The scent of ash and blood hung thick over Caelvaris and smoke coiled into a bruised sky. From atop the ancient walls, Aelric Draythar surveyed the chaos below, his sharp gaze steady. His fingers rested on the cold stone battlement, a subtle tension in his posture, but his gloved hands showed no tremor. At fourteen, he was younger than most who bore the weight of a crown—but no less resolute.
Beyond the walls, enemy forces swarmed like a dark tide, their war cries melding into a single, terrifying roar. Siege towers crept forward. The ground trembled with each distant crash of their battering rams assaulting the city gates.
"Your Majesty," a voice called hesitantly.
Aelric turned to find Captain Roderic standing a few paces away, helmet tucked under his arm. Deep lines etched the veteran soldier's face, and his eyes darted between Aelric and the turmoil below.
"Captain," Aelric said, his voice even but firm. "What is it?"
"Orders, sire?" Roderic asked, though uncertainty laced his tone.
Aelric turned back to the battlefield. His mind worked swiftly, analyzing the enemy's movements. "Concentrate our archers along the west wall," he said decisively. "Their siege engines are advancing in tight formation there. A well-placed volley of flaming arrows could ignite their structures and scatter their troops."
Roderic hesitated, then cleared his throat. "With respect, Your Majesty, Lord Valoric has already ordered the archers to the eastern battlements."
Aelric's jaw tightened. Of course. The men deferred to Lord Corval Valoric, the seasoned war hero, not to a boy who had never held a sword in true battle. But he refused to let frustration take root. "And yet the eastern forces are advancing cautiously," he replied. "They test us. The west is where they strike in earnest."
Before Roderic could respond, a commanding voice rang out from the stairwell.
"Hold your positions, men! Let no one falter!"
Lord Corval Valoric emerged, a towering figure clad in battle-scarred armor. His presence was a gale-force wind, commanding attention with every step. The soldiers stiffened, their faces sharpening with renewed vigor as the veteran strode forward.
"Captain Roderic," Corval barked, "double the guard at the north gate. Reinforcements will arrive within the hour."
"At once, my lord." Roderic bowed and hurried off.
Aelric stepped forward. "Lord Valoric," he said, his voice firm, "the west wall needs immediate reinforcement. Their siege engines—"
"Your Majesty," Corval interrupted, his tone formal but unyielding, "the west is a distraction. Their true force lies in the east."
Aelric met his gaze without flinching. "A distraction is most dangerous when ignored. If we cripple their siege engines now, we can delay their advance and buy time for reinforcements."
Corval's expression tightened. For a moment, the air between them grew taut. "The men trust me to lead them to victory, Your Majesty," Corval said finally. His tone softened, but only just. "And they look to you for inspiration. Focus on giving them hope. Leave the battle plans to those with experience."
Without waiting for a response, Corval turned to direct another group of soldiers. Aelric watched him go, his lips pressing into a thin line. The man was revered as a hero, but his confidence teetered on arrogance—a flaw Aelric vowed to address in time. For now, he had to act with care.
"You're wasting your breath," came a sharp voice behind him.
Aelric turned to see Selene approaching, her raven hair pulled back tightly, her leather armor streaked with soot and blood. Twin swords hung at her hips, and her eyes, dark as storm clouds, bore into him with exasperation.
"I'm doing my duty," Aelric said firmly. "They'll listen eventually."
Selene snorted. "They'll listen when you stop sounding like a child trying to play at war."
Aelric's jaw tightened, but his reply was measured. "I'm not playing, Selene. This is my responsibility."
"And you think yelling orders no one will follow is fulfilling that responsibility?" she shot back. Her voice carried the same bite as her swords, honed and unapologetic. "The men don't see a king, Aelric. Just a boy drowning in his father's crown."
He met her gaze without flinching. "If they see a boy, it's because they refuse to look closer. I am a Draythar—our blood commands respect."
"Blood?" she said coldly. "No. respect is earned, and I've earned mine by spilling blood. It doesn't matter if they dislike me, or think I'm too young, or a girl, or whatever excuse they come up with. I give orders like they're carved in stone, and they obey because they know I'll cut down anyone who doesn't."
