Chapter.8
1443 Words
The sky over Aethred had changed.
Not merely overcast.
Not an ordinary storm.
But a pitch–black shroud crawling across Aethred’s dimension.
Clouds twisted like ancient beasts waking from their slumber.
Lightning no longer struck as a warning—it roared, shaking the land as if it meant to crack the kingdom’s bones in half.
Inside the grand throne room, Emperor William stood frozen.
His black royal robe, lined with gold, felt unbearably heavy—as if a curse clung to his shoulders.
“Aethred has never been like this,” he whispered, voice nearly swallowed by the thunder. “What is happening…?”
He stepped toward the tall window.
The city below looked small—people were running, clutching their children, searching for shelter.
The sky never lied.
If it turned black, it could only mean one thing:
A catastrophic event was coming.
“Bring her to me,” William ordered sharply. “Quickly. The witch—summon her now!”
Seconds felt like years slipping through his fingers.
Not long after, a woman cloaked in black entered the throne hall.
Her waist–length blonde hair shimmered like pale fire.
William instantly fell to his knees before her.
The woman’s figure was slender, elegant, unnervingly calm.
Her violet eyes gleamed with the cold rage of someone who had held hatred for far too long.
“William. Stand,” she commanded.
She outranked him—clearly.
The fact that the ruler of Aethred humbled himself before her was proof enough.
William rose stiffly.
“Your face already tells me everything,” she said, voice flat, uncompromising. “Hide that expression before your people see it and decide to toss you under a bridge.”
William exhaled, choosing not to react to her insult.
He pointed toward the sky.
“What happened? Why has Aethred’s sky turned black?”
The witch smirked.
“Arthur has awakened.”
It was not good news.
Not for her.
She hated him more than anyone.
The words detonated in William’s mind.
“That’s impossible. How? He died a thousand years ago—”
“And now time circles back, Emperor William,” she cut him off.
Her eyes glittered dangerously.
“For reasons I do not yet know, Arthur has returned. And mark this: he will come back to Aethred.
Hatred does not fade.
Not his.
Not mine.”
William blanched.
“If he returns… he’ll kill me. Take my throne. He’ll destroy everything.”
“Calm yourself,” the witch said, walking toward the vast window of Aethred’s palace. “Here is the good news: he hasn’t regained his true form. Kick his skeleton apart before he finds you. For now… Arthur can be killed.”
William frowned.
“You’re certain?”
This was a once-in-a-millennium chance. He couldn’t afford mistakes.
“How do I destroy him?”
Arthur, the War General, the man whose strength rivaled the heavens—who once surpassed even the angels.
“I’ve already sent Leo.
He is with Arthur and Aurora right now.
Before Arthur’s body returns to its human form… Leo will finish the job.”
Slowly, the tension eased from William’s shoulders.
He sank into his throne again, spine straightening with renewed pride.
“Do it. Do not fail.”
The witch’s cold smile returned.
“This opportunity comes once every thousand years. I won’t waste it.”
---
Far across the world, between jagged cliffs and a fog that moved like restless spirits, there lay the abyss that served as Arthur’s grave.
And from that darkness…
A living skeleton with burning red eyes stepped forward, his rage fermenting over a thousand years.
Xander stood his ground.
Sacred light rippled from his body.
His sword trembled—not out of fear, but as if the weapon itself recognized a foe that did not belong in this world.
“Arthur…” Aurora whispered, voice cracking.
She stepped back half a pace, but her resolve did not waver.
“What are you—”
Arthur growled.
“You let him touch you.”
“He saved me!” Aurora shouted.
“He pulled me from death itself—while you… you only came to demand.”
With a roar, Arthur attacked.
His movements were stormlike—bones cracking, hatred burning in his eyes.
Xander’s blade met the onslaught, pushing the ancient legend back.
“So this is him?” Arthur hissed, glaring at Xander with poisonous jealousy. “The winged man who stole my wife?”
“She was never yours,” Xander shot back. “If you ever thought she was, you’re far more foolish than I imagined.”
Arthur laughed—dry, bitter, wounded.
“And who are you supposed to be?”
Xander scoffed, spitting on the ground.
“I’m Xander. And Aurora is my wife.
We were married in a world you no longer recognize.”
Arthur’s red eyes flickered—stunned, fractured.
But only for a heartbeat.
“Then I’ll burn you.”
Xander drove his sword into the ground.
Lightning exploded from the blade—ripping through the air, tearing at Arthur’s skeletal form.
But Arthur did not move.
He lifted a bony hand—black fire spilled from his fingers, clinging to Xander’s body like devouring shadows.
Xander screamed, thrown back, scorched.
But Aurora, sobbing, ran forward—her body dissolving into petals that spiraled around Arthur like a storm of color.
“Stop!” Aurora cried.
“I don’t want to hurt you… But I won’t let you hurt anyone!”
Arthur halted, clicking his tongue.
“I won’t harm my former wife.”
Xander lay on the ground, a deep open wound across his back—yet miraculously, the torn flesh began to knit itself back together.
Blood vanished. Skin closed.
As if he had never been struck.
“You…” Arthur murmured.
“You healed him?”
Aurora stared at her glowing hands, stunned.
“I didn’t even realize…”
Jealousy erupted again in Arthur’s chest.
“So now you want to play savior to my enemy?”
“You’re not my enemy, Arthur,” Aurora said softly. “But you’re no longer the man you were.”
Before Arthur could respond, noise rose beyond the fog—
Footsteps.
Metal armor.
Voices speaking in the harsh tongue of the lower dimension.
“They’re searching for her,” one whispered.
“The second Queen Victoria… the girl with the healing power. We must capture her before her body fully awakens.”
Arthur instantly lifted his arm.
A transparent barrier enveloped the three of them.
Sound faded.
Time thickened like honey.
Xander frowned.
“What is this? Lower–dimension creatures… in the upper realm? There are more than twenty of them.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Do not leave.”
“I’ll deal with them.”
“No.”
Arthur placed a hand on Xander’s shoulder—and Xander froze.
He couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak.
Aurora stepped closer, nervous.
“What did you do?”
“Protection,” Arthur said simply.
“For you. For us.”
Silence pressed in.
Fog circled like curtains closing around a stage.
“You said you and I were emperor and empress once?” Aurora asked quietly.
Arthur’s gaze softened—pained, longing.
“In Norelia.
We were inseparable.”
“And… do you want that back?”
“Of course.”
He extended a hand.
“Come with me.
We will reclaim everything.”
Aurora snorted.
“I’m not going anywhere… with an ugly skeleton like you.”
Arthur froze.
Offended.
Xander snorted a laugh.
“Unbelievable,” Arthur hissed.
He stepped forward—but Aurora shoved a hand between them.
“Enough! We’re all exhausted.”
Arthur inhaled—an empty, ancient sound.
“I was once the most handsome man in all of Norelia.”
Xander raised a brow.
“There is no Kingdom of Norelia. Only the Norelia dimension.”
Arthur turned his skull slowly.
“You’re right.
And that kingdom… was Aethred.
I will restore its true name.
After a thousand years of slumber… I will take back my throne.”
Xander chuckled darkly.
“I’ve met many madmen.
But never a senile skeleton who loves his own fairy tales.”
Aurora stared into Arthur’s glowing eyes.
“And after you take everything back… what then?
What will you do in that body?”
Arthur fell silent.
There was something he wasn’t saying—something buried deep beneath his crimson glow.
He needed blood.
Her blood.
And he knew…
In the end…
Aurora would have to choose—
Even though she still didn’t know who she really was.
- Writer
