The dark inheritance

As the soldier's voice echoed through the hallway, Ian's heart sank. He grasped Maya's arm, his eyes locked on hers. "Maya, run! I'll hold them off and catch up with you soon."

Maya's face set in a determined expression. "But I won't leave you, Young Master. We'll face whatever comes next together."

Ian's grip on her arm tightened. "Maya, listen to me. As the heir to this empire, I have a duty to protect you and the others. You're my top priority. Please, for the sake of our kingdom, use the secret passage to escape. I'll follow as soon as I can."

Maya's voice trembled. "B-but, Your Highness, how can I leave you behind? You're the only hope our kingdom has left."

Ian's eyes blazed with determination. "Maya, if I don't buy you time to escape, all will be lost. Just go, and promise me you'll stay safe. I'll return, I swear it."

Maya's face crumpled, but she nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I'll go, but please, your highness, be careful. Come back to us."

With a resolute nod, Ian pushed Maya toward the secret passage. "Go! Now!"

As the last of Maya's footsteps faded into the darkness of the secret passage, Ian's gaze swept the room, his eyes locking onto the sword mounted on the wall. With a swift, decisive motion, he reached out and grasped the hilt, feeling the familiar weight of the sword settle into his palm.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Ian drew the sword from its scabbard, the blade sliding free with a soft, ominous whisper. The steel seemed to shimmer in the faint light, its edge glinting with a deadly promise.

As the sword cleared its scabbard, Ian felt a surge of determination course through his veins. He stood tall, the sword held at the ready, its point trembling with anticipation. The air seemed to vibrate with tension, the shadows cast by the flickering torches dancing across the walls like restless spirits.

In that moment, Ian knew he was ready to face whatever lay ahead, his heart ablaze with a fierce, unyielding resolve.

As Ian stood tall, the sword's weight distributed evenly in his hands, he felt an unexpected surge of confidence. The blade, adorned with intricate engravings, seemed to hum with a power that resonated deep within him.

The man outside the door, growing increasingly agitated, slammed his fist against the wooden panel. "David, where are you? Open the door, damn it!" His voice echoed through the hallway, sending shivers down Ian's spine.

As the footsteps drew closer, the man's tone turned menacing. "Who's inside?" he bellowed, his words dripping with malice.

The door burst open, and a heavily armored man strode into the room. His eyes, like two piercing steel balls, scanned the space until they landed on Ian. The man's gaze widened in surprise, his thick eyebrows arching upward.

Before him stood a boy no more than 10 years old, clutching a sword that seemed to dwarf him. Ian's blue eyes, blazing with determination, sparkled like sapphires in the dim light. His small hands, gripping the sword tightly, seemed to tremble with anticipation.

The armored man's voice, laced with amusement, dripped with sarcasm. "My, my, my! What do we have here?" He took a step closer, his armor creaking with each movement. "A little prince, playing warrior?"

*****

As Ian beheld the two additional men approaching, their armor glinting menacingly in the flickering torchlight, he steeled himself for the impending battle.

With a fierce determination burning within him, Ian launched a surprise attack, his sword flashing in the dim light. The assault was intense, the clash of steel on steel echoing through the room as Ian struck again and again.

However, the armored man, his face a map of scars and experience, easily deflected each blow with a sneer. "Hey, Brian, look at our little prince attacking us! We're going to die!" The man's tone dripped with sarcasm, his voice laced with amusement as he toyed with Ian.

Ian desperately swung his sword, his muscles screaming in protest as he struck again and again. Every blow was effortlessly deflected by the armored man, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

After exchanging a few blows, Ian was exhausted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He let his grip on the sword falter, and the blade clattered to the ground as he fell to his knees.

The man sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Hey, little prince, aren't you going to kill me? Huh?" Ian remained silent, his chest heaving with exhaustion.

However, with a swift motion, he picked up a dagger from the ground and hurled it at the man. Caught off guard, the man barely dodged the attack, and the dagger grazed his cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

As droplets of blood fell, he roared in anger, his face purpling with rage. "You little piece of shit!" Enraged, the man raised his sword, and with a swift, merciless stroke, severed Ian's right hand.

Ian screamed in agony, rolling on the ground as he was overwhelmed by the pain. He cried out for his mother, experiencing extreme pain for the first time in his life.

The room spun around him, and his vision began to blur. The man spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "This piece of shit is useless. Brian, go find the prisoners. I'll dispose of him."

Brian asked, his voice hesitant, "But Captain Geof, what about you?" Geof replied, his voice cold and detached, "I'll take care of him."

Ian summoned his last ounce of strength, biting the inside of his mouth to bring himself back to his senses. With a faint voice, he whispered, "You...will not...pass."

Geof sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "What are you going to do, huh? Cry?" As he finished speaking, he began instructing the other two soldiers.

And then, without warning, the shadows in the room seemed to coalesce into a living, breathing entity. The air grew colder, the torches flickering wildly as if trying to escape the darkness.

Ian's body began to glow with an otherworldly light, his eyes burning with an intense, ethereal energy. The soldiers froze, their faces pale with fear, as they realized that something ancient and malevolent had awakened within Ian.

The darkness closed in, a palpable presence that seemed to be waiting for something - or someone. And in the heart of the darkness, Ian's voice whispered a single, chilling word:

"Begin."