Prologue

The rain fell in sheets, drowning the last echoes of battle. The scent of blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating, mingling with the damp earth. Corpses lay scattered across the field-soldiers, mercenaries, men who had once believed in a cause. Now, they were nothing more than remnants of a war that had long lost its meaning.

A man stood among the dead, his armor battered, his sword heavy with the weight of the fallen. He did not tremble. He did not waver. The fire in his eyes had long since turned to embers, cold and unyielding.

Behind him, a voice, smooth as silk and sharp as a dagger, cut through the silence.

"You've come far, Soldier."

The man did not turn. He knew who it was. Knew the game that was being played.

"This isn't your fight, Jester."

A chuckle, soft and knowing. "Isn't it? You stand at the gates of a kingdom that will never welcome you. You hold a blade meant for a man who still calls you his own. Tell me, then-who truly stands beside you?"

The Soldier's grip tightened around his sword.

The Poet stepped forward, his coat untouched by the grime of war, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "You cannot kill a King with strength alone. And he will never fall as long as he holds the world in his grasp."

The Soldier turned, at last, meeting the gaze of the man who had followed him through fire and ruin. A man who never carried a weapon, yet left nothing but devastation in his wake.

"I don't need your words," the Soldier said.

The Poet only smiled. "No. But you will use them, all the same."

Far above, beyond the walls of the fortress, a lone figure stood at the highest tower of the citadel, watching the storm rage over his city. The wind howled, whipping the banners of the kingdom, but Regis von Castellan did not flinch. His crimson cloak billowed behind him, gold embroidery shimmering against the torchlight. Below, the streets of the capital pulsed with life, flickering lanterns fighting against the darkness, voices whispering in fear of what was to come.

The kingdom's fate lay in the hands of three men, and the weight of it sat heavy on his shoulders.

Callen Aldric. The soldier turned betrayer. Once a loyal blade, now a storm seeking to uproot the throne he once served. Regis had watched him grow, had seen the fire in his eyes when he knelt before him as a young warrior. That fire had not died, but it had changed. Hardened. Twisted into something that would see the kingdom undone.

Veylin Lorien. The man who never carried a sword yet fought a war with whispers. A vagrant, a storyteller, a jester with words like poisoned honey. He had walked these halls for years, weaving his influence into the cracks of the kingdom. Regis had tolerated him, had allowed him to breathe the same air as kings and nobles-because he was useful. But a man like Veylin did not scheme without purpose, and his purpose had long been a mystery.

Regis exhaled slowly, his breath steady as he studied the battlefield beyond the city walls. The storm had come, and with it, the final game had begun.

A soldier with nothing left to lose.

A poet with nothing left to fear.

And a king with everything to protect.

His fingers drummed lightly against the stone railing, his mind already calculating the next move. He did not fear battle. He did not fear war. What he feared was the war beyond the battlefield-the war of lies, of schemes, of men who smiled as they sharpened their blades behind their backs.

And he feared that, for the first time, he would not be able to stop it.

Turning from the storm, he stepped into the dimly lit chamber beyond. His council awaited.

The time for peace was over.

"So it begins."

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Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and settings depicted in this novel are entirely the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual historical events is purely coincidental.

This story explores themes of war, power struggles, political intrigue, and human ambition. It contains depictions of violence, deception, and morally complex characters. Reader discretion is advised.

The author does not endorse or promote any real-world ideologies, political systems, or actions that may appear in the narrative. The goal of this novel is to explore the nature of strength, influence, and strategy in a fictional medieval setting.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the author's prior written permission.