Chapter 20;- A Kingdom Eternal

The throne room of Blackhaven stood in solemn silence, a sanctum of power and blood-forged history. The flickering torches cast wavering shadows upon the black stone walls, their light dancing across the towering obsidian pillars that framed the long, regal hall. The banners of the old rulers had been stripped away, their symbols of bygone kings burned and erased from existence. In their place hung the sigil of the Eclipse—a black sun wreathed in crimson flames, an eternal reminder of the empire's rebirth under the reign of Rhaegar Crowne.

He sat upon the throne, his posture one of quiet dominance. The obsidian seat was carved with intricate designs, ancient etchings of kings and conquerors, now overshadowed by the presence of the man who ruled from it. Rhaegar's crimson eyes glowed in the dim firelight, his gaze like a blade against the gathered nobles who knelt before him in submission. He was no longer just a king. He was something greater—something eternal. A force that could not be undone by time, betrayal, or war.

A long silence stretched across the chamber before the heavy doors groaned open. The sound echoed like the distant tolling of a funeral bell. Darius Veldane, commander of the Eclipse Guard, strode forward, his black armor gleaming with the dull sheen of blood-polished steel. His crimson cape billowed slightly behind him as he moved, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his helmet.

The lords and knights remained on their knees, heads bowed in reverence, awaiting the words of their sovereign. They knew that to speak before Rhaegar permitted it was an insult punishable by death.

Darius knelt before the throne, pressing a clenched fist to his chest. "My king," he said, his voice steady as iron. "The last remnants of the Forsaken Lords have been eradicated. Their strongholds lie in ruins, their banners trampled beneath the boots of our legions. The war is over."

Rhaegar inhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering. "And the people?"

"They chant your name," Darius responded, his tone laced with a dark amusement. "Some in fear. Some in worship. They call you the Reaper King, the Lord of the Eclipse, the Tyrant Eternal."

A smirk curled at Rhaegar's lips. He had always known fear and worship were two sides of the same coin. A ruler could be loved, but love was fickle—fragile. It wavered at the first sign of weakness. Fear, however, was eternal. Fear was the bedrock upon which empires were built.

"Good," Rhaegar said at last, his voice a quiet storm.

Darius hesitated, only for a breath. "And the nobles, my king?"

The nobles. The last remnants of the old world. They had bent the knee, but Rhaegar knew their kind. They were like rats, scurrying in the dark, waiting for weakness, waiting for the right moment to betray. Some had sworn fealty out of self-preservation. Others had done so out of genuine belief in his cause. But loyalty, Rhaegar had learned, was not something to be trusted blindly.

He leaned forward, his crimson gaze settling upon the kneeling lords with measured intent. "They will swear the Eclipse Oath," he declared.

Murmurs rippled through the nobles, barely audible, but Rhaegar caught them.

Darius lifted a brow. "The Eclipse Oath?"

Rhaegar's smirk deepened, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. "A blood-binding vow," he explained. "Their lives will be tethered to mine. Should they betray me, they will feel the same agony I do. Should they conspire against me, their own hands will turn against them."

Darius chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "A brilliant method, my king. They will have no choice but to remain loyal."

"No," Rhaegar corrected, his voice like a blade drawn from its sheath. "They will have no choice but to belong to me."

A hushed silence settled over the hall. The weight of his words, of his command, pressed down upon the assembled nobles like an unshakable force. The realization dawned upon them—there was no path forward except the one Rhaegar carved for them. No escape. No rebellion. Only absolute servitude.

He rose from his throne, his presence casting a long shadow across the chamber. His black cloak billowed behind him, trailing like a phantom in the dim firelight. As he stepped forward, the very castle seemed to tremble, as if it recognized the magnitude of its master's will.

"The world has been remade," he declared, his voice reverberating through the grand hall like the toll of a war horn. "The age of weak kings and crumbling empires is over. This kingdom—my kingdom—will stand eternal."

The nobles remained on their knees, their silence an admission of surrender.

The war had ended, but a new era had begun. An era ruled not by the fragile hands of diplomacy, but by the iron grip of dominance.

An empire eternal.

The throne room remained steeped in silence, thick with the weight of submission. The nobles, their fine silks and golden trims reduced to meaningless embellishments in the face of raw power, dared not lift their heads. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows across their lowered forms, illuminating the sweat glistening on their brows.

