The Kingdom in Turmoil
Velkran was a kingdom born from the ashes of Arnak. A land of towering spires and cities where ancient power hummed beneath the surface, it now stood at the apex of dominance in the world. But beneath
its gilded towers, a storm was brewing—a storm no one could foresee.
It had been a week since Leorion Von Lionheart, the second prince of Velkran, had been taken. The royal family, led by King Cassius Von Lionheart, was in turmoil, and the kingdom's once-unshakable peace was hanging by a thread.
The Palace in Chaos
The royal palace stood silent, its grand halls echoing with the absence of the second prince. His brothers, Caius Von Lionheart and Galen Von Lionheart had locked themselves away in the inner chambers,
speaking only to their closest advisors. The kingdom had not seen such a fracture in its royal bloodline in centuries.
Inside the palace's council chamber, Lord Mordran, the kingdom's most trusted advisor, paced. His graying hair and sharp eyes betrayed his age, but there was no wisdom in his gaze now, only
unease. He was a man whose thoughts were constantly on the edge, always calculating, always watching.
"Have you found him?" King Cassius asked, his voice calm and steady but with a weight that held the room in silence.
Lord Mordran hesitated before responding. "No, my King. We have searched every corner of the kingdom. But… there are whispers. Whispers that suggest it is no mere abduction. It is a message—one we have yet to understand."
Cassius's eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed slightly. His voice remained calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "A message?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The enemy… they know our weaknesses. They want us to know they are watching." Lord Mordran's voice was grave. "And they want to remind us that even the blood of a Lionheart is not invincible."
King Cassius stood still, his posture unwavering as he stared out the grand windows that overlooked the kingdom. His mind remained calm, but his thoughts churned with controlled fury.
The kingdom was an empire of legacy and strength, built upon the foundation set long before him by the Lionheart family. He had not created this kingdom; he had only continued its dominance.
Yet now, with his son gone, there was a threat to that very legacy, and the implications were far-reaching.
He turned back to face the council chamber, his gaze sweeping across the room. Every word he spoke carried the weight of his lineage. "We will find him. We will uncover the truth behind this.
And we will show those who challenge the Lionheart name that their efforts are nothing more than the sparks before a fire."
His voice was soft, but the impact of his words lingered in the room, seeping into the hearts of all who heard them. "Prepare yourselves. This will not go unanswered."
Before anyone could respond, a tall figure entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. Commander Alina Drakestone, clad in dark iron armor, her face partially obscured by a black hood,
approached with a steady pace. Her reputation as the kingdom's fiercest tactician and warrior had earned her a feared place within Velkran's ranks.
"My King," she began, her voice steady yet filled with a sense of urgency. "We have new intelligence."
King Cassius turned to face her, his expression still calm but now with an intensity in his gaze. "Speak, Commander."
Alina straightened, her gaze unwavering. "It appears we have a lead on who might be behind the prince's abduction. A rogue faction calling themselves The Silent Dawn has been spotted near
the northern border of the kingdom. They are well-organized and armed with technology and dark magic beyond anything we've seen before. We believe they are responsible for the kidnapping."
The room fell silent as the implications of her words sank in. The Silent Dawn. A faction is so elusive and secretive that most believed them to be nothing more than a myth. But now, they were
real, and they had dared to strike at the heart of the Lionheart family.
"Why have they targeted our son?" Cassius asked, his voice even, though his fury was evident beneath his composed exterior.
"We do not yet know, Your Majesty," Alina replied. "But one thing is certain—their actions speak of something much larger than a mere ransom. It seems they are sending a message, just as Lord Mordran suggested."
King Cassius's eyes darkened. He stepped closer to the council table, his presence dominating the room. "Very well. We will meet this threat head-on. No one dares challenge the Lionheart bloodline."
Alina gave a sharp nod, understanding the weight of the King's words. "We'll be ready, my King. We will find the prince, and we will put an end to this threat."
"Prepare our forces," King Cassius said, his voice low but commanding. "And bring me the head of this Silent Dawn. Their message will be answered in kind."
The room erupted in a flurry of activity as the royal advisors and commanders took their orders. But amidst the urgency, one thing was clear: Velkran would not bend, nor would the Lionheart
family falter. The storm had arrived, and it would be met with the full force of the kingdom.
The Kidnapping: A Flashback
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth as Leorion Von Lionheart traveled along the narrow road that wound through the dense forest. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale glow
on the carriage and its lone occupant. The prince sat in the plush interior, staring out the window at the dark expanse of the world beyond.
His thoughts wandered, his gaze distant. He had not seen his mother's family for years, and this trip was supposed to be a simple, quiet visit.
Leorion had never been considered a great warrior like his brothers, Caius and Galen. He had always been regarded as the family's "failure," a prince who had not inherited the prodigious
talents of his bloodline. His presence in Velkran had always been more of an afterthought, and even within the royal family, he was often dismissed as
irrelevant. He had little purpose in the kingdom's grand plans.
