Aetherholt burned.
Flames climbed the marble towers like starving serpents, their tongues licking the heavens as black smoke choked the moon. Screams echoed through the once-holy halls of the capital, mixing with the shrill shrieks of wyverns and the rhythmic, merciless pounding of siege magic. The walls—those ancient bastions of the kingdom of Varethis—cracked like brittle bone beneath the might of a united army drunk on conquest.
The air stank of blood, scorched metal, and something worse—betrayal.
Beneath the carnage, deep within the hidden veins of the Ivory Citadel, King Valdrin Theron—lion of Varethis, wielder of the sword Dawnpierce—raced through the underground passageways carved into the bedrock. His long cloak, once snow-white, now clung to him in tatters, soaked in sweat and soot. Beside him, Queen Alirien, her golden gown dimmed by grime and despair, held tightly to the hand of their young son.
Prince Kael, barely six, staggered on trembling legs, struggling to keep up. His other arm clutched a stuffed wyvern—half-burnt, the left wing torn, one button eye missing. He didn't cry. Not anymore. The tears had stopped when the first of the palace towers fell. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—were wide with a quiet horror no child should ever carry.
> "Just a little farther," Alirien whispered, voice cracking as she smoothed Kael's tangled black hair with trembling fingers. "The boat is waiting. You're going to be safe. My star… My heart…"
Kael didn't answer. He only nodded once, and held her hand tighter.
Two maidservants led the way ahead, their torches bobbing through the narrow tunnel, revealing carved stone, crumbling relics, and cobwebbed remnants of a time long before war. The passage twisted like a serpent's spine, descending toward the subterranean docks hidden beneath the citadel's roots—an escape route only known to the royal bloodline.
Outside, Aetherholt was being torn apart stone by stone. Varethis, the unconquered kingdom, was dying.
> "They've breached the outer wall," Valdrin growled. He turned to one of the servants. "Faster. We don't have long."
The first servant, a quiet woman named Nyra, turned and dipped her head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
But her voice... it was colder than it had been before.
Queen Alirien paused. A tremor passed through her. She turned to look at Nyra—just as the woman stopped in her tracks.
A sound like cracking ice split the silence.
Nyra straightened slowly, raising her head. Her hood fell back.
What stood before them was no servant.
Her skin shimmered with hidden runes, glowing faintly beneath the surface like submerged fire. Her irises were pitch—deep wells that reflected no light, only hunger. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and charred roses.
She smiled.
> "There will be no escape, my Queen."
The words were not a whisper. They were a death sentence.
The spell struck like a thunderbolt.
A lance of raw, black magic screamed down the corridor. Alirien had just enough time to shield Kael behind her before the bolt slammed into her chest. The impact tore through her like molten steel through parchment. Her body twisted violently—then crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Kael screamed.
> "ALIRIEN!" Valdrin roared, his sword already drawn.
Dawnpierce burst into radiant flame as the king charged, his face a mask of rage and sorrow. The tunnel exploded into light and darkness as spell met steel.
Nyra laughed—high, clear, cruel. Her hands moved with ancient rhythm, casting sigils mid-air, forming blades of shadow and claws of energy. Valdrin parried, deflected, lunged—his grief sharpening every motion into a deadly ballet.
The walls cracked with the force of their battle. Each strike of Dawnpierce cast sparks that lit the old carvings on the stone. A blast of black energy missed Valdrin by inches, obliterating a chunk of the ceiling in a blast of gravel and smoke.
> "VIRELLE!" he shouted, never turning his gaze from the traitor before him. "Take Kael! GO!"
The second maidservant, Virelle, stood paralyzed—until Kael turned to her, blood from his mother's robe smeared across his small face.
> "Please," he whispered. "Please…"
She grabbed him and ran.
The last thing Kael saw before the tunnel curved out of view was his father dueling the sorceress in a storm of death. The king, standing like a fortress as the world collapsed. The last protector of a kingdom already in ruins.
The tunnel behind them shook. The air screamed. The mountain above burned.
And the boy who would one day be called WORLD-BREAKER was carried away into the darkness—his heart forever frozen in that moment.