As Kalen's footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of the palace, he could feel the storm gathering outside. Dawn had yet to break; the night hung over the sky like a shroud of pitch-black fabric. But the true darkness was not in the heavens—it gathered within his mind, thick and suffocating. With each step, the ancient book in his satchel seemed to grow heavier, as though an invisible hand pressed down on his shoulders.
The palace gates creaked open, and as Kalen stepped out, the cool morning air struck his face like a cold warning. He took a deep breath, but even that fresh air failed to bring him peace. Instead, it carried an unfamiliar unease, wrapping around him like unseen chains.
His horse stood ready. Silently, Kalen mounted the saddle with a deliberate grace, his every movement weighed down by thought. Behind him, the soldiers and Caelum finished their preparations, awaiting his command to follow. Yet Kalen's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. Somewhere, beyond the line where earth met sky, something waited.
And then, the voice returned.
"Son of Leonidas…"
Kalen flinched. His head turned slowly, scanning the empty courtyard. No one was there. Yet the voice was undeniable, resonating deep within his mind, like a whisper meant only for him.
He tightened his grip on the reins.
The book.
The old, dusty tome buried in his satchel… was whispering again.
"You hear me, don't you?"
Kalen's heartbeat quickened. He muttered a silent curse under his breath, but the book paid no heed. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.
"You will pay for your father's sins."
The weight of those words pressed against him, but Kalen resisted the urge to reach for the book. Its power wasn't limited to mere knowledge. No—this cursed object knew the cracks in its wielder's armor. It sought to seep into his mind, to claim his fears, his doubts.
But Kalen refused to yield.
With a swift kick, he spurred his horse forward. The sharp sound of hooves striking stone shattered the morning silence, and the procession began. Caelum and the soldiers followed closely, yet Kalen felt utterly alone.
By the second day of their journey, they had reached the forest.
The dense canopy of trees above blocked out the sun, plunging the path into a perpetual twilight. Shadows twisted and writhed among the branches, and the air grew thick with an oppressive stillness.
Caelum broke the silence, his voice hushed but tense.
"Majesty… does something feel wrong in this forest?"
Kalen listened carefully. The usual chorus of birdsong was absent. Even the rustling of leaves was muted, as though the forest itself held its breath.
"The sounds…" Caelum continued. "There were once birds here. But now…"
Before he could finish, a figure appeared on the path ahead.
Kalen reined in his horse, his eyes narrowing as he studied the shape in the distance.
At first, it seemed human. But as it stepped closer, reality twisted. Its limbs were unnaturally long and thin, its form carved from the very darkness that surrounded it. Most unnerving of all was the lack of a head—it was a body without a face.
"Draw your swords," Kalen ordered, his voice low and commanding.
The soldiers hesitated, their unease palpable. The figure drew nearer, soundless, gliding through the shadows like a phantom born from the night itself.
And then, the voice returned.
"Son of Leonidas…"
The soldiers gripped their swords tighter, their knuckles whitening with fear. But Kalen remained steady, his expression unreadable.
"I've heard you before," he said, his voice calm and measured.
"And you will hear me again."
The figure stepped fully into view, emerging from the forest's embrace. It had no face, yet Kalen felt its gaze upon him—two unseen eyes boring into his very soul.
Caelum whispered, his voice trembling. "Majesty… what is that?"
Kalen didn't answer. Instead, he dismounted, stepping toward the figure without fear.
"What do you want?"
For a moment, the figure remained silent. Then, in a voice deep and resonant, it spoke.
"I am the shadow of Ardyn."
That name sent a shiver down Kalen's spine. He had heard it before, whispered in fear by the miners who escaped the cursed depths of the southern mines.
"Every shadow has a master," the creature continued. "And shadows grow stronger in the dark."
Kalen's hand moved instinctively to his sword.
The figure took a step closer, unbothered by the threat.
"I am not your true enemy, Kalen. Your war lies elsewhere. But remember… the whispers will never stop."
Kalen's mind was once again consumed by the book's voice.
"They are waiting for me…"
The shadowy figure began to retreat, melting back into the forest as silently as it had appeared.
The oppressive silence returned, broken only by the rustling of leaves as a breeze stirred through the trees.
Caelum exhaled sharply, as though releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "What… what did we just see, Majesty?"
Kalen swung back into his saddle; his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
"A warning."
Caelum frowned. "What does it mean?"
Kalen's eyes remained locked on the horizon, where the forest shadows grew thicker, darker.
"It means the darkness has only just begun."
As their journey continued, Kalen's thoughts were plagued by the relentless whispers from the book. The voice burrowed into his mind, its words dripping with temptation.
"Son of Leonidas… You hear me. You know my power. Embrace it."
The same question repeated in Kalen's mind: Was this book the key to ultimate power, or the curse that would doom his kingdom?
No answer came. But one thing was clear—when they reached the southern mines, he would face not just Kragnar's rebellion, but something far more sinister.
And still, the book whispered.
"Kalen… do you not wish to be more than a king?"
"Kalen… the darkness is waiting for you."