Centuries ago, there existed a kingdom.
A kingdom ruled solely under the command of one man.
A kingdom where even the winds whispered the name of their lord...
The Kingdom of the Dark Lord
Roosevolt Kingdom
A land cloaked in darkness, where not a flicker of natural light dared to dwell. Its halls were forged in iron, filled with weapons that thirsted for blood.
The sound of clanking chains echoed sharp, haunting as a bony, ragged figure was dragged forward by a muscular guard.
Stopping before the throne, the guard bowed before the shadowed figure, then stepped aside.
Never in his lifetime had the old commander imagined he would be punished so mercilessly especially not for merely expressing a thought.
But the meeting with the Dark Lord had made it clear : the punishment would be gruesome. The Dark Lord had remained indifferent to his pleas, and his reputation for cruelty was legendary.
"Please... spare my life just this once. There is one who waits for me, one who survives for my sake. I swear upon the goddess Agnes, those words of defiance shall never escape my lips again-"
"And do you think you shall live long enough to utter them a second time?"
A quiet voice interrupted, low and venomous.
Torn clothes hung from his frail, bloodied frame. His face, stained with tears, was as pitiful a sight as one could behold.
And yet, instead of compassion, his words stirred only disgust in the dark figure who watched from the shadows.
"Do you know what you've done, you senile wretch? Where did you find the audacity to question His Majesty's decree? Do you crave death?"
One of the king's personal guards snarled.
Another added,
"It was mere misfortune that His Majesty witnessed your disobedience firsthand. One can only imagine what you have dared in secret perhaps sowing discontent among the people, speaking against the throne. That, old man, is treason."
"No! No, I would never dare, Your Majesty!" the old man cried out.
"I only feared that the increased taxes would cripple the poor ..I hadn't realized they were exempt. Please, if need be, take my tongue... but spare my life! I must live- for my grandson. He is but ten. How would he survive alone in such a cruel world?"
"I have served this kingdom faithfully. I have led us to countless victories. For my loyalty, for my grandson- please... let me live-"
The guards surrounding him exchanged silent glances, and though sympathy stirred in their hearts at the mention of a helpless child, they all knew- no plea could move the Dark Lord.
No matter how pitiful the cry, it could not melt a stone.
And in the Dark Lord's chest, there was nothing but stone.
From the shadowed corner of the chamber, a tall, imposing figure stepped into the light.
His dark eyes, as endless as the abyss, shimmered with contempt. Black hair framed his pale, unmarred skin, which glowed with a ghostly radiance under the chamber's dull glow.
He stood nearly six feet tall, broad-shouldered but lean, the definition of strength wrapped in elegance. His very presence commanded awe, as though the gods themselves had carved him from starlight and shadow.
And yet, his beauty did not mask the cruelty in his gaze.
He stared at the old man, unmoved. The trembling, broken creature before him was just another voice in a choir of pathetic souls begging for mercy.
When the man spoke of his grandson, the Lord's stare hardened. A brief flash of red flickered in his eyes, seen only by his closest guard.
Silence fell. Every soul in the chamber went still. Then, the Lord's voice filled the room, deep, husky, and chilling.
"Do you not find yourself despicable? Using your innocent grandson as a shield to escape your rightful punishment?"
"A man of honor safeguards his bloodline not by begging, but by foresight, by knowing when to hold his tongue."
His tone grew colder.
"Behead him. At the center of the town. On the main street. Let every soul in Roosevolt Kingdom witness the price of defiance."
The guards obeyed without hesitation.
The commander's body shook with dread, but he no longer dared speak.
The others watched in silence, dread coiling in their stomachs. They all thought the same, though none dared say it aloud:
The Dark Lord was truly ruthless.
If even the old commander who had served the kingdom for a lifetime was not spared... then who were they to hope for mercy?
They all made a silent vow:
Never question the king. Never.
As the Lord strode through the long corridor, shoulders squared and steps regal, he halted suddenly.
Turning, he looked to the man who had served him longer than any-Drew, his personal guard.
"See to the boy. The grandson. Tell Robert to begin counsel with him. Let him choose his own path. He is not to be treated as the offspring of a disgraced commander. He is to be raised as any noble child would be."
"His future in this kingdom... is your responsibility."
His voice remained distant, cold but Drew caught something else in it. A glimmer of warmth, subtle and fleeting.
Drew bowed low.
"As you command, Your Majesty."
He followed his king once more, a faint smile on his face.
The world may call him heartless.
But Drew knew better.
His master still had a heart.
And one day… someone would awaken it fully.
The Dark Lord was not so ruthless after all.