Long ago, when magic was part of everyday life, there was a kingdom unlike any other: Ashanti.
Its borders reached farther than any kingdom before it. Its cities glowed with magic, and even the rivers shimmered with enchantment. In this land, anyone who hungered for power could shape the world itself. But none held greater power than its ruler: Knemlop, the Mage-King.
Knemlop was both king and the most powerful mage to ever live. He commanded the elements, shifted the stars, and bent reality to his will. His reach was vast, yet despite his strength, he had one weakness: love.
His heart belonged to Narbis, a woman of quiet grace and striking beauty. Her golden hair caught the light like sunlight on water, and her warm light green eyes seemed to hold the brightness of stars. It was said that even flowers turned toward her as she walked by, as if drawn by her presence.
To Knemlop, she was more than his queen: she was his greatest treasure. Her laughter was the music of his days, her love the foundation of his empire.
But fate was merciless. A sudden illness claimed Narbis's life, and with her passing the light in Knemlop's world went out. For the first time, he faced a power beyond his reach: death. Grief consumed him, twisting into anger, until his sorrow hardened into hatred. He raged against the one force even his magic could not overcome.
But he pulled himself together. All hope was not lost. Holding Narbis's lifeless body, Knemlop was a volcano ready to erupt when he turned to the Elders of the Arcane Sanctum, ancient sages said to have lived for centuries, as chosen and sustained by magic itself. They were sought only in times of greatest need, for their words could topple kings and change the fate of nations.
For the first time, Knemlop entered the Hall of Eternity. His arrival shattered the silence as the Elders turned their ageless eyes upon him, watching as he laid Narbis gently before them.
"Return her to me," Knemlop pleaded, his voice breaking. "You have the power. I know you do."
A hush rippled through the chamber. Thazmul, bent with age and shaking like a leaf, was the first to speak. "You must grieve, child. You must let her go. What you ask is forbidden."
"Forbidden but not impossible," Knemlop snapped, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Your warnings mean nothing to me."
Then Veythas, eldest of the circle, her eyes like fading stars, stepped forward. "It is impossible," she said softly. "Death is the order of all things."
"Then break that order," Knemlop snarled. "Magic itself has chosen you. Together you wield strength beyond kings. Forge a relic, a spell, an elixir, force the world to obey!"
Liorah shook her head. "What you are asking is unprecedented. Such defiance is ruin."
"Let ruin come!" Knemlop cried, sinking to his knees, Narbis cradled against him. "If I may see her smile again, even once more, then let the world burn!"
Veythas's voice grew grave. "We do not cheat. That is why we endure. What you seek is abomination."
"No," Knemlop hissed. "Abomination is your refusal. You hoard power, yet deny it to the broken."
Another Elder answered gently, "Some boundaries must never be crossed, even in grief. If you decide to turn the page, then the day will come when you will realize that you were only giving in to the passion of youth."
"Boundaries?" Knemlop spat. "You speak of wisdom while my queen lies cold. Your denial is not reason. It is betrayal."
"Please," Veythas implored, almost pleading. "Death comes for us all. It is the final truth."
"Truth?" Knemlop hurled the word like a curse. "There is nothing true in her death! Nothing natural! Would you surrender your own heart, your own soul, so easily?"
The Elders exchanged heavy glances. Their silence was an answer.
The chamber grew still. Knemlop's grief darkened into resolve.
"If you will not restore her willingly," he whispered, his voice cold, "then I will take what you withhold."
Knemlop placed Narbis's body in a chamber of enchanted ice, untouched by time. But grief turned him cruel. In fury, he banished the Elders from the Hall of Eternity and locked them away in the Chamber of the Forsaken. His decree was merciless: one Elder would die each day until they found a way to bring Narbis back.
The kingdom trembled as the executions began. Yet the Elders worked on, pale and desperate. By the seventh day, only half remained, but at last they returned, hollow-eyed, carrying a creation of terrible power. It was a relic made from six jewels that had once belonged to Narbis herself, and it pulsed with a strange, living light.
They warned him.
"Majesty, we have not tested it. But you can still change your mind. Please give up on her. The threads of fate are not meant to be broken.
But Knemlop no longer listened. Hope and madness gleamed in his eyes as he set the relic upon Narbis's chest and whispered:
"Return to me."
Silence.
Then, light. Blinding, brighter than the sun. The air itself trembled and all of Ashanti seemed to hold its breath.
And then… she stirred.
At first, it was everything Knemlop had prayed for. Narbis's body grew warm. Her chest rose with breath. But the joy did not last.
Narbis opened her eyes, but they were not hers. They were black voids, endless and hungry.
A shadow fell over the hall. The relic shook in Knemlop's hands, darkness escaping from it like smoke. Then came the scream. Narbis's voice, but twisted, a wail so full of agony it shattered windows and cracked stone.
For the Elders, the truth was obvious. This was not Narbis. What they had summoned was older and darker, a force long sealed away. The relic had not restored a soul. It had opened a door. And through it, ruin entered the world.
Shadows poured from Narbis's face, from her eyes, her mouth, her nose and even her ears, spilling into the air like living smoke. They twisted, and took form like a nightmare. The darkness spread like a plague. The palace crumbled as it passed, rivers boiled, the sky turned black and the magic that once blessed Ashanti now devoured it.
Knemlop stood frozen, watching as Narbis's body broke apart into ash, unable to hold the monster within. The Elders screamed for him to act, but the shadows swallowed their voices. One by one, they too were consumed.
In their last moments, the surviving Elders shattered the relic, scattering the six jewels to weaken the curse. But the damage was done.
The golden kingdom of Ashanti was gone.
Only ruins and legend remained, only echoes of a kingdom that had disappeared, leaving behind no trace… or almost none. For the shards of the relic, cursed and powerful, had scattered across the land.
Knemlop himself was swallowed by the darkness, his soul lost, his folly whispered about for generations.
And it is said that the thing which once wore Narbis's body still lingers in forgotten corners of the world. Waiting to return.
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Finn awoke with a start, dripping with sweat. His heart was beating fast. "What was that dream?" He whispered.