The Herald’s Judgment
The sky darkened, and the air turned heavy as if The Land itself was preparing for something it had seen countless times before. Kyle stood firm, gripping the Fallen King's Blade, feeling the hum of its locked power resonating deep within his bones. Across from him, the Herald of the Forgotten King remained motionless, its towering form a void in the world, wrapped in an endless cascade of shifting darkness.
The battlefield had frozen.
The Black Legion soldiers who still stood did not move. Even the Legion's commander, who had just moments ago been preparing to bring his full strength against Kyle, now remained deathly still, his silver eyes locked on the Herald with something Kyle had not seen before—true caution.
The Herald's burning silver gaze fixed on Kyle. When it spoke, it was not with a voice, but with a weight pressing into his very mind.
"The Throne calls you back, Warborn."
The words carried no anger. No urgency. They were absolute—a command issued from something beyond mortal understanding.
Kyle's breath slowed, his fingers tightening around the Fallen King's Blade. A pulse of heat burned along his arm as a new notification appeared.
---
Fallen King's Blade Reacting…
WARNING: Forced Recall Attempt Detected.
Resist or Submit?
---
Kyle didn't hesitate.
Resist.
A sharp, crushing force slammed into his chest. It felt like invisible chains had wrapped around his ribs, his limbs, his very soul and were pulling him toward something he could not see, could not fight. A place that had been waiting for him.
His vision flickered.
For a fraction of a second, he wasn't in the ruins anymore.
Instead, he was standing in a throne room long abandoned, its walls cracked and bleeding mist, its torches burning with cold fire. The air here was thick with memories, shadows of figures flickering in and out of existence, trapped in a time that had long passed.
At the end of the hall, atop a throne carved from blackened stone, sat a figure clad in broken royal armor, a crown of steel and sorrow resting upon his head.
The Forgotten King.
Kyle felt the pull strengthen, trying to drag him fully into this place. To take his place upon that throne.
But the Fallen King's Blade reacted.
A pulse of power surged from the weapon, pushing back against the force trying to claim him. The throne room vanished, and Kyle was back in the ruins, back in the fight.
The Herald's gaze flickered.
"You deny the call?"
Kyle clenched his jaw. "I don't take orders from ghosts."
The Herald lifted a single hand.
The world exploded.
A shockwave of raw power erupted from the Herald's form, sending waves of black energy crashing through the battlefield. The very air seemed to warp, the ruins groaning under the force of it.
Kyle barely had time to brace himself before the wave of energy slammed into him, sending him staggering backward, boots scraping against the broken stone.
Another notification pulsed in his vision.
---
Resisted Forced Recall.
Fallen King's Blade Authority Level Increased.
---
The power inside the blade surged, and for a brief moment, Kyle could feel something shifting within it—a piece of its former self awakening.
The Herald's burning gaze remained locked onto him, but now, there was something else behind it.
Curiosity.
"Perhaps you are more than a mistake after all."
Kyle exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his stance. "Yeah? I get that a lot."
The Legion's commander finally spoke, his voice edged with tension. "You don't understand what you're dealing with, Warborn." His grip on his executioner's axe tightened. "We should not be here."
Kyle turned his head slightly, but did not take his eyes off the Herald. "Then leave."
The commander let out a slow breath. "It's too late for that."
The Herald moved.
One moment it was standing still—the next, it was right in front of Kyle.
Kyle barely had time to react before a clawed hand lashed out, fast as death itself. He raised his sword, catching the blow just in time—but the moment their powers clashed, the air ignited.
A shockwave tore through the ruins, throwing Legionnaires off their feet, sending debris flying.
Kyle's arms burned from the sheer force of the impact.
The Herald pressed harder, its dark fingers wrapping around the blade, tightening.
Then, just as suddenly, it withdrew.
Kyle stumbled slightly, readjusting his grip. His heartbeat was steady, but the weight in the air told him everything he needed to know.
This was a test.
"You seek to claim what was lost."
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "I didn't come looking for this fight."
"Yet you hold the blade."
The Fallen King's Blade pulsed in his hands, as if acknowledging the words.
"Then you will face the Judgment of the Forgotten King."
Kyle's vision snapped black.
---
For a brief, terrifying moment, he was falling through nothingness.
The battlefield was gone, the Legion was gone, even the world itself was gone.
Then, he hit solid ground hard, rolling instinctively into a defensive stance.
Kyle was no longer in the ruins.
The battlefield was gone.
Instead, he stood on a vast, endless plane of shattered stone, beneath a sky that burned with cold fire.
Massive black monoliths jutted from the ground, each one carved with runes older than memory itself. The air was thick with the echoes of a dead kingdom, a place that had once existed but had been erased from history.
And Kyle was not alone.
A figure stood ahead of him, clad in tattered royal armor, a crown of broken steel resting upon their head.
Their face was hidden behind a helm cracked with time, their sword as dark as the void itself.
Kyle felt his pulse quicken.
The Herald had sent him here.
And now, he was standing before the Forgotten King.
A final notification pulsed.
---
New Trial Initiated: The King's Judgment.
You stand before the Fallen Monarch. Prove your worth or be erased from existence.
---
Kyle tightened his grip on his sword, steadying his breath.
There was no escaping this fight.
He had resisted the call.
Now he had to survive the judgment.
The Forgotten King raised his blade.