"The reckoning begins," Lyrris declared, her voice booming through the great hall with a force that seemed almost tangible. It was no longer her voice alone but a chorus of voices layered in unison, each carrying an ancient weight. The crimson sky outside cast an eerie glow through the windows, drenching the gathered masses in ominous light.
Silence enveloped the room as every soul turned their gaze toward the glowing figure of Lyrris. Her body radiated an ethereal light, her presence no longer bound by mortal constraints. Even the mighty King Kaelion, who had stood unshaken through countless battles, felt his knees buckle. A great weight pressed upon him, and he knelt, as did all others in the room.
Lyrris's eyes burned with an unnatural light as she continued, her voice reverberating through their very bones. "Listen, people of Eryndral! The judgment has come. Two paths have been forged this day, and two beings rise to walk them. One bears the mark of ruin, the cursed one. His presence shall bring the shadow of despair. Darkness shall follow him like a relentless tide. Pain and destruction shall be his heralds, and chaos his domain."
The room was deathly still. The air grew heavy, as if even breathing was a defiance of the moment. Fear gripped their hearts like a vice, and no one dared to move.
"But," Lyrris continued, her voice softening slightly, a faint glimmer of hope piercing the darkness, "where there is darkness, there shall also be light. The blessed child is born to balance the scales. He shall be a shield for the people, a beacon against the consuming storm. Redemption will flow from his hand, and through him, hope shall rise anew."
A collective sigh escaped the crowd—a momentary reprieve from the suffocating tension. Kaelion realized he had been holding his breath, his chest aching from the strain.
Yet Lyrris's voice cut through their fragile relief like a blade. "And now," she said, her tone sharper and more commanding than before, "a choice lies before you. Will you ignore the shadows, let them fester and grow? Or will you rise to meet them, to confront the storm and shape your destiny? Decide, for the reckoning spares none."
As the final word fell from her lips, the glow that surrounded Lyrris began to fade. The light dimmed until only her mortal form remained. Her body swayed, her strength seemingly drained by the revelation she had delivered. Finally, she collapsed, and Tharic rushed to catch her, steadying her trembling frame.
The hall remained silent, the echoes of her words reverberating long after she had fallen. Confusion and dread painted the faces of those gathered, but no one dared to speak. All eyes turned to King Kaelion, who stood motionless, his face a mask of unease.
For deep in his heart, he knew what the others did not—these were not new words to him. He had heard them once before, whispered in the darkest recesses of his mind, and their meaning had haunted him ever since.
"My king, there is something you must see," Ronan said, his voice steady but urgent. Kaelion nodded, leaving the confused crowd behind as they followed the maid who had brought the message from the queen.
When they arrived at the royal chambers, Kaelion saw his baby for the first time. The child lay silent and still in the cradle, not making a sound. Joy filled Kaelion's heart as he embraced Aradelle, his queen, before moving to pick up the child. Tears welled in his eyes as he held his baby for the first time.
But the joy on his face quickly shifted to fear. His hand brushed against the baby's arm, and he felt a mark—like a burn. He turned the baby slightly to see it better. Strange symbols were etched into the skin, a language unfamiliar and unnerving.
"Get Lyrris here immediately," the king commanded, his voice sharp.
Moments later, Lyrris entered the room, bowing low before the king.
"Lyrris," Kaelion said, his voice filled with urgency, "can you interpret this? What is this strange sign?"
Lyrris stepped closer, her gaze softening as she gently touched the burn. A deep sadness filled her eyes as she said, "I've seen this before, my king."
Her words hung in the air, causing everyone to freeze. She added quietly, "It is the mark I saw in my vision."
The room went silent, her revelation shocking everyone present.
Kaelion, his expression tense, broke the silence. "Lyrris, if this is the mark of the blessed child, what does the mark of the cursed one look like? And how do we find it?"
Lyrris stood frozen, her face pale. She stared at the prince, horror written in her eyes, but said nothing.
"Lyrris! Lyrris!" Kaelion called, his voice rising in desperation.
Ronan stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Your majesty, if I may speak, the people are waiting. They are growing restless."
Kaelion took a deep breath, his expression softening only slightly. "Fine," he said. "Let's dismiss everyone. We'll have time to discuss this later."
With that, he made his way to the outer chambers. Pushing through the curtains, Kaelion stood before the anxious crowd once more, their murmurs ceasing as silence fell upon the hall.
"People of Eryndral," Kaelion began, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him. "Fear not. I assure you that this empire—this kingdom, built by the blood and sweat of my fathers—will not fall under my reign. I will do everything in my power to protect your homes, your children, your parents, and Eryndral, along with the six nations of Erythoria. I beseech you, return to your homes and rest assured—things will be brought under control."
