Blades of the fallen king

Blades of the Fallen King Episode 1 – Ashes of a Fallen Crown --- The bells of Aerath tolled like thunder. Kaelen stood in the grand hall, his hands trembling as he clutched the sword that had belonged to his father. His chest felt hollow, as though someone had carved out his heart and left only the echo of grief. The banners of the fallen king, once proud and gleaming, now hung heavy in mourning black. His father — King Alden of Aerath — lay on the bier of stone, draped in crimson cloth. Slain not by an enemy on the battlefield, but by poison at his own table. Kaelen’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the sword hilt. He wanted to scream, to demand justice, to strike down the cowards who dared plot against the crown. But around him stood only silence — and eyes watching him. The Regent, Lady Selwyn, stood tall near the throne, her jeweled gown glittering as though she celebrated rather than mourned. Her painted lips curved in the faintest smile when she saw Kaelen’s fury. She knows, Kaelen thought bitterly. She knows who killed him. Perhaps she even ordered it. But he was powerless. At barely twenty, with no army loyal to him and no allies he could trust, he was a lamb surrounded by wolves. When the ceremony ended, Kaelen slipped away, grief gnawing at his bones. He could not bear the stench of false mourning any longer. His father’s kingdom was slipping through his fingers, and he was too weak to stop it. He barely noticed when a hooded servant brushed past him in the corridor. He would have thought nothing of it—until the man’s hand darted too quickly for a servant, drawing a thin dagger from his sleeve. Kaelen turned just as the blade flashed for his throat. Instinct saved him. He raised his father’s sword, knocking the dagger aside. The clang of steel echoed. The servant’s eyes narrowed with hate. “Traitor’s whelp,” the man hissed. “Your line ends tonight.” Before Kaelen could reply, more shadows moved in the hall. Two, three, five—masked figures, armed and silent, stepping from the corners. His blood ran cold. This was no random strike. This was a purge. Kaelen ran. His boots hammered the marble floor as shouts rang out behind him. He burst into the night air of Aerath’s gardens, the moonlight casting pale silver across the roses and fountains. Steel scraped against stone as his pursuers followed. He sprinted through the hedge maze, branches slashing his arms, his breath burning. He had trained with the sword, yes, but he was no warrior. Not against assassins who killed without hesitation. One caught up, lunging from the shadows. Kaelen turned and swung wildly, the weight of his father’s sword dragging his arm. The blade nicked the assassin’s shoulder, but not enough to stop him. The man laughed, raising his dagger— An arrow whistled from the trees. It struck the assassin through the eye. Kaelen stumbled back as the body collapsed. His gaze shot upward. And there she was. A figure dropped from the branches like a hawk, landing lightly on the grass. A cloak of midnight green rippled around her, and beneath it gleamed twin daggers etched with faintly glowing runes. Her long hair, pale as moonlight, caught the breeze. Her pointed ears marked her for what she was—an elf. Kaelen froze. Elves had not walked the halls of Aerath for decades, not since the war that had driven them into exile. His father had called them dangerous, untrustworthy. And yet, here one stood, eyes like cold emerald fire fixed on him. She didn’t spare him more than a glance before moving, her daggers flashing. The assassins barely had time to react before she cut through them, swift and merciless. Blood sprayed across the grass as bodies fell. Kaelen could only watch in shock. Within moments, silence returned. The elf cleaned her blade with a strip of cloth, then turned her gaze to him. “You’re the prince,” she said flatly. Her voice was low, carrying no warmth, only certainty. Kaelen tightened his grip on his sword. “And you’re… an exile.” A shadow of something — pain, anger — flickered across her face, but she masked it quickly. “They want you dead,” she said, nodding toward the corpses. “If you wish to survive, you’ll follow me.” Kaelen stiffened. Every instinct told him not to trust her. His father had called elves deceivers. His court had outlawed them from Aerath’s walls. And yet, she had saved his life where his own guards had failed. “Why?” he demanded. “Why would an elf risk herself for me?” For a moment, her expression hardened. Then she replied, her tone edged with bitterness: “Because your enemies are my enemies. And because once, long ago, I trusted a human prince. He died because I wasn’t there to protect him.” Kaelen swallowed, unable to answer. Before he could speak again, more shouts echoed through the night. Torches blazed at the garden gates — soldiers, dozens of them, their armor gleaming as they poured into the grounds. “They’ve sent the guard,” Kaelen said, relief flooding him. But the elf’s expression darkened. “Fool. Those aren’t here to protect you. They’re here to finish what the assassins couldn’t.” Kaelen’s relief curdled into dread. The soldiers raised their shields, their captain pointing straight at him. “By order of the Regent, seize the traitor prince! Kill the elf!” The elf drew her daggers again, stepping in front of him. “Stay close. If you fall behind, you die.” The clash was brutal. The soldiers came in waves, shields locking, swords gleaming. The elf cut through them like a phantom, her blades dancing arcs of silver. She moved too quickly to follow, each strike precise and lethal. Kaelen fought too, though clumsy and desperate. His father’s sword felt heavy, but adrenaline kept him swinging. He blocked a blade, stumbled, slashed another man’s arm. His lungs burned, but rage kept him upright. Still, the enemy pressed harder. Steel rang, torches shattered, and the garden became a battlefield of fire and blood. “Behind you!” the elf barked. Kaelen turned just in time to parry a thrust that would have ended him. His arms trembled, his body screamed for rest, but he refused to fall. At last, the captain himself stepped forward, towering with a greatsword in hand. His scarred face twisted with hate as he roared: “For the Regent!” The elf met him head-on, blades sparking against his steel. Kaelen, barely standing, joined her, swinging wildly at any soldier who tried to flank. It was chaos. The battle seemed endless—until suddenly, horns blared in the distance. The soldiers froze, exchanging wary glances. Reinforcements? Scouts? Something had spooked them. The captain cursed, then barked the retreat. “Fall back! We’ll finish this another night!” And just like that, the soldiers melted into the darkness, dragging their wounded, leaving only corpses and silence behind. Kaelen collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, blood soaking his clothes—though he realized most of it wasn’t his own. He stared at the elf, who stood over him, her expression unreadable. “You should be dead already,” she said coldly. “Yet I’m not,” Kaelen panted. “Thanks to you.” Her gaze sharpened, as though she didn’t like hearing it. She turned, wiping her blades. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t save you for your sake.” “Then why?” he demanded, forcing himself to stand. She looked back at him, her eyes dark with old scars. “Because if you die tonight, Aerath falls to the Regent forever. And I cannot let her rule—not after what she’s done.” Kaelen stared at her, realization dawning. “You hate her too.” Elara — for that was her name, though she had not spoken it yet — turned away. Her cloak swirled in the moonlight as she walked toward the trees. “Follow me, prince,” she said without looking back. “Or stay and wait for the next blade in the dark. Your choice.” Kaelen hesitated only a moment. Then, clutching his father’s sword, he stepped after her. The forest swallowed them both. Far behind, in the palace of Aerath, Lady Selwyn lifted a cup of wine, smiling as her captain knelt before her. “The boy escaped,” the captain muttered, bowing his bloody head. Selwyn’s smile only widened. “Let him run. The world beyond these walls is a hunting ground—and I always get what belongs to me.” The firelight gleamed in her eyes, cold and merciless. --- To be continued… Next Episode: Prince and Outcast — a fragile alliance begins, but enemies are already closing in.