THE CURSED KINGDOM OF AMMON

The sun always rose gently over Ammon. From the high cliffs of Gomora to the wide fields of Shiloh, morning light touched everything in gold. The rivers glimmered like molten glass, and the distant bells of the capital, Helem, sang a promise of another peaceful day. The people believed their kingdom was blessed. Farmers worked the soil that never failed them, merchants filled the streets with colors and scents from distant lands, and children ran through the square, chasing one another under the banners of red and silver. Life, in all its ordinary warmth, seemed endless. But every blessing in Ammon had a shadow. The oldest among them spoke of it in whispers – the dark valley beyond the eastern hills, where no birds sang and no crops grew. It was said that something ancient slept there, something that had once loved the light but had been betrayed by it. Most laughed off such tales, but others felt unease when the wind blew from that direction. High above, in the royal castle that stood upon the mountain ridge, the king looked down on his kingdom with quiet pride. King Aiden was not a cruel man. He had ruled with patience, guided by faith in the gods and the counsel of his wife, Queen Sarai. Yet even he, in the stillness of dawn, sometimes felt that same unease. For months, the kingdom’s seers had spoken of strange dreams – of black rain and broken stars, of fire that wept rather than burned. The queen dismissed it as fear from a restless season, but the king had ordered more guards stationed along the borders. Something unseen was stirring. In the marketplace, life went on as always. A young boy named Lysander swept the front of his mother’s stall, muttering under his breath about the unfairness of chores. He had never known a day of war or famine. To him, the kingdom was as eternal as the sky. Yet, as he lifted his gaze toward the horizon, he noticed the faint shimmer of mist rolling down from the hills. It was strange – too early for fog. The air around him grew colder, though the sun was still climbing. He didn’t know it then, but that was the first sign. By nightfall, the wind would carry whispers through every corner of Ammon. The songs of peace would fade. Something forgotten was about to wake – and once it did, the kingdom would never be the same again.