The crowd remained motionless, their silence as heavy as the crimson sky looming above. Finally, a trembling voice broke the stillness.
"What will happen to us, Your Highness?"
"What of the crimson skies? What dangers might they bring?"
"Where is the savior?"
"What will happen to our homes?"
One voice became two, then three, until a wave of fear and confusion swept through the masses. Their cries grew louder, their questions more frantic. Kaelion's attempts to calm them faltered under the weight of their panic.
Desperate to restore order, he made a decision that would haunt him forever. "The savior is here!" he proclaimed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "He bears the mark revealed in Lyrris's vision. Your savior is your prince!"
The crowd fell silent, their shock palpable as they absorbed the king's declaration. Slowly, realization dawned upon them, and cheers erupted, spreading like wildfire through the square.
"Come, Lyrris," Kaelion said, his voice filled with excitement. "Come before the people and bring them the good news."
"Your Majesty," Lyrris began hesitantly, "there is something I must discuss with you first."
"No, Lyrris," Kaelion interrupted, his face alight with hope. "Say it to the people. They are eager—they can't wait." Turning to the crowd, he raised his hand, calling for silence. "Go, Lyrris. Tell them of their hero, their savior—the crown prince!"
Lyrris hesitated, her expression torn, before stepping forward. Her voice was steady but heavy with foreboding as she addressed the crowd.
"Today, a hero was born," she began. "One who possesses the mark."
Kaelion beamed, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. But Lyrris continued, her tone darkening.
"But..." she said, pausing, letting the tension build. "The mark on the prince..." Another pause. "Is the mark of the cursed."
A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Kaelion's smile vanished, replaced by disbelief. The mighty king, who had weathered countless battles, stumbled and fell to his knees, his generals rushing to support him.
"It doesn't make sense," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Why? Why me? Why my son?" Tears welled in his eyes, and the proud warrior-king wept openly.
"Kill the prince!" a bold voice cried from the crowd.
Kaelion's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. "Who dares say that?! Show yourself, and I shall have you beheaded! Come forth!"
"You promised to do anything to keep us safe," another voice shouted. "A king must keep his word. Kill the cursed child. Kill the prince!"
The cry spread like wildfire, and soon the crowd was chanting in unison. "Kill the cursed child! Kill the cursed child!"
Kaelion stared at the crowd, his people—the same people who had just cheered his son moments ago—now calling for his death. He fell silent, his heart breaking under the weight of their fear-driven demands.
In the end, we are all slaves to our fears. We may fight many battles, but the fiercest is always within ourselves. The heart, after all, is a treacherous thing.
Kaelion lowered his head, pressing it to the ground, praying that this was nothing more than a terrible dream. Finally, he stood, his movements heavy, and retreated to his chambers with his generals, leaving the panicked crowd behind to await his decision.
Ronan arrived an hour later, his commanding presence immediately silencing the restless crowd. In a loud, steady voice, he addressed them.
"People of Eryndral, hear me. The king, as sworn, holds the kingdom and its people as his most precious treasures. After careful consideration and upon the request of the people, his majesty has made his decision. The prince, bearing the mark, is to be executed."
A wave of cheers erupted from the crowd. Yet, amidst the jubilation, there were murmurs of pity for the newborn prince, whose only crime was existing.
Ronan continued, his voice unwavering. "The king has also decreed that this execution shall not be a spectacle. It will be carried out privately by his majesty himself, to honor the dignity of the royal family."
Though some hesitated, the crowd ultimately accepted this condition, their relief outweighing their reluctance. Ronan disappeared back into the palace.
Moments later, a tiny, piercing cry echoed through the halls, followed by the anguished wails of Queen Aradelle and the maids. The sound rippled through the gathering like a cold wind, silencing all murmurs.
When Ronan reemerged, his expression was grave. A bloodstained knife hung from his hand, its dark crimson hue glinting ominously in the sunlight. He approached Draven, the mage, who stepped forward with an air of solemn authority.
Draven took the blade, closed his eyes, and murmured an incantation under his breath. When he opened them, his gaze was steady. "This blood," he declared, his voice ringing out, "is indeed the blood of the newborn prince."
A collective sigh of relief swept through the crowd. Some wept openly, others embraced one another, and many looked to the heavens as if seeking a sign.
As if in answer, the crimson sky that had loomed ominously for days began to clear. Rays of sunlight broke through, bathing Eryndral in a golden glow. The people took this as a divine confirmation: the cursed child was no more, and the prophecy had been averted.
Slowly, they dispersed, their hearts lighter after the emotional storm. Praises for the king filled the air as they left, grateful for his sacrifice and courage. Though the events of the day weighed heavily on their minds, they were relieved to believe that the kingdom was safe once more.
But within the palace walls, shadows lingered, and not all was as it seemed.