Night had fallen over the Valley of Spirits, and the sky was drenched in blackness. Kiron knelt at the foot of the Exiled Mountain, pressing his hand against the searing earth. The ground breathed—whispering ghosts of the past in every tremble. “The shadows are watching you, Kiron…” the voice inside him murmured. “But you're no longer just a witness. You are becoming the master of shadows.” By his side stood Belis, her eyes locked onto the horizon where wind carried the scent of ash and ruin. Prince Lorven’s treacherous army was drawing near. Around the Sacred Mountain, the forces of darkness no longer hid — they marched. “Time is running out,” Belis said. “If the final scroll of the Book of Light is captured… the world may never wake again.” Kiron bowed his head. The wound in his hand still bled, not just blood—but something deeper. During the Dark Magic Circle ritual from Chapter 6, one of Zahadran’s cursed arrows had pierced his very essence. Now, with every heartbeat, the shado...
The King of Shadows – Chapter 4: A Call Born from Darkness
Before the night had fully fallen, the king had already returned to the throne room. The doors closed silently behind him, and the silver walls of the palace became deaf to the whispers of the outside world. But within, footsteps echoed on the stone path that led to the throne—only his.
He stopped before the seat of power. Hands clasped behind his back, his eyes drifted to the old map on the wall—lands he once ruled, now reduced to dust and silence. His people, his cities, the shadows… all were still.
Then, from the far corner of the hall, came a sound. Not an echo… a whisper.
“They have not forgotten you…”
The king flinched. He had thought he was alone. But that voice—familiar, deep, and calling—he had heard it before.
The presence from the shadows had returned.
“They wait for you. Even those who turned from the dark remember where the light was born.”
The king said nothing. He lowered his head. A word formed on his lips but never left. Instead, he placed a firm hand over his chest.
The shadows stirred.
From behind the throne, one shadow spilled forward. Thin, silent—like the ghost of a companion who once stood beside him. But this was not his shadow.
It was the reflection of a promise made long ago.
“You are called again—not as a king, but as a savior.”
The king closed his eyes. Drew in a deep breath.
And then, the only sound was the shifting of fabric as his old war cloak emerged from behind the throne.
It was dusty—but heavy.
Heavy with years.
That night, a king stood once more.
Not to walk into shadow—
But toward hope.
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