Chapter 16 – The Whispering Oracle
In the mountains of Zuvendis, where the air stank of incense and burnt bones, the Oracle stirred. Blind eyes rolled in her skull as the priests of Arthelion crowded around her.
"Speak, Oracle!" cried the High Priest. "Tell us of the boy who carries ruin."
Her voice came like cracking stone.
"He is no boy… he is the storm clothed in flesh. You drowned him once, but fate cannot drown. He walks now with the gods' fire. When his shadow falls upon Zuvendis, your walls will crumble like sand."
The priests shuddered. One dared to ask, "Then what hope remains?"
The Oracle's lips split into a bloody smile.
"Hope? There is none. For the tyrant does not march for land, nor gold, nor power. He marches to devour the heart of his father."
The priests staggered back. At the center of the chamber, King Arthelion sank to his knees. For he alone knew the truth of those words.
Chapter 17 – The Farmer's Secret
Maniakes returned from his training to find the farmer who raised him waiting with a heavy heart. The old man's face was pale, his hands trembling as though he held a truth too sharp to grip.
"Child," the farmer began, "there is something you must know. You are not of Olusuis. You were brought to me by the river, wrapped in silk not fit for peasants but for kings."
Maniakes froze. His pulse thundered. The farmer continued.
"I raised you because the gods willed it. But I fear their will was not mercy—it was doom. Your blood is not mine. It belongs to the throne of Zuvendis."
The words shattered Maniakes. His mind flashed to the soldier's dying laugh: You wear his face.
The farmer laid a hand on his shoulder.
"You are not bound to your father's sins, Maniakes. You can be more."
But the boy's eyes burned with rage. "No," he whispered. "I am what he made me. Castaway. Forgotten. I will return not as son, but as fire."
The farmer's heart broke. For in that moment, he knew he had raised not a man—but a storm.
Chapter 18 – The Gathering Storm
News spread across villages like plague: a warrior of impossible strength was marching toward Zuvendis. Armies fell before him, monsters sent by jealous gods lay in heaps of ash, and the people whispered his name as though it were both curse and prayer: Maniakes.
King Arthelion summoned every warrior, every priest, every blade. The capital swelled with soldiers. Fear dripped from the walls like sweat.
The Queen, draped in sorrow, stood beside him. "You cannot kill what the gods have blessed," she murmured.
"Then I will curse him anew," Arthelion spat, though his eyes betrayed his fear. "If he is my blood, I will spill him with my own hand."
But even as he swore, the thunder outside broke without storm. A sign. The gods watched. The gods hungered.
Chapter 19 – The Shadow of the Tyrant
Night fell when Maniakes reached the borderlands of Zuvendis. The moon lit his face, a cruel reflection of the king he had never known. His army was no army—just shadows that followed him, spirits of the slain, tethered by his cursed power.
He stood upon a hill overlooking the valley, where the lights of Zuvendis glimmered like stars. His breath was heavy, his eyes aflame.
He whispered the name that had haunted him, the name that split his soul in two.
"Arthelion."
And the wind carried it across the valley, a dark herald to the city.
In his palace, the king stirred as though struck by an unseen hand. He rose from his bed, sweat dripping down his brow. The Queen asked what troubled him.
Arthelion's voice cracked.
"He is here...