20 Years Ago
The boy ran through the burning palace. The halls he once played in were now filled with fire, smoke, and blood. Screams echoed behind him. People were dying. Magic was being hunted.
He was only nine years old, but tonight, he would die like a king.
"Find the heir!" a soldier shouted. "The boy must not survive!"
He hid behind a stone statue, clutching a glowing red gem — the Royal Sigil. It pulsed with weak magic. It was all that was left of his family's power.
But they found him before sunrise.
He was tied to a wooden post in the palace courtyard. Around him stood twelve men in black robes and golden chains. They were once his protectors.
Now, they were his executioners.
As fire rose beneath his feet, the boy cried out, "Please! The gods will see this!"
But no gods came.
And when he screamed his last, the sky remained silent.
Present Day
Deep in the Crypts
The tomb was cold and quiet. Thick chains wrapped around the stone coffin of King Maelrik IV, the cruel tyrant who ruled Arkhadia.
The guards who stood there believed the king was dead.
They were wrong.
Inside the coffin, a pair of red eyes snapped open.
The corpse sat up.
His skin was pale, but his eyes burned with life. Not the king's life — someone else's. Someone with a reason to hate.
"So… I've returned," the man whispered. His voice was low, smooth, and filled with fury.
This wasn't Maelrik. It was Cael Rothveil, the lost prince.
Twenty years had passed since his death, but Cael remembered it all — the fire, the chains, the gods who turned their backs.
"You burned me alive," he said, touching the scar on his chest. "Now I'll return the favor. In kingdoms."
As Cael stepped out of the coffin, something called to him.
A whisper.
A voice in the dark.
He turned and saw it — the Crown of Curses, resting on a pedestal of bones. An ancient iron crown, black and sharp like broken glass. It once belonged to the First Mage King — Cael's ancestor.
He reached out and placed it on his head.
Suddenly, pain shot through his body. Red symbols glowed across his skin. His heart stopped, then started again. His magic had returned — but twisted, darker, more powerful than ever before.
And in the back of his mind, a deep voice whispered.
"You wear me now, boy," it said. "Let us burn this world together."
A soldier opened the crypt door, expecting silence.
Instead, he saw a man in black robes with glowing red eyes.
"Who... who are you?" the guard asked, reaching for his sword.
Cael said nothing. He raised his hand. A red rune appeared in the air.
The guard's body shattered like glass.
Blood floated around Cael, forming a glowing shape in the air — the ancient crest of the royal family.
"Your king is dead," Cael said coldly. "I'm what comes after."
In the Capital
Above the crypts, people were celebrating.
The tyrant was gone. The rebellion had won. Fireworks lit up the sky. But far below, something else was rising.
Cael climbed the steps of the palace courtyard, now overgrown and ruined. He knelt down and placed his hand on the broken stone.
"Here… you killed my family."
His blood dripped into the cracks.
The ground shook.
From the soil, old bones began to move.
Skeletons in royal armor rose from the earth. Their eyes glowed blue. They stood beside Cael, silent and loyal.
He had summoned the dead.
"I am Rothveil," he said. "And I do not forgive."
In a distant tower, the Twelve Chains (Brutal High Lords who made pacts with dying gods) sat in silence. One of them dropped his wine glass.
"He's back," said the Archbishop, pale and shaking.
"That's impossible," said another.
"No," said the third, eyes wide with fear. "That fire… those eyes. It's him."
In the flames of the hearth, a vision appeared: Cael Rothveil, alive, wearing the Crown of Curses, with the dead marching behind him.
"You made me a monster," Cael's voice echoed.
"Now I'll show you what that means."
The vision exploded into fire.
And the room fell silent.