The royal city of Velmora burned under a moonless sky.
Cries echoed in the distance as flames devoured the once-golden halls of the Raventhorn Palace. Soldiers stormed the corridors, swords drenched in the blood of their own. The banners of the crimson lion — once the proud symbol of House Raventhorn — now hung tattered and soaked in ash.
At the heart of the chaos, Prince Kael stumbled through the shattered remnants of the throne room. Blood trickled down his brow, his sword trembling in his grasp. His once-silver armor was cracked, stained, and searing with pain from the gash at his side.
Betrayal.It wasn't the enemy at the gates — it was his uncle, Lord Thorne, who had opened them.
"You were never meant to rule, nephew," Thorne's voice still echoed in Kael's mind."The people need a king with strength, not mercy."
Kael collapsed beside the throne — the very seat his father died protecting just three days ago. The scent of smoke mixed with blood choked him, but worse was the hollow silence from the shadows around him. His guards were dead. His people slaughtered. His kingdom... gone.
But even as death crept closer, Kael's fingers closed around a hidden dagger beneath the throne — a relic, etched with runes that pulsed in crimson light.
He didn't understand the ancient language, but the whispers inside his head grew louder the moment he touched it.
"Your blood is cursed… but it can rise again."
Kael coughed, blood spilling from his lips. His vision blurred.
But just before the darkness took him, he saw a figure — cloaked in black, standing where the light refused to reach. Eyes glowing violet. Voice calm, yet cold as winter.
"You are not ready to die, Kael Raventhorn.You have work left undone.And I have a deal to offer."
Ten years later...
The people of Velmora believed the prince was long dead.
But deep within the forbidden lands of Ashmoor, under the ruins of the old world, a shadow opened its eyes — and the cursed prince drew breath once more.