The King's Curse

The Cursed Crown

The air smells different here, damp, heavy with the scent of earth, and thick with ancient secrets that seem to whisper to me from the shadows. I’ve spent years chasing this—this crown, this relic of Eldrith, the kingdom swallowed by time and forgotten by history. My father’s voice haunts me: Find the crown, Kael. Do not let history repeat itself.

I don’t know what I expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t this—these ruins, the remnants of a power long past. The moonlight dances on the crumbling stone walls, casting long, eerie shadows. The banners that once marked this place as a seat of kings now hang like tattered memories, swaying softly in the breeze.

I take a deep breath, clutching my sword as I step forward, my boots crunching against the stone. The path is treacherous, the ruin of Eldrith a silent reminder of what happens when power corrupts. Beside me, Lyra moves like a shadow, her eyes scanning every corner, every c***k in the stone. I can feel it too—something ancient, something dark, lingering in the air.

I’ve come for the crown, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to leave with it—or if it will leave with me.

The air smelled of damp earth and ancient secrets as I stepped into the ruins of Eldrith Keep. The moon cast a ghostly glow over the crumbling stone walls, the once-proud banners now little more than tattered memories swaying in the night breeze. I tightened my grip on my sword, the weight of my father’s words pressing heavily on my shoulders.

Find the crown, Kael. Do not let history repeat itself.

I knew the legends well. Eldrith Keep had been the heart of a powerful kingdom until the Curse of Veyra had wiped its rulers from existence. The crown, said to be infused with magic strong enough to command armies and bend time itself, had vanished with the last king’s dying breath. Now, after centuries of silence, whispers of the crown’s return had reached the ears of those who would kill to possess it.

I took a cautious step forward, my boots crunching against loose stones. Shadows flickered in the torchlight as my companion, Lyra, moved beside me. The rogue’s keen eyes darted around the ruins, her fingers tracing the daggers at her belt.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" she murmured.

I nodded. There was something wrong about this place. It was too quiet, the air too still. The ruins were supposed to be abandoned, yet every breath felt like it carried unseen eyes watching from the darkness.

"We need to find the crypt before—"

A distant howl cut through the silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel clashing against steel. I exchanged a glance with Lyra before we broke into a sprint.

We reached the heart of the keep in moments. The grand hall lay in ruins, its once-polished marble floor now fractured and overgrown with ivy. At the center of the chamber, half-buried beneath fallen stone and time itself, stood a grand obsidian door marked with runes glowing faintly in the moonlight.

"The crypt," I whispered. "It has to be."

Lyra traced her fingers over the runes, eyes narrowing. "Old magic. Blood-sealed."

I didn’t hesitate. I drew my dagger and sliced my palm, letting a drop of blood fall onto the runes. A deep rumble shook the ground as the door shuddered and slowly creaked open. The scent of decay and something older, something dark, wafted from within.

Lyra wrinkled her nose. "Lovely."

We stepped inside, torches flickering as we descended a spiraling stone staircase. The deeper we went, the colder the air became, as if the crypt itself had never known the warmth of life.

At last, we entered a vast chamber lined with towering statues of forgotten kings. And there, resting atop a pedestal of black marble, was the crown.

It was beautiful. Twisted silver and obsidian, its surface etched with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. I felt my breath hitch. I knew this was why I had come, yet now that I stood before it, doubt crept into my mind.

"Kael," Lyra said cautiously. "Something’s not right."

Before I could respond, the chamber trembled. The statues groaned, dust cascading from their stone shoulders as one by one, their hollow eyes came alive with an eerie blue glow.

Then they moved.

"It’s a test!" I shouted, drawing my sword as the first of the stone guardians stepped forward, its massive blade cutting through the air.

Lyra cursed and dodged to the side, her daggers flashing. "If this is a test, I hate to see the punishment!"

I barely managed to parry a strike that sent vibrations up my arm. The guardian was slow but relentless. I needed a plan. My gaze flickered to the crown. If the legends were true, its power could stop this.

With a desperate lunge, I grabbed the crown and placed it on my head.

A shockwave of energy erupted from the pedestal, sending the guardians crashing to the ground. The chamber pulsed with light, and suddenly, I wasn’t in the crypt anymore. I was standing in a grand throne room, filled with faceless figures clad in gold.

A voice echoed in my mind. You have claimed the Cursed Crown. Will you be its master—or its pawn?

I swallowed hard. I had found the crown, but at what cost?

The vision shattered, and I was back in the crypt. The statues lay still, the air heavy with silence. Lyra stared at me, eyes wide. "Kael… what did you do?"

I felt the weight of the crown settle on my head like shackles. I didn’t know the answer.

But I feared I would soon find out.