Written by: Chris Chret © 2026
The sea was calm — far too calm for a king returning from war.
The ship of Dravion entered the harbor beneath the morning sun. The black sails were lowered, and on the deck stood a man who did not look like someone coming home — but like someone returning to a throne he had never truly left.
The king did not smile.
The people were gathered. Thousands. They shouted. Threw flowers. Knelt. They had waited for him for three years.
The sons stood at the front, the twins — identical in face, but not in their gaze.
"Welcome home, father," one of them said.
The king measured them.
For a long time.
As if looking at weapons, not blood.
"Inside," he said briefly.
Nothing more.
The hall was lit by torches. The table was long, filled with food no one touched.
"The conquest of Serpentis…" one son began. "Was it successful?"
The king raised his cup.
"Successful?" he smiled without joy. "At fifteen, I led battles that were written into chronicles.
"And you? You 'guarded' the kingdom."
Silence.
"We kept the land from collapsing," the other son replied. "We do not believe fear is the only way to rule."
The king's eyes darkened.
"Fear creates order."
"No. Fear creates hatred," the son shot back. "The people fear you, father. That is not strength."
The king's hand tightened.
"You speak like the grandfathers — those who did nothing.
"And like your uncle… the traitor who thought peace would save him."
The son stood.
"I am not like my grandfather.
"I am not like my uncle.
"I am a man who wants Dravion to live, not just conquer."
"WEAKNESS!" the king thundered and slammed the table.
Cups overturned.
"I want an army that other kingdoms will fear," the son continued. "Not our own people.
"I want peace through strength, not through blood."
The table flipped.
"AS LONG AS I LIVE," the king roared, "DRAVION WILL WAGE WAR!"
He turned to the guards.
"This one is not my son.
"Imprison him.
"Death sentence for treason.
"Publicly. For all to see."
The other twin remained silent.
Watching.
Learning.
In the kingdom of Ashkar, civil war was no longer a threat.
It was reality.
The streets of the capital were red. Blood flowed between the cobblestones like rain that would not stop. Women, children, and the elderly vanished behind closed doors.
Only men remained outside.
With weapons.
That was strange.
As if someone had armed them.
As if someone had ignited them.
The knights holding the watch were attacked from ambushes. Some fell. Some… did not strike back.
Betrayal was already among them.
By nightfall, the streets were cleared.
Only bodies.
And a silence that screamed.
In the castle, the new king trained.
Iskra stood before him.
"There is no mercy in battle," she said. "If you think — you die."
She taught him to strike the neck, the heart, the wrist.
To always carry a knife.
A sword for close combat.
A spear for distance.
He learned quickly.
Too quickly.
His strikes were precise. His throws — lethal.
Then Azran Al-Raqem entered.
The Lion of the Crown.
He had served three generations.
This was the same man who defended the king alongside Iskra when the civil war began, the old lord in retirement.
"King," he said. "You must learn history. Without it…"
"The past does not interest me," the king interrupted. "I will create an empire."
Azran remained silent.
"Perhaps… you will learn from the mistakes of others," he said at last.
The king considered.
"Perhaps.
"Now… find Varyn."
Azran Al-Raqem wasted no time.
"Take ten men," he ordered. "And quietly. I want no panic."
The knights moved with him through the darkened streets. The city still smelled of blood. Ash still hung in the air.
The first stop was Varyn's house.
The door was half open.
Inside — empty.
A chair overturned. A plate untouched. Nothing stolen.
"He didn't flee," one knight said. "He just… left."
"He knows we are looking for him," Azran replied. "That means he is heading for the exit."
They moved toward the city gate.
And there they found him.
Varyn stood alone, cloak lowered, sword at his belt. He was not running. He was not hiding.
The knights spotted him at the gate.
"Halt!" one of them shouted. "Kneel and drop your weapon!"
Varyn turned slowly, clearly confused. His hand was not on his sword, but his body was tense.
They surrounded him, weapons ready in their hands.
"For what am I condemned?" he asked. "For which crime?"
"For treason against the Crown," the knight replied. "By order of the king."
Varyn's eyes narrowed.
"I am not guilty," he said firmly. "I have never betrayed the Crown."
"We follow the king's orders," another answered. "Nothing more."
In that moment, Varyn drew his sword.
Steel rang softly in the night.
The knights immediately raised their spears, but before they could move, Azran Al-Raqem stepped forward.
"Enough," he said calmly, but with a voice that tolerated no resistance. "Sheathe the sword, Varyn."
Varyn looked at him.
"If you do not surrender," Azran continued, "you will die here. And we both know that.
"And there is still a long road ahead of you. This does not have to be the end of your story."
Silence fell.
After several heavy breaths, Varyn slowly returned the sword to his belt. Then he removed it together with its sheath, knelt on the ground, and carefully placed it before him.
"This sword is precious to me," he said quietly. "Please, keep it for me."
Azran bent down and took the sword.
"What were you doing at the gate?" he asked.
Varyn lifted his gaze.
"Through this gate I left with my king…" he said. "And returned without him.
"That is the greatest defeat of my life. I failed to protect him."
At that moment, two knights grabbed him under the arms.
"Take him," Azran ordered.
As they led him away, Azran remained behind, holding the sword in his hands — heavy, cold, and soaked with a past that was not yet finished.
They threw him to his knees before the king.
Iskra still stood with weapons in her hands. The training was not interrupted — only continued in another form.
"Where were you?" the king asked. "When I was attacked."
Varyn raised his head.
"I was tired," he said. "Exhausted.
"I had just returned from a journey.
"Then I left again.
"Both times — battles. Wounds. Death."
He tightened his breath.
"I mourned your father.
"I mourned that I was not there when you needed me most."
"You were not there," the king said coldly. "Why should I believe you now?"
"Because I am not behind this," Varyn replied.
"I did not incite the people.
"I never even thought such a thing would happen."
His voice hardened.
"For many years I served your father.
"I never betrayed him.
"I will serve his son as well… if you allow me."
Silence.
The king watched him for a long time.
"You will live," he finally said. "But this is your last chance.
"I will not forgive a second mistake."
He turned away.
"We continue training."
Azran handed Varyn his sword.
His hands trembled.
Midnight.
A large room, underground.
Citizens. Knights. Faces in shadow.
On the floor — chests.
They were opened.
Inside:
swords, spears, bows, armor.
"This is not a rebellion," the man in black said.
"This is a war."
He handed armor to one of the knights.
"The Crown will fall.
"And it will fall from within."
He smiled.
"And this… is only the first night."
End of Chapter 7.