Fortune_Patrick

In the war-torn kingdom of Velmora, a prophecy foretells that only one warrior can wield the legendary blade Solmara and end the centuries-old war. That warrior is Kael Dain, a battle-hardened outcast raised among mercenaries, unaware of his true lineage.

But the prophecy comes with a cruel twist—Kael must forsake love, for the one he gives his heart to will bring the kingdom to ruin.

Then he meets Seraphine, a mysterious healer with eyes like molten gold and a past shrouded in secrets. Drawn to her in ways he cannot explain, Kael discovers too late that Seraphine is tied to the prophecy—her blood unlocks Solmara’s true power, and if she dies, the blade awakens.

As dark forces rise and betrayal lurks in every shadow, King Varos, a ruthless ruler obsessed with fulfilling the prophecy for his own gain, seeks to capture Seraphine and bend fate to his will.

Now, Kael faces an impossible choice: sacrifice the woman he loves to fulfill his destiny and save the kingdom, or defy fate and risk plunging the world into eternal war.

the fatebound blade

Kael stood at the edge of the newly formed doorway, staring into the darkness that stretched beneath the ruins. The whispers had not faded. They slithered around him, curling into his mind like unseen fingers.

His pulse thrummed. His body was tense, every instinct screaming at him that this was a trap. But the Forgotten warriors still knelt, unmoving, their swords lowered. The only thing that had changed was this path opening before him.

Seraphine stepped beside him, breathing hard. Her golden eyes darted between him and the doorway. She knew what this meant.

"This place is answering to you," she murmured.

Kael clenched his jaw. "That doesn't mean I have to follow it."

He tore his gaze from the dark stairwell and met hers. "There's always a choice."

Seraphine tilted her head, studying him. Then, softly, she asked, "Then why haven't you walked away?"

She was right. He could leave. He could turn and run, ignore the strange whispers, the way this place seemed to know him. But he hadn't moved.

Because something deep inside him needed to know.

Seraphine placed a hand on the crumbling stone wall. "This ruin is older than the kingdoms we know. It should have turned to dust long ago." She turned to him. "And yet, it remains. Why do you think that is?"

"Because it is bound to something," Seraphine continued. "Something that should have died long ago—but hasn't."

Kael let out a slow breath. "And you think that something is waiting for me."

Seraphine gave a small, unreadable smile. "It's not just waiting, Kael. It's calling."

The air grew heavier between them.

Kael looked back down the stairwell. The walls were carved with symbols he didn't recognize—but somehow understood. The stone steps seemed impossibly old, worn by time, yet they did not crumble.

They were waiting for him to take the first step.

Kael turned to Seraphine. "Stay close."

She nodded. "I wasn't planning to leave you to this alone."

Together, they stepped into the darkness.

The descent was slow. The air grew colder with each step. The whispers no longer came from around them but inside them. Kael felt them crawling through his thoughts, brushing against his memories.

Seraphine lit a small flame in her palm, casting flickering golden light along the passageway.

The walls were lined with murals—faded paintings of warriors in golden armor, their swords raised toward a burning sky. Some bore wings. Others had eyes like fire.

Kael frowned, running his fingers over one of the carvings.

"Do you recognize this?" Seraphine asked softly.

Not in a way he could explain. He had never seen these murals before, yet something inside him whispered that he had.

The passageway opened into a vast chamber. An ancient temple buried beneath the ruins.

At its center stood a massive stone altar. And on that altar rested a sword.

The blade was black as night, edged in silver, its hilt adorned with intricate runes. A weapon untouched by time.

Seraphine exhaled sharply. "Solmara."

Kael felt the name in his bones. It was not just a sword. It was power. It was fate.

chapter 8: The descent