Belzara
1415 Words
Karl’s fingers clenched around the pendant as it began to vibrate violently, its warmth seeping into his skin. A chorus of voices rose in his ears, countless whispers layered upon one another, chanting in languages he could not recognize, yet somehow understood. Before he could pull away, the stone flared with blinding light and dragged him in.
Karl felt himself unravel, as though his soul were being torn from its shell and hurled into the heart of the pendant. The world fractured into visions, too many, too fast.
He saw kingdoms rise in splendor, only to be consumed by flame. Towering cities crumbled as armies clashed below, their battlefields carpeted with the fallen. Demons marched across Celestra like a living tide of darkness, blotting out hope wherever they went. Then came glimpses of the human world; secrets buried in history, truths long forgotten, and flashes of futures that might be, branching endlessly like shattered glass.
The knowledge poured into him without mercy.
Karl clutched his head as his thoughts began to splinter, his mind buckling beneath the impossible weight of it all.
“Stop!” he screamed. “Stop, please!!”
The visions shattered.
Karl gasped as his eyes flew open. He was back in the dungeon cell, sprawled against the cold stone floor, his clothes soaked through with sweat. His lungs burned as he dragged in desperate breaths, as if he had been drowning.
The pendant lay motionless in his hand, its glow fading into nothing.
Karl stared at it, his heart pounding, trying to piece together what he had seen, and why it felt as though the future itself had just brushed against him.
And worse… what role he was meant to play.
****
The Underworld
Belzara strode toward the towering gates of Malachar’s blood-red castle, her feet grinding against the crimson sands. The wasteland screamed around her, violent winds clawed at her long black cape, carrying distant shrieks and the scent of ash, but she did not falter. It was as though the storm itself recoiled from her path.
Far beyond the veil of dust and shadow, shapes shifted.
Blood walkers lingered at the edge of perception, their warped silhouettes melting in and out of the dark. She felt their hollow gazes crawling across her back. None dared approach.
With a single, deliberate push, Belzara forced the massive doors of the castle open.
They groaned like dying beasts.
The throne room swallowed her whole.
Jagged pillars rose like broken fangs, and braziers burned with haunting red hues, casting long, writhing shadows across the obsidian floor. The air was thick, ancient, suffocating, heavy with the residue of countless sacrifices. Every step echoed too long, as if the chamber itself were listening.
She stopped before a vast stone wall dominated by a single painting.
A demon stared back at her.
Six arms stretched outward in silent agony. Two massive horns crowned its skull, the same horns she bore. Its many eyes painted in such detail they seemed wet, almost alive.
“Father…” Belzara called.
She brushed her long silver hair aside, exposing the nape of her neck.
The flesh split open with a soft, sickening sound.
A crimson eyeball emerged, blinking awake.
“Belzara, my child…”
Malachar’s voice did not merely echo, it pressed inward, vibrating through bone and blood alike, as though it were being spoken from inside her skull.
She extended her claws and drove them into her own palm. Dark blood spilled onto the stone, hissing faintly as it struck the floor. The painting ignited in a deep, pulsating red, its glow breathing like a living heart.
“What is it you desire, Father?” she asked, her tone carefully composed.
“My vessel has awakened.”
Belzara’s eyes narrowed. “The human boy… Shall I retrieve him?”
“No.”
The single word rolled through the chamber like distant thunder.
“Not yet. Azareal is yet to complete his mission. The vessel is not ready for my emergence.”
“Then why have you summoned me, Great One?”
“I have another task for you. One that must be completed before the vessel is prepared.”
The eye on her nape swelled, burning as Malachar forced his command directly into her mind.
Belzara gasped.
Tears of blood streamed down her neck, staining her pale skin. Her fingers trembled for just a heartbeat, then steadied. Her eyes flared as she understood, horror and devotion colliding within her.
“I…” she said, bowing her head. “I will not fail you, Father.”
“I expect nothing less…”
Malachar’s presence lingered even as the glow faded, leaving behind a suffocating silence.
Belzara turned and left the throne room.
Outside the castle gates, her son awaited her.
Valdrik.
His presence drew an immediate scowl across her face.
“Why are you here?” she snapped.
Valdrik climbed the steps, forcing himself to meet her gaze as she towered over him. “I bring news, Mother. The bearer of light has been discovered. With your permission, I wish to-”
“No!”
Her shout cracked through the air.
Valdrik recoiled. “But, Mother-”
“Going after the bearer of brilliant light and the Sky Kingdoms is certain death,” Belzara said coldly. “A foolish risk I will not allow you to take.”
Valdrik’s hands curled into fists. “Is it foolish… or is it only foolish because it’s me?”
Belzara turned away, already moving.
“Mother!” Valdrik called after her. “Give me a chance! Let me prove myself, prove that I’m worthy of your respect!”
“You have nothing to prove to me.”
The words were precise.
Final.
They cut deeper than any blade.
Valdrik staggered as if struck.
His voice trembled. “Why do you despise me so much? Why won’t you let me show you what I’m capable of?”
Belzara stopped.
For a moment, the winds seemed to hold their breath.
She did not turn.
“You are not ready,” she said quietly. “That is all.”
A portal tore open before her, its edges screaming with warped light. She stepped through without another glance.
Valdrik was left standing alone beneath Malachar’s shadow.
Slowly, he reached into his coat and withdrew a card, turning it over to reveal three black arrows etched into its surface.
His jaw tightened.
“Let the Creator guide me,” he whispered. “I’ll show you, Mother.”
****
Karl awoke the next morning to the clatter of boots.
He shot to his feet as a prison guard stood waiting at the cell door.
“Move,” the guard ordered.
Karl followed him out of the dungeon and into the open air. Sunlight washed over him, warm and blinding, and he froze for a moment, savoring it. He couldn't believe he could miss daylight this much. Fresh air filled his lungs, and with it came a familiar face.
Olenna's.
She was waiting for him outside, dressed in a black uniform this time. When she saw him, she burst into laughter.
“You look like a rat that crawled out of a gutter!”
“I wonder why,” Karl muttered. “Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten, bathed, or changed my clothes in a day.”
Her smile faded instantly. “Oh.”
Karl glanced around. “Where’s the other guy? The one with the purple hair?”
“Lord Rodric won’t be joining us,” she said quickly. “Busy man.”
“I figured.”
“Great!” Olenna grinned, looping her arm through his and dragging him forward. “I can’t wait to show you around the Citadel! What do you want to see first?!”
“The bathroom,” Karl said without hesitation.
“Hmph! You’re funny.”
“Please,” he added. “Just take me there-”
A sharp sudden pressure fell over him, cold, heavy, and watching.
Karl stiffened and spun around, accidentally pushing Olenna aside.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing around.
Karl’s gaze locked onto a distant tower. A woman with bright orange hair stood there, staring directly at him. She wore white and gold robes, identical to the ones Olenna had worn the day before.
“It’s nothing,” Karl said, forcing himself to turn away. “Let’s go.”
But even as he followed Olenna, he could still feel her eyes on him.
Watching his every move.
- Writer
