The dungeon beneath the castle was cold and damp, heavy with the odor of mold and stagnant water. The torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows. Every sound—each drip of water, every scrape of a boot—seemed amplified in the oppressive silence.
Duke Eravon sat in the farthest cell, unnervingly composed for a man in chains. His dark robes bore streaks of blood from the cut on his cheek, yet his expression remained calm and unreadable.
I stopped in front of the cell, flanked by Gregor and two guards. The Shadowbane Blade hung at my side, its faint hum a reminder of battles past and enemies still to come.
"Comfortable?" I asked, my voice echoing through the narrow corridor.
A faint smile tugged at Eravon's lips. "Hardly, but I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty."
I stepped closer, resting a hand on the hilt of my sword. "Let's skip the pleasantries. You know why I'm here."
"Do I?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I assumed you'd come to gloat."
"You're going to tell me everything," I said, ignoring his jab. "The dark elves, the assassins, the name Kaelrith—what's your connection?"
For a moment, he simply watched me, his gaze uncomfortably piercing. Then he chuckled, a low, humorless sound.
"You really have no idea, do you?" he said. "You wear the crown, you sit on the throne, and yet you're as blind as the day you were born."
My jaw tightened, my grip on my sword firm. "Try me."
Eravon leaned back against the cold stone wall, his chains clinking faintly. "Kaelrith is no mere name, Your Majesty. It is a force. A will. Something that existed long before you or I ever drew breath."
"Stop speaking in riddles," I snapped. "What is it?"
His faint smile returned, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Kaelrith is the shadow that binds us all. The dark elves serve it. I serve it. And soon, you will understand that this kingdom—this world—is little more than a pawn in its game."
A chill ran down my spine, but I refused to let it show. "And where does that leave you? What's your role in all this?"
Eravon's smile widened, a flicker of triumph lighting his face.
"My role," he said softly, his voice venomous, "is to ensure that you fail."
Before I could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. I turned as a guard approached, his face pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing hastily. "There's… there's been an attack."
My stomach clenched. "Where?"
"The western barracks," he replied, his voice trembling. "They came out of nowhere. Dark elves. Dozens of them. The guards are holding them off, but… they're struggling."
Damn it.
I turned back to Eravon, narrowing my eyes. His smile hadn't wavered; if anything, it had grown.
"This is your doing," I growled.
He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. "Whatever makes you think that?"
I didn't wait for an answer. "Gregor, keep him here. Double the guard. If he so much as moves, kill him."
Gregor nodded sharply. "Understood, Your Majesty."
The barracks were chaos incarnate.
Smoke choked the air, and the clang of steel on steel mixed with the cries of the wounded. Guards clashed with dark elves, their blades catching the firelight in vicious arcs.
I drew the Shadowbane Blade, its runes flaring as I dove into the fray. The first dark elf lunged at me, twin daggers aimed for my throat. I sidestepped, parried one blade, and drove my sword through his chest in a single, fluid motion.
Skill Activated: Gluttony.
Power surged through me like a tidal wave, sharp and intoxicating. Strength coursed through my limbs, my movements faster, more precise. I turned on the next attacker, my blade slicing the air with lethal precision.
One by one, the dark elves fell. Each kill sent another rush of energy through me, their skills and fragmented memories becoming mine.
But something felt off.
Even as I fought, a nagging sense of wrongness grew. This was… too easy. The dark elves were skilled, yet their attacks lacked coordination. It felt like a diversion, not a true assault.
Then realization struck.
Eravon's voice echoed in my mind: My role is to ensure that you fail.
"Pull back!" I shouted, cutting through the chaos.
The guards faltered, confusion etched on their faces.
"Fall back to the inner keep!" I barked, my tone leaving no room for hesitation.
As they began to retreat, I turned toward the castle, a cold knot forming in my stomach. This wasn't the real attack. It was a distraction.
The true target was the throne room.
I sprinted through the corridors, the Shadowbane Blade glowing faintly in my hand. The halls were eerily silent, the usual buzz of activity replaced by an oppressive stillness.
When I reached the throne room, the sight before me made my blood run cold.
A circle of dark elves surrounded the throne, their weapons raised, their eyes glowing faintly. At their center stood a figure cloaked in dark robes, their face hidden beneath a hood.
Kaelrith.
I didn't know how I knew, but I did. This wasn't another pawn in Eravon's game. This was the force behind it all.
The figure turned to face me, and though their face remained obscured, I felt the weight of their gaze—a presence that pressed against my very soul.
"Welcome, Your Majesty," they said, their voice a resonant whisper. "We've been waiting for you."