The sun dipped toward the horizon when the alarm sounded across Vyreth's citadel. A horn blared its sharp call, echoing off the ramparts, and guards in dark armor sprang from their posts. Kaelen Veyr—together with Maelis and Telron in his private quarters—rushed to the window.
Below them, in the great plaza, a column of dust rose. Figures broke formation: civilians fleeing, soldiers in disarray, banners of the old Empire trampling the mud.
— What is…? Kaelen whispered.
He seized his sword—its dark blade gleaming with a twilight glow.
— Gather the Guard! he ordered Telron. We move!
They thundered down the wooden stairs and through the crenelated gate. Already the crowd was trapped between the walls and a rising riot: cries of terror.
— They're coming from the northeast!
— Spectral riders!
— By the crown, they bear our own arms!
At the plaza's center, a small group of riders emerged: black-armored, unmarked, their mounts snorting, red eyes gleaming beneath their helms. They charged, unleashing a cloud of shadowy smoke, lances cutting through the ranks and felling men and beasts alike.
Kaelen plunged forward, Maelis and Telron at his flank. The Guard formed a shield wall; swords clashed against lance shafts. A piercing crack rent the air—a miscast fire spell—and the cobblestones cracked open in a black vortex, swallowing an entire cart into nothingness.
— By all the gods, protect the people! Maelis shouted, repelling an attacker.
The riders were not here for plunder: they sought Kaelen. They smelled his presence in the chaos, in the crown he wore. When one spurred his mount directly at him, Kaelen met the charge, sword against lance. Black sparks flew. All eyes turned to him amid the madness, and his calm authority commanded silence and order.
— To me! he roared. Form a ring around the square!
Slowly the Guard gained the upper hand: they pressed the riders back toward the southern gate. Civilians streamed into adjacent alleyways. The specters faltered, their surprise squandered. With a final snarl, they dissolved into fleeing shadows, vanishing as though they'd never been.
When the dust settled, Vyreth stood battered but unbroken. The wounded cried out while others rushed to help, binding wounds with shaking hands. In the center, Kaelen remained motionless, sword point resting on the ground, breath coming fast. His crown glowed with an inscrutable light.
— Sire… Telron murmured. We held them back.
Kaelen inclined his head, still in shock.
— The message is clear: they aim to sow doubt. They weaponize our fears against us. Summon Maelis and prepare a detachment to sweep the outposts. This is not merely defense—it is restoration of trust.
Maelis bowed, face grave.
— Yes, Sire. I will organize it at once.
As she turned to marshal the relief effort, Kaelen remained among the gathered townsfolk, seeking a familiar face. Lys appeared at his side, soot and tears staining her cheeks. She took his hand.
— It could have been worse…
Kaelen shook his head.
— This was only the first strike. They will test us again… and again.
She met his gaze, her own fears mirrored in her clear eyes.
— Who are they?
— Shadows. Agents of the Chamber, most likely. But they cannot strike without logistical support. Someone orchestrates this.
A hush fell. Around them, the last wounded were carried away; shop fronts were barricaded. Kaelen realized how fragile Vyreth's newly rebuilt walls still felt.
---
Later that evening, in the council's lower chamber, Kaelen sat flanked by Maelis, Telron, Lys, and Ceylen. Torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Beyond the doors came the metallic clang of nail and cartwheel.
Kaelen opened the briefing:
— We were attacked at dawn. Masked riders bearing falsified standards terrorized the square with shadow magic.
Ceylen frowned.
— A sophisticated spell. They fought as if they knew every weakness in our defenses.
Maelis nodded.
— There were fewer than twenty of them. Yet their magic gave them the element of surprise. We must address two fronts: the city's security and counter-magic.
Lys, her voice trembling, asked:
— And the Chamber?
Kaelen fixed her with steady eyes.
— Yes. They are responsible. They intend to undermine my legitimacy. We must unmask their architect.
Telron straightened.
— We have a prisoner: a wounded woman in a mask. She mutters in an ancient tongue. The priestesses say it's an exile incantation.
Kaelen nodded.
— Bring her here. I will question her myself.
---
Meanwhile, in Vyreth's forgotten galleries, Ravhen the Northern spy slipped through the darkness, his dark cloak melding with the shadows. He pressed a coded scroll into Ceylen's hand, where the latter waited, a silhouette among silhouettes.
— The prisoner speaks of the "Eye of Shadow," Ravhen whispered. She claims an artifact lost for centuries has been found in Belroth's ruins. It's the source of their magic.
Ceylen's lips curved in a cold smile.
— Belroth… Where Kaelen cemented his rule. They have driven a wedge into his throne.
— And the Eye of Shadow? Ravhen pressed.
— A mirror—no, a crystal. It reflects and imprisons the soul of anyone who gazes into it. An ancient power once sealed away by the Chamber.
Ravhen paled.
— If they've reclaimed it, they could manipulate Kaelen from afar… or shatter his mind.
Ceylen gripped his dagger's hilt.
— We must act. Tonight I ride to Belroth. I will seize the artifact before they can use it.
Ravhen inclined his head in agreement.
---
In the makeshift prison, the masked woman trembled, chained to a stone column. Priestesses chanted to probe her mind as Kaelen entered, hand resting on his sword's pommel.
He removed his own mask and fixed the captive with a steady gaze.
— Who sends you? he demanded.
The woman lifted her head, fevered but with an unsettling calm in her eyes.
— Where light dies, she whispered.
Kaelen's brow furrowed.
— Speak clearly!
— The Eye… it lives. It thirsts. It demands.
She spat blood and fell silent. The priestesses conferred in sacred tongues. Kaelen felt cold sweat trickle down his spine.
— "Where light dies"… what does that mean?
The woman offered no answer. Kaelen turned away, his heart blazing.
---
At the same moment, under a star-scattered sky on the road to Belroth, Ceylen and Ravhen galloped at full speed. Their black cloaks trailed behind them.
— We have only hours before they react, Ceylen said.
— And those spectral riders… they could appear at any moment, Ravhen growled.
Ceylen smiled with grim resolve.
— Then we must be swifter. Gather your best scouts. Our path crosses an old crypt—its secret entrance may lie there.
Ravhen nodded.
— Let's hope the Eye is indeed inside.
A spectral howl split the night. Their horses surged forward, urgency driving them onward.
---
Back in Vyreth, as the moon climbed high, Kaelen patrolled the southern wall, awaiting Ceylen's return. Lys accompanied him in silence; their footsteps echoed on wet stone.
— Do you think he will make it back? she whispered.
— He must, Kaelen replied. If he fails… we all fall.
They scanned the horizon, where torchlights flickered near Belroth like wayward fireflies. Kaelen signaled to Lys, then turned to face the sleeping city.
A hum in the night air. A flicker at the edge of vision. He felt the crown vibrate against his brow—a chill like death racing down his spine.
— They are here… he murmured.
Figures slipped over the ramparts: spectral riders, emerging from nowhere, poised to plunge Vyreth into oblivion.
Kaelen raised his sword, Lys at his side, and charged down the stone path. In the darkness, two destinies were set to collide— the dusk-eyed king defending his realm, and the shadow racing to seize the Eye of Shadow.
To be continued…