The world Achem had found himself in was a kingdom built upon blood and betrayal.
The Kingdom of Eldoria, once a beacon of prosperity, had become a carcass for scavengers. The noble houses, once bound by loyalty to the crown, now feasted upon its remains. Corruption ran deep, and power was the only currency that mattered. The common folk lived in fear, crushed under the weight of oppressive taxes and brutal enforcement. Justice was nothing more than a tool wielded by those in power.
The Council of Lords, a body originally meant to advise the king, had turned into a den of scheming traitors. They whispered in the dark, orchestrating wars, assassinations, and betrayals, all in pursuit of their own ambitions. It was this very council that had orchestrated Rogar's downfall.
King Alistair Valen, the man who had taken the throne in Rogar's absence, was nothing more than a puppet. The true rulers were the nobles who had orchestrated the coup, ensuring that any opposition was crushed before it could rise. Rogar, now Achem, had once been the mightiest warrior and strategist in Eldoria. Yet even he had been undone by politics.
This world was no different from the one he had left behind. Corruption was universal, only here it was more vulgar and savage.
But he would not make the same mistakes again.
Achem stared at Lysara's outstretched hand. The woman's expression remained unreadable, her dark eyes filled with secrets. The memories in his mind painted a conflicting picture of her—a powerful sorceress, a former ally, yet someone who had once betrayed him.
His instincts screamed at him not to trust her.
But what choice did he have?
He grasped her hand, his grip weak but firm. A smirk played on Lysara's lips. "Good choice, Your Majesty."
Before he could react, she uttered an incantation, and a wave of warmth surged through his body. The pain dulled, his senses sharpened, and his muscles regained a fraction of their former strength. It wasn't a full recovery, but it was enough to move.
"We need to go," she said. "They'll find this place soon."
Achem nodded, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself to his feet. Every movement sent jolts of pain through his body, but he forced himself forward. He had been through worse. He had survived worse.
"What's your plan?" he asked as they navigated the ruined corridors of the castle.
"For now? Escape," Lysara said. "After that? Well… I suppose that depends on you."
Achem glanced at her. "You could have left me to die. Why save me?"
She chuckled. "I have my reasons."
That was what worried him the most.
The sound of armored boots echoed in the distance. The enemy was closing in.
Achem clenched his fists. The time for thinking was over.
It was time to fight for his second chance.
The ruins of the castle stretched in every direction, broken towers and shattered walls serving as the only cover against their pursuers. Moonlight filtered through the debris, casting eerie shadows that danced with each step they took.
Lysara led him through the maze of rubble, her movements graceful despite the urgency. Achem followed, his mind racing. He needed to understand the lay of the land, the alliances at play, and most of all, his enemies. If the council had truly overthrown him, then they had resources, armies, and spies. They would not let him escape so easily.
"Where are we going?" he asked between breaths.
"There's a hidden passage beneath the eastern wall," Lysara said, her voice hushed. "If we reach it before they corner us, we might stand a chance."
Achem nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. He had spent years in these halls, had walked through every corridor and chamber—yet he knew nothing of a hidden passage. If Lysara was leading him into a trap, he had no means of escape. His fingers flexed, itching for a weapon.
A loud whistle pierced the night air. The enemy had spotted them.
"Move!" Lysara hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. They sprinted through the debris, boots crunching over loose stone and broken glass. Behind them, torches flared to life, their glow illuminating the ruins.
An arrow whizzed past Achem's head, embedding itself into the ground. More followed, forcing them to take cover behind a collapsed pillar.
"We can't outrun them," Achem said, panting. "We need to fight."
Lysara glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. "You're in no condition for a battle."
Achem's gaze hardened. "I don't intend to die like a rat in a corner."
She sighed, muttering something under her breath. "Fine. But don't slow me down."
With a flick of her wrist, blue flames danced at her fingertips. The air crackled with energy as she prepared a spell. Achem, though weakened, felt adrenaline surge through his veins. He grabbed a fallen sword from the ground—a rusted but still usable blade—and positioned himself beside her.
The first soldier charged toward them, sword raised. Achem sidestepped, using his opponent's momentum against him, and drove his blade into the man's side. The soldier crumpled, gurgling as he fell. Achem ripped the sword free just in time to block another strike, his instincts taking over despite his weakened state.
Lysara unleashed her magic, hurling a wave of fire at the approaching enemies. Screams filled the air as the flames consumed them, their armor glowing red-hot before they collapsed. The heat was unbearable, but Achem pushed through, slicing down another foe before he could retaliate.
The ground trembled beneath them. In the distance, the unmistakable sound of war horns echoed through the ruins.
More were coming.
Achem's vision blurred for a moment as searing pain lanced through his skull. Memories—Rogar's memories—flashed before his eyes. The battles he had fought, the betrayals he had suffered. Faces, names, blood. It was overwhelming. He staggered, gripping his temple, the sheer weight of another life pressing against his own mind.
"Achem!" Lysara's voice cut through the haze, pulling him back. He forced himself to move, pushing past the disorienting visions.
"This way!" she shouted, shoving Achem toward an opening in the wall. He hesitated for only a moment before following her into the darkness.
The tunnel was damp and narrow, the air thick with the scent of earth and decay. They moved swiftly, guided only by the faint glow of Lysara's magic. The sounds of battle faded behind them, but Achem knew this was only the beginning.
As they emerged on the other side, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold night air. They were outside the castle, but far from safe.
Lysara turned to him, her expression unreadable. "We survived. For now."
Achem wiped the blood from his face. "Then let's make sure we keep it that way."
A long road lay ahead. But he had made a vow.
He would not die a fallen king.
He would rise again.