The Betrayal

Hakon Blackwolf knelt in the mud, his hands bound behind his back with coarse rope. Blood dripped from his split lip, mixing with the rain that had turned the earth beneath him to a sucking mire. A ring of torches surrounded him, casting flickering light on the faces of the men he had once called brothers.

Beyond them, the banners of the Five Kings flapped in the cold night wind. Once, they had fought under his command, side by side against the empire that sought to conquer them. Now, they stood shoulder to shoulder, not as allies, but as his executioners.

King Osric, the man he had trusted most, stepped forward, his fine cloak barely damp despite the downpour. His golden crown glinted in the torchlight, a cruel reminder of what had been stolen.

"You were a brother to us, Hakon," Osric said, voice steady. "A warlord among warlords. But your ambition grew too great."

Hakon spat blood onto the ground. "My ambition? I fought for our people. I bled for our cause. And you—" his eyes locked onto the kings, "—you took everything from me."

King Edwyn, lean and fox-faced, smirked. "We did what was necessary. Five kings rule Vandros now. Not warlords. Not brigands."

The word stung. Brigand. As if he had been nothing more than a rabid dog to be put down.

Hakon's gaze moved past them, toward the pikes standing behind their thrones—his men's heads mounted as trophies. The sight burned into his memory.

Osric drew his sword, the same blade Hakon had given him after their first campaign together. He raised it high. "For your crimes against the realm, for your refusal to bow, I sentence you to die."

The sword came down.

Pain, sharp and blinding, tore through Hakon's chest. But the blade did not find his heart. Osric had missed on purpose.

A whisper passed between the kings. "Let him bleed. Let the crows finish him."

The world blurred as the rain continued to fall. As his betrayers turned their backs, walking away, leaving him for dead, Hakon forced himself to memorize their faces.

He did not scream. He did not beg.

Instead, he made an oath.

Not as a warlord.

Not as a king.

As vengeance itself.