The Fall Of Velharr
The city of Velharr was dying.
Smoke clawed its way into the bruised sky, choking out the last traces of sunlight. The scent of burning timber and scorched earth filled the air, a sickening perfume that promised only death and ruin. Flames devoured the stone walls of the palace, turning centuries of legacy into dust and ash.
Standing atop the shattered steps, amidst the wreckage of his family’s home, Tyler Ashenborn stared into the inferno with cold, unblinking eyes. His cloak hung torn, dust and blood smudged across his skin. His fingers gripped the hilt of a broken sword — once the symbol of his father’s reign, now a jagged reminder of all that had been lost.
Velharr was his birthright. Now, it was a graveyard.
“The throne is mine,” Tyler whispered, voice low but fierce, “and I will have it back.”
But the crown was no longer a prize waiting to be claimed — it was a battlefield stained with betrayal.
Only hours earlier, his world had shattered. The trusted houses of the kingdom had turned against his family, aligning with dark powers and foreign armies. The betrayal came like a dagger in the night, swift and merciless. His father, King Aric Ashenborn, was dead. His brother, Darian, was missing—likely captured or worse.
Tyler’s mind raced as the distant sounds of marching armies echoed through the burning streets.
Suddenly, a sharp noise behind him snapped his attention. From the shadows stepped a figure — a dagger glinting cold in their hand, eyes wild with desperation.
Before Tyler could react, the blade was aimed for his heart.
Reflex took over. With a swift twist, he caught the attacker’s wrist, twisting the dagger away. The fight was fierce but brief. Tyler’s broken sword crushed the would-be assassin’s side, sending them sprawling into the rubble.
“Traitor,” Tyler hissed, his breath ragged but his resolve steel.
The assassin coughed, snarling. “The throne belongs to those with power, Ashenborn. You are nothing but a ghost among ashes.”
Tyler’s gaze hardened. “Then I will rise from these ashes and burn this city to the ground before I let it fall to you.”
A cruel smile curled the attacker’s lips before they disappeared back into the smoke and chaos.
Tyler turned his eyes back to the city beyond, where loyal soldiers gathered under the tattered banners of House Ashenborn. Their faces were grim but their spirits unbroken.
“This city is our home,” Tyler said, voice ringing out above the crackling flames. “And we will take it back — no matter the cost.”
Around him, the war had begun. The throne of ashes would not remain cold for long.
A king would rise.
