Chosen

A chance to prove himself.

The words echoed in his mind as he walked down the cave, his arm aching from carrying the wooden torch. Its light was the only thing illuminating the suffocating darkness. He stepped forward cautiously, eyes darting in different directions, ears straining to catch the slightest noise that wasn't his own boots against the stone floor.

The ground sloped downward. Loose stones shifted beneath his boots, their clatter swallowed by the pressing silence. The deeper he went, the colder the air became, biting at his exposed skin.

The stench of rotting corpses clung to the air. He kept his eyes forward, studiously avoiding the bodies strewn haphazardly across the cave. This was the place where legions had met their death.

The further he walked, the more oppressive the aura became. His torchlight flickered. The space around him seemed to shrink, the darkness closing in, pressing against his skin like a living thing. His instincts screamed at him to turn back. This was suicide.

But he pressed on.

He did not have much of a choice, the order had been clear. Retrieve the stones or die trying.

His torch dimmed. The shadows inched closer. He tried to reignite the flame. His magic may have been the weakest among the royal family, but this was a basic skill—one he had mastered since he was five. He pressed his palm against the wood, willing his magic to flow.

Nothing happened.

The torch flickered again, the flame dwindling. He tried once more, gritting his teeth, straining for the tiniest spark—nothing.

Terror gripped him. His stomach felt like a stone. He unconsciously took a step back.

No magic.

He struck the wood again. And again. The flame wavered but didn't catch. His heart pounded. No, no, no. The shadows thickened.

Without magic, how would he complete his mission?

And yet, if he failed, turned back now his fate was sealed. Obscurity. Disgrace. Death.

The more he lived, he witnessed the fates undying hatred for him.

But here, if he pressed on… there was still a chance.

He clenched his fists and stepped forward.

The torchlight guttered, shrinking with every step. Shadows lengthened, whispering at the edges of his vision. Then one final flicker, a shuddering gasp of flame, and then darkness fell.

Suddenly, the torchlight went out.

The darkness swallowed him whole.

Something a weight, a presence pressed down on him. His knees buckled. He gasped, unable to move, unable to breathe. His instincts screamed run, run, run, but the darkness held him still, trapping him like an insect in amber.

And then,

A voice.

Low. Sinister. Right by his left ear.

"Nice to meet you, Prince Caspian. You've kept me waiting."

It took a moment for Caspian's fear-addled brain to comprehend its words.

Who?… What?

His question never left his lips. The pressure on him increased suddenly, mercilessly. It took all his strength just to remain upright.

Something incorporeal pressed against his skin. He felt it like tiny insects crawling beneath his armor, beneath his clothes. He shuddered. Then it moved.

Up his nose. Inside him.

He gasped as something tore through his mind, flipping through his thoughts like pages in a book. There was no grace, no care only ruthless violation.

"Hmm," the voice murmured, still by his ear.

"Your mind… sixth prince… framed… scorned… son of a whore."

Caspian could do nothing. He was held in place, wide-eyed, exposed in a way he'd never felt before. His body refused to move, his mind had no way to resist.

And then it stopped.

The presence vanished. The voice, the pressure gone.

He collapsed, gasping for breath, panting like a drowning man who had just surfaced.

A small red flame flickered into existence before him. It barely illuminated the cave, casting long, sinister shadows.

It floated forward.

"Follow it."

The guttural voice echoed through the darkness.

He should have turned back. This was not the mission. He was here for the Elysian Stones.

And yet

He clenched his fists. He had no way of fighting this thing. No way of running from it.

So he took a step forward.

And followed the flame.

As he walked, Caspian questioned his decision.

And yet if this thing wanted him dead, it could have killed him already.

The stench in the air warned him it still might.

And yet… curiosity pulled him forward.

What was this thing? This presence that felt so infinitely powerful?

And the truth was—the promise of death didn't matter to him.

It might even be a welcome respite.

For years, he had only barely managed to outrun it.

---

He walked for what felt like forever before the flame finally stopped.

The light grew.

Shadows scattered.

And in front of him

A statue.

A massive stone figure, so tall Caspian felt like an insect beneath it.

As the flickering light revealed more, Caspian felt himself growing… entranced.

The figure was like a general caught mid-battle, hands outstretched in a stance of unimaginable power.

The details were so precise too precise. The hair of the statue wasn't just carved it seemed to be caught in a furious wind, mid-motion.

Something about it

Caspian should kneel.

He should bow.

The urge hit him like a strike to the chest.

How could he look directly at it?

Weak, worthless thing that he was.

The feeling came out of nowhere a desperate, clawing compulsion to kneel, to worship, to serve.

No.

Ridiculous.

Caspian shook his head frantically, trying to dislodge the intrusive thoughts.

But the voice came.

"Kneel before your god, little princeling."

And Caspian dropped.

He didn't think. Didn't resist.

How could he?

Silence.

Caspian remained kneeling.

His mind raced.

A god?

The seconds ticked by, stretching into eternity. His lips parted before he could stop himself.

"My lord?"

"You wish to know who I am?"

The voice cut through him.

A guttural, grating thing, like stone scraping against stone. It echoed—not just in the cavern, but in his mind.

"I am the God-King Heka. The last god."

Caspian's breath caught.

He was in the presence of an Old One.

"I am the god of chaos. Of annihilation. Of destruction."

Each word settled into his bones like a weight.

"Millions of years ago, my brothers turned against me. They called me unpredictable. Too chaotic."

"I was sealed away"

The cavern trembled.

"Because they feared me."

"For eons, I have waited. Plotted."

The air grew heavy, pressing into Caspian's skin.

"I devoured those who strayed too close. Consumed their essence. Amassed my power waiting for the day I would break free."

The shadows twisted.

Heka's voice dropped, a whisper against Caspian's ear.

"And yet, I did not need to."

A pause.

"They destroyed themselves."

The god laughed.

A sharp, grating sound that sent pain lancing through Caspian's skull.

"They turned on one another like starving dogs."

The fire blazed crimson.

Caspian flinched. He scrambled back but the fire reared like a living thing, snapping toward him before retreating.

"One by one, my kin perished. Greed consuming them as surely as fire consumes flesh. Until I alone remained."

"Their creations built themselves upon their corpses. Drank their blood to steal the last remnants of our magic."

Heka's voice grew darker.

"And now? The pitiful humans rule the world WE created."

The fire dimmed.

And then

The statue moved.

Not much. Just a tilt of its head. A slight lowering of its gaze downward, toward Caspian.

The weight of its attention crushed him.

"Weak, pitiful thing that you are."

Caspian shuddered.

"It is a miracle you have survived this far."

The god's voice hummed with something dangerous.

"Born weak. Yet"

A pause.

"I sense divinity in you."

The words settled over Caspian like a brand.

"A seed, small but present."

The flames flared.

"And it is for that reason"

Heka's voice became a whisper.

"You have been chosen."