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's body trembled as he gripped Solmara tighter. His breaths came short, his mind still caught in the vision—the battlefield of the past, the Guardian standing over the fallen, and the woman with fire in her eyes.

Kael," Seraphine's voice was urgent, but edged with something else. Concern. "What did you see?

He exhaled sharply. "A battle. A woman. She and the Guardian stood on opposite sides, and Solmara…" He hesitated, his stomach twisting. "It destroyed everything."

Seraphine's expression darkened. "That blade has history soaked in blood. You must be careful."

Kael ran a hand down his face, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of power, destruction, and loss. But the tremors in the temple were growing stronger. Something was waking up.

Seraphine grabbed his arm. "We need to move."

He didn't argue. Still gripping Solmara, he pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself against the altar. The air was charged, thick with unseen energy.

As they turned toward the exit, a deep rumbling echoed through the chamber. Then came the voice.

Kael spun, his muscles tensing as a shadow materialized before them.

It wasn't the Guardian from his vision. This figure was different—taller, darker, its form shifting like smoke given shape. Its eyes glowed a deep, burning silver, locked onto Kael with an intensity that felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.

Seraphine's fingers twitched toward her daggers. "What is that?"

The figure took a step forward, its presence sending another tremor through the ground. The murals lining the walls began to crumble.

"You dare claim Solmara," the voice rasped, hollow and ancient. "You are but a shadow of what was meant to be."

Kael's grip on the sword tightened. "Who are you?"

The figure did not answer. Instead, it raised a hand. The shadows at its feet swirled and shot forward.

Kael barely had time to react. He threw himself aside as dark tendrils slashed toward him, tearing through the stone where he had stood. Dust and debris filled the air.

Seraphine moved in a blur, hurling a dagger toward the figure's head.

The blade passed straight through it.

Seraphine cursed, leaping back as the figure's silver eyes snapped toward her. "Your tricks will not work on me, child."

Kael lunged, swinging Solmara in a powerful arc. The blade sliced through the darkness—

And for the first time, the figure staggered.

Kael's heart pounded. The sword had power—it could hurt this thing.

The shadow figure tilted its head. "Interesting…"

Kael barely got his blade up in time. The shadows slammed into him, forcing him back against the altar. The cold seeped through his armor.

Chapter 11: The weight of the blade