Download Chereads APP
Chereads App StoreGoogle Play
Chereads

When Is The Time To Publish A

A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

There is a sense for greatness. Some people carry it around like a bad smell. They make us stop on the street, and look their way, whether we wish to or not. Their appearance might be ordinary, but there’s something about them, something beyond the norm. Something that makes you almost wish to bend the knee to them. Our kings have likely had that something, those that came from nothing but ashes and ruin, in times of trouble and famine, where the hearts of the masses are restless, and they need a cause to bind to. What makes them choose one man over another? It is my contention that there is a true gravity to such individuals. That progress, or competence, or greatness itself carries a weight. That a man might grow greater in the dark, and whether he wishes it or not, by the sheer gravity of his existence, tigers will make their way towards his door, catching his scent in the wind. The tigers hide themselves in the forests, in villages unknown, amongst the peasantry, but sooner or later, it does seem, that they are always cast into the light. It requires an immense effort of will to keep them hidden. A man of such a gravity will see themselves risen, without will, to ranks beyond that of the norm – in times of peace, they might rise high indeed. But in times of chaos? When the world is in upheaval, when every piece in up in the air? Then a tiger from the most lowly of starts, with a competency – a density – beyond belief, as if they were a different creature entirely – they might go all the way. They might be the creature that – though a peasant themselves – the peasantry themselves kneel to. They might go further, and make the soldiery kneel, and then even the nobles after them. And a special class, beyond all others, might go even further still, and snatch a crown the head of a king, on a flurry of brilliant victories, on a story so overwhelming it almost might have seemed preordained. It is those men that we ought to fear, and it those men that we will eternally be at the mercy of. It is those men that we do the honour of addressing as our kings, and our emperors.
Nick_Alderson · 1.3M Views

When The Sun Bleeds

The sky wept in crimson. A deep, unnatural red bled across the heavens, drowning Velmoria’s golden sunrise in an eerie, suffocating glow. The air was thick with an unshakable stillness, as if the world itself held its breath. Crowds gathered in the city streets, heads tilted upward in fearful awe at the sight of the blood-red eclipse—a celestial event unseen in Velmoria’s long history. In the heart of the empire, within the grand halls of the Imperial Palace, the echoes of a woman’s anguished cries shattered the silence. The Empress was in labor. Nobles and servants alike stood frozen in the corridors, their hands clenched in prayer, their faces pale with worry. For hours, her screams had filled the palace, each one weaker than the last. The royal physicians worked desperately, but the Empress—Velmoria’s radiant star, beloved by all—was fading. And then, silence. The heavy stillness that followed was more terrifying than her screams. A single cry pierced the air—the wail of a newborn. The moment the child took his first breath, the doors to the birthing chamber burst open, and a cloaked figure stumbled forward—an old seer, his eyes wide with horror. He raised a trembling hand toward the heavens, his voice cracking like brittle parchment. "The sun has bled to mark his birth!" he cried. "He will be the harbinger of ruin—the flames that will consume Velmoria!" His voice carried through the halls, past the nobles, past the gathered guards—out into the city, where the terrified people turned their eyes away from the red eclipse and toward the palace. A prince had been born. A cursed prince.
Aurelius_Vesper · 2.9K Views
Related Topics
More