with anguish that reverberated through the room.
Deymos turned to Ozi's mother next. Her sobs filled the air as she was dragged to the center of the room. The prince's guards restrained her as Deymos approached. He ran his fingers through her hair mockingly before striking her across the face.
"You raised a murderer," he spat, and then, in the most grotesque display of cruelty, he ripped her dignity away before Ozi's eyes. Shank turned his face away, trembling, as the chamber filled with her screams and Ozi's despairing cries.
When it was over, Deymos decapitated her without hesitation, letting her head roll to the ground.
"Why are you doing this?" Shank sobbed, his voice hoarse. "They've done nothing to you!"
Deymos turned to him, his smile chilling. "Because I want you to remember this night. Every breath you take in that prison will be filled with the memory of what I took from you. And when you finally die, you'll thank me for the release."
The slaughter continued. Shank's father, a proud man who had always supported his son's dreams, was dragged forward. He spat in Deymos's face, refusing to beg for mercy. Deymos laughed as he slit the man's throat. Shank's mother and little sister came next, their cries cutting through the air as Deymos's sword claimed them.
By the time it was over, the room was silent, save for the ragged breaths of Shank and Ozi, who lay slumped in their chains, broken.
Deymos wiped his blade clean and turned to leave, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Take them to the Black Cells," he ordered his guards. "Let them live with this for the rest of their miserable lives."
As they were dragged away into the night, Shank and Ozi no longer felt like the same young men who had dreamed of becoming soldiers. Their hearts were hollow, their souls shattered. They had lost everything—their families, their dreams, their will to live.
The kingdom of Eldrin was no longer a place of opportunity and honor. It was a nightmare, ruled by a man who would stop at nothing to maintain his power.
As the heavy doors of the Black Cells closed behind them, Shank swore an oath in the darkness. "I will kill him," he whispered, his voice trembling with fury. "If it takes my last breath, I will end Deymos."
Beside him, Ozi said nothing. His silence spoke louder than any words ever could.