The King's Curse

Chapter Eight

The journey took them to the heart of the Eldrith kingdom—what was once a thriving city now lay in ruin, its towers shattered, its streets empty. The only signs of life were the echoes of long-forgotten whispers, the wind carrying tales of what had been.

As they made their way through the desolate streets, Kael felt the crown’s presence like never before. It was as if the very kingdom was calling to him, urging him to claim it. But Kael didn’t listen. Instead, he focused on the task at hand.

They had learned of a group that still sought the crown—the Reborn, a faction of loyalists who had sworn to restore Eldrith to its former glory. But they were not the only ones. Kael could feel the eyes of those who would destroy the kingdom for their own gain, too. They would stop at nothing to claim the crown.

It wasn’t long before they encountered the Reborn.

A band of men and women, their faces worn and battle-scarred, met them at the edge of the ruined city. The leader, a tall woman with silver hair and eyes like burning coals, stepped forward.

“You’re the one who wears the crown,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “We’ve waited for you.”

Kael didn’t step back. “I’m not here to rule. I’m here to protect.”

The leader’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Then you’re already a king. You just don’t know it yet.”

A cold wind swept through the city as a figure appeared in the distance. It was a man, draped in black, his eyes burning with a hatred that could only come from years of ambition. He was the last of the enemies who had sought the crown—the one who had promised to take everything from Kael.

The man’s voice echoed through the streets as he approached. “The crown was never yours to claim, boy. It belongs to me.”

Kael stood firm. “It belongs to no one,” he said, his voice steady. “Not to you. Not to me. It’s a burden, a curse. And I’m done running from it.”

The man sneered, his hand reaching for a dark, twisted blade. “Then you will die with it.”

But before Kael could respond, the dragon—his dragon—soared from the sky, its wings spreading wide as it landed between Kael and the enemy. Its eyes glowed like molten gold, its power radiating through the air.

The Reborn moved forward, drawing their weapons, but Kael raised a hand. “No more violence,” he said, his voice commanding.

The dragon growled, low and warning, but it didn’t move.

The enemy, seeing the dragon’s power, faltered, but his ambition burned too bright. He lunged toward Kael, but before he could strike, Lyra, swift as ever, leaped forward. With a single, precise motion, she drove one of her daggers deep into his chest. The man gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief, before collapsing to the ground.

Kael’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, everything was still. Then, slowly, the dragon lowered its head in respect.

The battle was over.