Rhaegar descended the steps of his throne with measured, deliberate steps. Each footfall echoed through the vast chamber, a rhythmic reminder of his absolute authority. He stopped mere inches from the nearest noble—a balding, rotund man who had once sat at the council of kings long buried beneath the tides of history.

"Look at me," Rhaegar commanded, his voice sharp as a dagger.

The noble hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides, as though considering defiance, but the weight of inevitability crushed such thoughts before they could fester. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his gaze.

The moment their eyes met, the noble visibly recoiled. Rhaegar's crimson irises burned with something unnatural, something that went beyond mere mortality. It was as if the very essence of the abyss stared back at him.

"You pledged fealty to me when the Forsaken Lords fell," Rhaegar murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Yet I can smell the hesitation on you. The doubt."

The noble swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he struggled for words.

"My king, I—"

Rhaegar moved in a blur. His hand shot forward, gripping the noble's throat with inhuman strength, lifting him off the ground with effortless grace. A collective gasp rippled through the remaining nobles, but none dared move.

"You will take the Eclipse Oath," Rhaegar said, his voice calm, almost serene. "Or you will perish beneath the weight of your own cowardice."

The noble clawed at Rhaegar's wrist, his feet kicking helplessly in the air. His face turned a sickly shade of purple as the breath was stolen from his lungs.

Rhaegar held him there, letting the lesson sink into the minds of all who knelt before him. Then, just as the noble's movements began to slow, he released his grip. The man collapsed onto the cold stone floor, gasping, coughing, his hands trembling as he clutched his throat.

Rhaegar turned his gaze to the rest. "Let this be a warning," he said, voice steady. "Hesitation is treason."

No one spoke. No one dared.

Darius, still kneeling, let out a quiet chuckle. "An effective demonstration, my king. They understand now."

Rhaegar exhaled, slow and controlled, before turning back toward the throne. He ascended the steps once more, reclaiming his seat upon the obsidian throne, his rightful place.

"The world has always belonged to the strong," he said. "Kings rise, kings fall. But I am no mere king."

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled together.

"I am eternal."

The Eclipse Oath

The ceremony was held that very night.

The grand hall was transformed into a temple of submission, its vast space filled with nobles, generals, and scholars alike—any who held power, all gathered beneath the roof of their new ruler's dominion.

The ritual was unlike anything the world had ever seen. A circle of obsidian was carved into the floor, etched with runes older than the kingdom itself. At its center stood Rhaegar, draped in flowing black robes lined with crimson embroidery. The flickering torches cast his silhouette into something almost spectral, his presence both regal and terrifying.

One by one, the nobles stepped forward.

An ancient tome lay open before them, its pages filled with scripture not written by mortal hands. A dagger, its blade forged from blackened steel, rested atop the book.

They were to make a choice.

With a trembling hand, the first noble took up the dagger, slicing his palm and allowing his blood to drip onto the pages. The moment the crimson droplets touched the parchment, the words shifted, rearranging themselves into something new—something binding.

The noble gritted his teeth as an unseen force took hold of him. His veins pulsed with shadow, the magic entwining itself with his very being. The mark of the Eclipse burned into his skin, just above his heart. A brand of servitude, inescapable.

And so it continued.

One by one, they bled. One by one, they were bound.

By the time the last noble stepped forward, the air was thick with tension, the weight of the ritual pressing down upon the chamber like a storm ready to break.

Rhaegar watched in silence, satisfaction gleaming in his crimson eyes.

When the final drop of blood was shed, the final oath spoken, he rose from his seat.

"It is done," he said.

The nobles, forever bound to him, knelt as one.

A New Era

The days that followed marked the dawn of a new age.

The streets of Blackhaven were flooded with banners bearing the sigil of the Eclipse, a constant reminder of the unshakable rule now gripping the land. The people whispered his name in reverence, in terror, in awe.

Some hailed him as a god. Others as a monster.

Rhaegar cared not.

What mattered was control.

Darius stood at his side atop the castle's highest balcony, surveying the kingdom below. "The people speak of you as if you were legend," he remarked.

Rhaegar smirked. "I am legend."

Darius chuckled. "And what now, my king?"

Rhaegar exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed upon the horizon. Beyond the city walls lay the remnants of the old world—kingdoms still clinging to their illusions of power, still unaware of the inevitability of their fate.

"The world is vast," Rhaegar said. "And there is much yet to claim."

He turned, stepping away from the balcony. "Prepare the legions. The Eclipse does not end here."

Darius grinned. "As you command, my king."