But here, on the road to his mother's family estate, he could escape the whispers and the expectations, if only for a little while.
The journey had been uneventful, and Leorion found himself lost in the quiet rhythm of the carriage as it rolled along the road.
The clatter of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones was the only sound that filled the air. His guards—an elite unit sent by
the king—rode ahead and behind, their sharp eyes ever-watchful, ensuring their charge's safety.
It was then that the silence was broken.
A sudden, piercing sound echoed through the night—an arrow slicing through the air. The glowing shaft of the arrow
gleamed eerily in the moonlight as it shot past the carriage and embedded itself into the wooden frame with a soft thud.
Leorion's heart skipped a beat. He had no time to react before the second arrow followed, narrowly missing him as
it passed by the open window. His guards were on alert in an instant, but Leorion could see the confusion and fear in their eyes. They were out of their element.
Before he could draw his sword, the entire convoy was thrown into chaos. Figures, shrouded in dark cloaks and armed with
strange weapons, appeared from the shadows of the forest, surrounding the carriage in mere seconds. Their faces were hidden, their movements swift and calculated, as if they had planned this ambush for months.
The prince's bodyguards drew their weapons, ready to fight, but the attackers were too numerous. Leorion watched in horror
as his men were cut down one by one, their blood staining the road as the shadows of the forest swallowed them whole.
"Protect the prince!" one of the guards screamed, his voice cut short by the sharp clang of steel meeting flesh.
Leorion, in a panic, scrambled to open the door and flee, but before he could even move, a hand gripped his shoulder,
yanking him back into the carriage. The cold steel of a blade pressed against his throat as he was dragged from the vehicle by a cloaked figure.
The prince struggled, but the grip was unyielding. His captor was strong, his movements fluid and practiced, and within moments,
Leorion found himself on the ground, his back pressed into the cold earth beneath him. The figure loomed over him, the blade flashing in the moonlight.
"You are the second prince of Velkran," the figure said, his voice low and gravelly. "But you are no longer a prince. You are nothing more than a message."
Leorion's eyes widened in terror. He had no idea who these people were or what they wanted, but one thing was clear—they were not
ordinary bandits. Their precision, their coldness—it was the work of an organized faction, one with a purpose far beyond simple robbery.
His thoughts raced as he struggled to his feet, but the attacker kicked him back to the ground, his face hidden by a dark hood. The prince's heart
pounded in his chest. He could hear the sound of his guards' final stand fading into the distance as the attackers pressed forward.
"Who are you?" Leorion gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
The man tilted his head, and though Leorion couldn't see his face, the coldness in his voice was unmistakable. "We are The Silent Dawn. And if you are asking why we doing this then in every story, a sacrifice is needed. Lucky you, you get to play your part in ours."
Before Leorion could respond, a sharp blow to the back of his head sent him tumbling into unconsciousness. The world around him blurred, the sound of
the night replaced by the pounding of his heartbeat. As his vision faded, the last thing he saw was the dark silhouette of his captor vanishing into the shadows.
The PrisonThe cell was a cruel mockery of sanctuary. Cold stone walls pressed in on all sides, their surfaces slick with moisture. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the metallic scent of blood and rust. Chains bound Leorion's wrists and ankles, their cold bite a constant reminder of his captivity.
He sat slumped against the wall, his breathing steady despite the weight of his predicament. The room offered nothing but shadows and silence, yet it was in this void that Leorion's mind began to churn.
His captors had been methodical. They had stripped him of his weapons, his sigils, and any means of escape. Yet they had not killed him. That fact gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. He was not a hostage in the conventional sense—no demands had been made, no ransom sought. Whatever their purpose, it was larger than him.
The sound of distant footsteps broke the silence, their echo growing louder as they approached. The iron door creaked open, and two figures entered. They bore no insignias, their faces obscured by masks that betrayed neither expression nor intent.
One of them carried a tray of food, which they placed on the floor without a word. The other remained by the door, their hand resting on the hilt of a blade.
"Why?" Leorion's voice was hoarse but steady. He met their gaze, or at least where their gaze should have been. "Why keep me alive?"
Neither responded. The figure by the door turned and left without a sound, the other following close behind. The door slammed shut, plunging the cell back into darkness.
Leorion leaned his head back against the wall, his mind racing. He replayed the ambush over and over, searching for a clue, a fragment of understanding. These were no ordinary bandits. Their precision, their silence—it spoke of an organization with purpose and discipline. But to what end?
The shadows in the cell seemed to deepen, pressing in around him. Leorion closed his eyes, drawing on the only strength he had left: his resolve. He would not succumb to despair. Whoever had taken him—whatever their purpose—they would regret leaving him alive.
Unbeknownst to his captors, the Lionheart bloodline carried more than just royal heritage. And though Leorion had been dismissed as the family's failure, he knew that even a dim ember could ignite a wildfire given the right spark.
For now, he waited, his mind sharp, his anger smoldering beneath the surface. This was not the end of his story. It was merely the beginning of a reckoning.