The Fall of a King
The cold wind carried the scent of blood and betrayal. From atop the marble throne, King Kael stared in disbelief as the very men he had raised, fed, and trusted now stood before him with drawn swords and twisted grins.
"Traitors..." his voice was barely a whisper, but it echoed through the grand hall like thunder.
The captain of his royal guard, once a brother in arms, stepped forward. "Your reign ends here, Kael. The council no longer recognizes your rule. You... are unfit."
Steel clashed as loyal guards fought — and fell — one by one. Flames licked the ancient banners of his house. Screams filled the air, but none pierced deeper than the sting of betrayal.
Kael gritted his teeth, blood trickling from a cut on his brow. "You think this is the end...?" he spat. "No... this is only the beginning."
A sword plunged through his back. His knees buckled. Darkness consumed him. But even as life slipped away, one thought burned brighter than any pain:
"I will return... and when I do... the throne will be mine. Bathed in fire. Forged in vengeance."