And so, the Reaper King marched onward, his name destined to be carved into history with the blade of conquest.

A kingdom eternal.

A ruler unchallenged.

And a world that would soon kneel beneath the weight of his will.

The night was heavy with the weight of victory, the sky a tapestry of stars stretching endlessly over the newly conquered kingdom. From the highest tower of Veldrith, Rhaegar Crowne stood, his gaze sweeping across the vast lands that now belonged to him. The city below was eerily silent, as if the entire realm held its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

Darius approached, his black cloak billowing behind him as he stepped onto the balcony. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

"You've done it," he murmured, stopping beside Rhaegar. "The Forsaken Lords have fallen. The nobles have sworn the Eclipse Oath. The kingdom kneels before you. Yet, you seem... distant."

Rhaegar didn't respond immediately. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the obsidian sword at his side, the same blade that had carved his vengeance into the world. He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold night air.

"Distant?" he repeated at last, his voice quiet but edged with something sharp. "Perhaps."

Darius studied him. "You should be reveling in this moment. The throne is yours. The world fears your name."

Rhaegar smirked, though there was little humor in it. "Fear is fleeting," he said. "Loyalty is an illusion. Power... power must be absolute."

Darius tilted his head slightly. "You think they will betray you?"

Rhaegar turned his gaze from the city and met Darius's eyes. The crimson glow in them was unnerving, a reminder that the man before him was no longer bound by mortal limits. "They will try," Rhaegar said, voice laced with certainty. "They always do. When men grow comfortable, they begin to believe they deserve more than they have. Ambition breeds treachery."

Darius chuckled, shaking his head. "Then let them try. You are no weakling king to be undone by whispers in the dark. If they betray you, they will learn the cost of such folly."

Rhaegar's lips curled into a shadow of a smile. "Yes. They will."

The Gathering of the Eclipse

The following night, the great hall of Veldrith was filled with the most powerful figures of the realm—warlords, high-ranking generals, sorcerers, and the newly sworn nobles. They sat at a massive, circular obsidian table, a symbol of unity under Rhaegar's rule. But despite their forced allegiance, unease hung thick in the air, as if they sat in the den of a predator, waiting for it to pounce.

Rhaegar stood at the head of the table, his presence alone commanding absolute silence. His black armor, lined with crimson runes, gleamed under the dim candlelight, and his long, dark cloak pooled behind him like a shadow given form.

"The world has knelt before me," he began, his voice calm, measured. "The Forsaken Lords are nothing more than rotting corpses, their names erased from history. The nobles who once defied me have bled for their oaths. Blackhaven stands as the heart of a new empire."

His crimson gaze swept over the gathered figures, piercing through their masks of obedience. "And yet," he continued, his tone darkening, "I sense hesitation. I sense doubt."

A murmur rippled through the room. None dared to openly challenge him, but their discomfort was palpable.

One of the nobles, a man named Lord Sion Valtren, cleared his throat and spoke carefully. "My king, we do not doubt your strength. Your conquest has been... unmatched. But there are whispers from the east—survivors of the old regime gathering in secret, warbands uniting under forgotten banners. Some claim a rebellion is brewing."

Rhaegar was silent for a moment, then let out a low, humorless chuckle. "A rebellion?" he echoed, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Do they believe I am a feeble, dying king who will crumble at the first sign of resistance?"

"No, my king," Lord Valtren said quickly. "But—"

Rhaegar lifted a hand, cutting him off. "It does not matter what they believe. Hope is a disease, one that spreads when left unchecked. I will remind them why they should tremble at the very mention of my name."

He turned his gaze toward General Oras Keldrin, a man who had once led the armies of the Forsaken Lords before bending the knee to Rhaegar. "You will take the Eclipse Legion and ride east," Rhaegar commanded. "Burn their camps. Shatter their morale. Let them watch as their comrades fall one by one until they beg for mercy that will not come."

General Keldrin bowed his head. "As you command, my king."

Rhaegar's gaze flicked back to Lord Valtren. "And you," he said, his voice like a blade pressing against the noble's throat. "Do you have faith in my rule?"

Lord Valtren hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I... Of course, my king. I would never question your might."

Rhaegar stepped closer, leaning slightly over the table. "Words are easy, Lord Valtren. I prefer proof."

With a flick of his wrist, shadows coiled around his fingers, tendrils of abyssal energy twisting like living serpents. The candle flames in the hall flickered violently as the air grew heavy with dark magic.

