Chapter 1: The Death of a Dynasty
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The skies over Alderia were restless, a mirror of the uneasy undercurrents in the kingdom. Dark clouds churned above the capital, casting ominous shadows over the sprawling Royal Palace. A low, threatening rumble echoed in the distance, as though the heavens themselves were preparing to witness the end of an era.
Within the palace walls, King Hoshen Zorath sat slumped on his ornate throne. His emerald eyes, once sharp and commanding, were now dulled by years of ceaseless responsibility. The air around him was heavy, charged with an invisible power—his power, the last vestiges of the bloodline's ancient gift that pulsed faintly within his veins.
Hoshen's lineage was no ordinary one. The Zevrak Dynasty ruled not just by mortal strength, but by the supernatural might of their blood. Each member of the royal family was born with unique abilities, manifestations of a power that had secured their place on the Throne of Thrones for centuries. Hoshen himself had once wielded the ability to manipulate the essence of life, healing mortal wounds and rejuvenating the weary. But age had stolen much from him, leaving only echoes of his former glory.
Now, as he gazed into the flickering flames of the chamber's torches, a sense of foreboding gripped him.
"Father."
The voice was soft but firm, breaking through his reverie. Hoshen turned to see Prince Rhael, his eldest son and heir to the throne. Rhael stood tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair tied back, and his piercing green eyes a mirror of his father's youth. Rhael's power was strength incarnate—his blows could shatter stone, his strides covered impossible distances.
"Rhael," Hoshen said, his voice weary but warm. "Have you come to ease an old man's mind, or to remind me of my shortcomings?"
"Neither," Rhael replied, his expression unusually somber. "There are whispers, Father. Whispers of treachery."
Hoshen sighed. "Treachery is the air we breathe in court. Have you any proof, or are we chasing shadows again?"
Rhael hesitated. "Not proof, but… unease. Something stirs, something unnatural."
Before Hoshen could respond, the doors to the throne room burst open, and a young woman strode in. Princess Liora, the third-born, her crimson hair catching the light like flames. Her ability was as fiery as her appearance—she could conjure and control fire, a power both revered and feared.
"Father," she said, her tone clipped. "The guards found a body in the western gardens. One of our spies, throat slit. Whoever did this left no trace."
Hoshen frowned deeply, the weight of her words sinking in. "Bring the council together. If there is an assassin within these walls, we must act swiftly."
But before any action could be taken, the palace bells rang out—a discordant, mournful sound that froze everyone in place. The bell of mourning, signaling a death within the royal family.
"Who?" Hoshen whispered, his voice cracking.
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The assassin moved like a wraith through the palace, his presence veiled by an unnatural stillness. Clad in black, his movements were precise, calculated. He seemed immune to the protections that should have guarded the royal family.
The first to fall was Prince Kael, the fifth-born. Kael's power was the ability to walk unseen, to blend into the shadows as though he were one with them. Yet even his gift could not save him. The assassin found him in his chambers, and with a single thrust of his blade, Kael crumpled to the floor, his blood pooling beneath him.
Next was Princess Anira, the youngest of the eleven. Anira was said to have the most potent power of them all— a voice that could compel obedience from even the strongest wills. She tried to use her gift against the intruder, but the assassin's mind was a fortress. The silver-masked figure advanced, Anira's screams cut short by a flash of steel.
One by one, the heirs fell. Each death was methodical, swift, and unerring. The assassin seemed to anticipate their powers, countering them effortlessly. It was as though he was intimately familiar with the Zevrak bloodline.
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As the storm outside reached its peak, Hoshen stood in the throne room, his hand clutching the royal seal. The air around him crackled with energy as he summoned the remnants of his power. He could feel the life forces of his remaining children flickering, one by one, like candles in a gale.
The doors to the throne room opened, and the assassin stepped inside. His silver mask gleamed in the torchlight, a stark contrast to the blackness that surrounded them.
"You," Hoshen said, his voice trembling with fury. "You dare strike at the heart of the dynasty? Who sent you? Who commands your blade?"
The assassin said nothing. He raised his weapon—a blade unlike any other, forged from a dark, pulsing metal that seemed to drink the light around it.
Hoshen raised his hand, and a surge of energy erupted from his palm. The throne room was bathed in green light as he unleashed his life force, the last remnants of his strength. But the assassin moved with impossible speed, dodging the attack and closing the distance between them.
The blade pierced Hoshen's chest, and he staggered back, his vision blurring. As he fell to his knees, he saw the assassin's eyes—cold, calculating, and unrelenting.
"Who are you?" Hoshen rasped, blood spilling from his lips.
The assassin knelt before him, their voice low and devoid of emotion. "The end of your line. And the beginning of a new line. A line of new power and prowess , one that will create honour better than yours."
Hoshen eyes began to close slowly as he saw his last . His throne was being taken away from him and now his throne would be left to scavengers and ruthless greedy generals of the empire .
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When dawn broke over Alderia, the palace was a tomb. The bodies of the royal family lay scattered throughout its halls, their blood staining the marble floors. Servants and guards alike were struck dumb with horror, their grief overshadowed by the growing fear of what this meant for the kingdom.
The Zevrak Dynasty was gone.
But in the shadows, far from the palace, whispers began to spread. Whispers of a power greater than any known. Whispers of a new force rising to claim the Throne of Thrones.