Chereads / Legend of Avalon / Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: The birth of a Prince

Legend of Avalon

Alex_Kant_4311
  • 7
    chs / week
  • --
    NOT RATINGS
  • 163
    Views
Synopsis

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: The birth of a Prince

Chapter 1: The Birth of a Prince.

Avalon Calendar, Year 98, Month of Frost, Third Day.

A biting chill gripped the northernmost kingdom of Ava, where the harsh winds of early winter roared across the snow-blanketed plains. The people of Norte—farmers, traders, and soldiers alike—hurried to finish their tasks, the frost making even the simplest chores difficult. Yet, inside the walls of the grand castle of Arcadia, warmth and anticipation filled the air.The royal chambers buzzed with activity. Midwives hurried about, their hands steady despite the urgency of their tasks. Servants whispered prayers under their breath, asking the gods to grant their queen a safe delivery. Outside the chamber doors, the heavy footsteps of armored guards paced nervously, their usual stoicism replaced by an unspoken tension.King Eamon of Norte stood near the grand hearth, his crimson eyes fixed on the thick wooden door that separated him from his wife. He was a man of imposing stature, with a commanding presence that seemed unshakable—except for now. His gloved hands gripped the hilt of his sword, not in preparation for battle, but as a way to anchor himself against his own anxiety. The cries of Queen Celeste echoed faintly from beyond the door, and though he trusted the midwives, he could not quiet the unease gnawing at his chest."Your Majesty, the queen is strong," said Sir Gareth, the captain of the Royal Guard, breaking the tense silence. His voice, steady as a fortress wall, carried the reassurance of a man who had stood by the king through countless trials. "She will prevail, as she always does."King Eamon exhaled, nodding. "I know, Gareth. But hearing her like this—" He paused, glancing at the door again. "It's different. This is my child being born. My legacy."Gareth smiled faintly, the corners of his eyes crinkling beneath his helm. "Then perhaps you should think of the strength that child will inherit. The blood of the Thorne line flows in their veins."The conversation was interrupted by a sharp, piercing cry from within the chambers. Eamon's heart froze for a moment before the sound registered—not Celeste's, but the cry of a newborn. The door opened, and the head midwife stepped out, her face flushed but radiant with relief."Your Majesty," she said, bowing low, "it is done. The queen has delivered a healthy son."Eamon's breath left him in a rush as he pushed past her, striding into the chamber. The warmth of the hearth greeted him first, followed by the sight of Queen Celeste reclining against a mound of silken pillows. Her hair, a cascade of blue that mirrored the color of the summer sky, was damp with sweat, but her expression was serene as she gazed at the bundle in her arms."Eamon," she murmured, her voice soft but steady. "Come and meet him."The king approached, his footsteps uncharacteristically hesitant. Celeste shifted the bundle slightly, revealing the tiny face of their son. His skin was a healthy pink, his hair a fine wisp of blue that matched his mother's. But it was his eyes that caught Eamon's attention—eyes that glimmered faintly crimson, like the first light of dawn breaking through the clouds.Eamon's lips parted in awe. "He has your beauty," he said, brushing a gentle hand over Celeste's cheek. Then, looking back at the baby, he added, "And my fire."Celeste laughed softly. "He is ours, my love. Strong and spirited, like you. Gentle, I hope, like me."The king straightened, a proud smile spreading across his face. He extended his arms, and Celeste carefully placed the child into them. Holding the boy high, Eamon turned toward the grand window, where the snowflakes swirled in the winter wind."Then he shall be known as Alaric of House Thorne," Eamon declared, his voice resonating with a regal authority that carried through the halls. "Welcome to Norte, my son. May the gods bless you with strength and wisdom."Outside, the winds seemed to howl in response, as though Avalon itself acknowledged the birth of a child who would one day change its fate.Later that evening, as the queen rested, Eamon stood in the castle's grand study with Sir Gareth and Master Alistair, the royal advisor. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room's high shelves and maps."You look troubled, Your Majesty," Alistair remarked, setting aside an ancient tome. His long white beard and deep-set eyes gave him the appearance of a man who had seen centuries of history."I am," Eamon admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alaric is a blessing, but he's been born into a world fraught with danger. The demons grow stronger in the north, the Empire to the east expands its borders with every season, and the Republic of Kaz seeks to dominate the continent's economy. What kind of future awaits him?""His future," Gareth said, his voice firm, "is what we shape for him. He will not face these threats alone."Alistair nodded. "Indeed. The boy has a destiny. You've seen it yourself, haven't you? The prophecy of the Hero King—the unifier of Avalon."Eamon's jaw tightened. He had heard the prophecy whispered by seers and scholars alike: a king born under the frost moon, destined to unite the fractured kingdoms of Avalon and vanquish its greatest evil. But prophecies, he knew, were double-edged swords—guiding lights, yes, but also burdens that could break even the strongest."I will not let him shoulder this alone," Eamon said finally. "Alaric will have the best training, the best guidance. He will grow into the leader Avalon needs.""And when the time comes," Gareth added, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, "he will be ready."The king's crimson eyes burned with resolve as he turned back toward the window. Snow continued to fall, blanketing the castle and the city of Arcadia below in a pristine white. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled, its sound deep and resonant.The world of Avalon was vast, beautiful, and dangerous. And within the walls of Norte's castle,a legend had begun.