She turned on her heel, calling out to a group of soldiers. "You three, with me. Southern gate. Move!"
The men obeyed instantly, their deference to her cutting Aelric more deeply than her words. She paused at the edge of the stairwell, her back still to him.
"Here's a truth for you, little brother," she said, her voice quieter now but no less sharp. "A king's words should shape the world. Yours don't even make it past your chambers."
And then she was gone.
**********
Winding through the castle's shadowed corridors, Aelric moved with purpose. Servants carrying supplies averted their eyes as he passed, their faces drawn with fear. He didn't fault them; the weight of the siege bore down on everyone.
The towering doors of the Hall of Ascension loomed before him. Aelric hesitated, then pushed them open. The groan of the doors echoed into the chamber, where marble columns rose like sentinels. The faces of Draythar ancestors stared down at him, their stone visages imperious and eternal.
What would you have done? he wondered, his gaze lingering on the tapestry of their lineage. Each golden thread wove a tale of triumphs and conquests. Yet those same threads revealed gaps—centuries of failure.
He approached the central dais where the Crown of Conquest rested. Crafted from dark steel and set with blood-red garnets, the crown radiated an unspoken power. He stared at it, his thoughts drifting to the stories he'd heard as a child.
The crown was said to have been forged when their dynasty united Aurelen. Each jewel was an homage from the most powerful clans to the first Draythar king. Rumors whispered that it carried the wisdom of the ancestors—a wellspring of knowledge for those deemed worthy.
He lifted the Crown of Conquest, feeling its weight. "I accept the responsibility that comes with this," he declared into the silence. "I will restore our legacy."
Its weight surprised him, the cool metal biting into his palms. Without hesitation, he placed it upon his head.
Silence. The air seemed to hold its breath. He closed his eyes, half expecting... something—a surge of wisdom, a connection to his ancestors, a sign.
Nothing.
He opened his eyes, a bitter smile forming. "Foolish," he muttered.
The torches dimmed, their flames flickering wildly before extinguishing completely. The darkness pressed in, sudden and absolute. Aelric staggered, his breaths quickening. The hall seemed to shift beneath him, the solid ground dissolving into vertigo.
"What's happening?" he gasped, his voice lost in the rising roar of wind. He reached out blindly, his hands grasping at nothing, and then—
Silence.
The ground beneath him was firm again, though no longer cold stone. Aelric opened his eyes slowly. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wet soil. The horizon stretched out in every direction, blanketed by jagged cliffs and dense, shadowed forests.
He took a slow step forward, his boots crunching on gravel. The faint echo of his movements felt unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. A low growl broke the stillness, freezing him in place.
His hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword. He turned his head sharply, scanning the darkened forest. Movement flickered at the edge of his vision—something low, fast, and impossibly quiet. Aelric's pulse quickened, but he refused to panic. His father's voice echoed in his mind: A king stands firm, even when the world collapses around him.
Another growl came, this time closer. A pair of yellow eyes appeared in the shadows ahead, glinting with a feral intelligence. Then another set, and another. His breath caught as the creatures emerged from the underbrush. They moved like wolves, but their bodies were larger, leaner, their fur bristling with coarse, dark spikes. Their elongated jaws were filled with jagged teeth, and their movements carried a predatory grace that sent a chill through his blood.
Aelric did not know what these creatures were, but their intent was clear. They stalked forward, circling him like vultures awaiting a feast. He drew his sword, the blade catching a glimmer of the fading light.
"Come on, then," he said, his voice low but steady. His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his weapon. Despite the fear twisting in his gut, he kept his stance firm. He might have been young, inexperienced, and untested, but he was no coward.
*****
A/N:
Hello, dear readers!
Thank you for giving this story a chance and diving into the first chapter. Writing this has been an incredible journey, and I can't wait to share it with you. Expect adventure, mystery, and perhaps a few surprises along the way. Every comment, review, and bit of support keeps me motivated to continue bringing this world to life.
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