Lord Valtren's breath hitched. "My king, I—"

Rhaegar extended a hand, and the shadows surged forward, wrapping around Valtren's throat in an instant. The noble gasped, his eyes widening as the darkness constricted, lifting him from his seat.

"Fear is the foundation of order," Rhaegar murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. "It reminds men of their place. Do you understand, Lord Valtren?"

The noble clawed at the shadows constricting his throat, his face turning red as he choked out, "Y-yes, my king!"

Rhaegar held him there for a moment longer before releasing him. Valtren collapsed onto the table, gasping for air, his body trembling.

The room remained deathly silent.

Rhaegar turned away, his gaze once again sweeping over the gathering. "Let this be the last time I question your loyalty," he said, his voice cold as steel. "The world is mine. The past is dead. The future belongs to the strong. And I am the strongest of them all."

No one dared speak.

Rhaegar took his seat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. "Now," he said, voice returning to its usual composed calm. "Let us discuss the expansion of my empire."

A Kingdom That Will Never Fall

As the meeting concluded and the gathered figures departed, Rhaegar remained seated in silence.

Darius approached once more, a smirk playing at his lips. "That was quite the display, my king. I do believe Lord Valtren will be having nightmares for the rest of his days."

Rhaegar let out a quiet hum, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Fear keeps them in line. But it is not enough. The world must understand that my reign is not temporary. It is not a fleeting dynasty that will crumble in a few decades. It is eternal."

Darius nodded. "And how do you plan to ensure that?"

Rhaegar's eyes glowed like burning coals. "By making them forget any world that existed before me."

Darius chuckled darkly. "Then let us begin."

Rhaegar leaned back in his throne, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips.

A kingdom eternal. A ruler unmatched.

And a world that would never again belong to anyone else.

The sky above the ruined battlefield was painted in hues of violet and crimson, the remnants of the celestial storm still crackling like whispers of the gods themselves. The land bore the scars of war—ashes scattered where once stood mighty fortresses, the scent of blood mingling with the cold wind, and the echoes of the fallen lingering in the silence that followed.

Rhaegar stood upon the highest steps of the shattered citadel, his silhouette outlined against the light of the rising sun. His armor, once gleaming obsidian, was cracked and worn, the battle having taken its toll. His body ached, yet his gaze was unwavering. He had come too far, lost too much, and sacrificed more than any mortal should—yet he stood. Victorious.

The banners of the old world lay in tatters behind him, the insignias of his enemies reduced to nothing but fabric caught in the dying embers. The Forsaken King's throne—if it could even be called that—was now rubble beneath his feet. The cursed crown that once adorned the tyrant's head was crushed in his gauntleted fist before he cast it aside, letting the wind carry it away like dust.

From the ruined gates of the fortress, his warriors emerged, bloodied but unbowed. Those who had followed him through the abyss, those who had endured the torment of betrayal, now looked upon him not as a mere man, but as something more. A legend. A harbinger of an era yet to be written.

A knight, his face smeared with the soot of battle, took a hesitant step forward. "My king," he said, his voice both reverent and weary, "the last of the Forsaken's forces have fled into the mountains. The war is over."

Rhaegar did not respond immediately. His eyes lingered on the horizon, where the sky burned with dawn's first light. War was never truly over. Not when the ghosts of the past clung so tightly to the living. Not when the price of victory weighed so heavily upon his soul. But still, it was an end. An end to what was.

And a beginning to what would be.

Slowly, he turned to face his people—the warriors, the mages, the outcasts, and the fallen who had risen once more. The ones who had chosen him, followed him through hell, and defied the chains of fate.

"This world has been broken," Rhaegar said, his voice carrying across the ruined halls, over the crumbled towers and the blood-stained stone. "Its kings have been false, its gods silent, its people left in the shadows of tyrants. No longer."

He stepped forward, descending from the ruins like a sovereign descending from the heavens.

"We do not bow to fate. We do not kneel to the past. We forge our own path." His voice was steel, unyielding. "Today, a new kingdom is born—not from the ashes of the old, but from the fire of those who refused to be forgotten."

A storm of voices rose in answer, a cry that shook the very bones of the land. Swords were raised, banners were lifted, and the air itself seemed to tremble.

And as the sun rose over the battlefield, gilding the world in gold and crimson, Rhaegar Crowne—the warrior, the forsaken, the legend—took his first step into a future of his own making.

The past was buried. The war was won.

A kingdom eternal had begun.

THE END.