Avalon Calendar, Year 107, Month of Summer, Twenty-First Day.

Ten years had passed since that winter night. The kingdom of Norte remained a beacon of resilience in the unforgiving northern lands. Eryndor flourished under King Alric's rule, though shadows loomed on the horizon. Tensions with the Empire of Draculn to the east and the Republic of Kaz to the south weighed heavily on the realm.But for young Alaric, the world was still a place of wonder and challenge."Faster!" barked Sir Gregor, the captain of the Royal Guard, his voice carrying across the training yard.The clash of steel echoed as Alaric, now a slender boy with a determined expression, faced off against a seasoned knight. His striking crimson eyes burned with focus, though his stance was shaky."Again!" Sir Gregor ordered, parrying Alaric's strike with ease. "You're telegraphing your moves, Your Highness. Tighten your grip, lower your shoulder."Alaric gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow. He lunged forward, aiming for his opponent's midsection. Sir Gregor sidestepped effortlessly, knocking the wooden sword from the prince's hands."You're dead," the knight said bluntly, resting his blade against Alaric's shoulder.Frustration boiled within the young prince. "I was close that time," he argued, retrieving his sword."Close isn't good enough," Gregor replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "In battle, a single mistake can cost you your life—and the lives of those who follow you."Alaric's gaze dropped, but only for a moment. He straightened his back, his crimson eyes blazing with resolve. "Then I'll practice until I make no mistakes."Sir Gregor allowed a small smile. "That's the spirit. Again."As the sparring session continued, a figure watched from the balcony above. Queen Elenora, her expression serene but her eyes sharp, observed her son's efforts. Beside her stood Prince Cedric, Alaric's elder brother by five years."He's relentless," Cedric remarked, crossing his arms."He takes after your father," Elenora replied with a hint of pride. "But he carries a gentleness within him that will make him a better ruler.""Better than me?" Cedric teased, though there was no malice in his tone.Elenora smiled knowingly. "You have your own strengths, Cedric. Alaric has his path, and you have yours. Together, you will keep Norte strong."Cedric's expression softened as he watched his younger brother pick himself up after yet another defeat.That evening, the royal family dined together in the great hall. The warm glow of chandeliers illuminated the grand stone chamber, adorned with banners bearing the sigil of House Thorne—a crimson phoenix rising from flames.Alaric sat beside his sister, Princess Elira, who was only six years old. She looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes as he recounted his training."You fought Sir Gregor again?" Elira asked, her voice filled with awe."He's impossible to beat," Alaric admitted with a shrug. "But I'll get there.""You will," she said firmly. "You're the best."King Alric chuckled from the head of the table. "Confidence runs deep in our blood, it seems."Elenora leaned forward, her gaze tender. "How are your lessons with Master Orlan? Is he still teaching you diplomacy?"Alaric nodded. "He says I have a knack for strategy, but I still have much to learn. He gave me a book on the alliances of old."Cedric smirked. "Books won't help you when you're face-to-face with a greedy noble or an angry warlord.""They'll help me understand them," Alaric countered, meeting his brother's gaze.The king raised his goblet, silencing further debate. "Both of you have much to offer this kingdom. And one day, you'll each play your part in keeping it safe."As the meal continued, Alaric couldn't shake the feeling that his father's words carried an unspoken weight. The world beyond Norte was growing darker, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it reached their borders.That night, as he lay in bed, the young prince gazed out his window at the stars. His crimson eyes reflected the fire within him—a fire that would one day burn brightly enough to illuminate all of Avalon.For now, it was a spark, waiting to ignite.(Continue...)