Chapter 6:The Collar Of Fate

The bells rang, a persistent call that echoed across the streets of Eiravell, signaling the break of dawn. The baker was already at his stall, the warm scent of freshly baked bread drifting through the market square, drawing in early morning customers. The sound of guards stomping their boots against the cobblestones reverberated through the air, an audible reminder of the kingdom's ever-watchful eye.

Inside the Queen's private chambers, the morning sun pierced through tall, narrow windows, casting golden rays across her silken sheets. Queen Elenora IV stirred, slowly waking from her slumber, her face cold as the marble floors beneath her feet. She rose, her movements deliberate and unhurried, a regal calmness surrounding her despite the storm brewing in her heart.

Her reflection in the mirror was sharp and flawless, yet the hard lines beneath her eyes betrayed the weight she carried—both as ruler and as a mother. Her gaze lingered on the reflection of her own face, a fleeting softness in her eyes before it was replaced by a mask of stoic resolve. There would be no time for weakness.

Outside, the sound of armored boots echoed as the guards made their way to the dungeons, where the accused man—her kingdom's supposed traitor—awaited his fate. The clanking of chains was growing nearer, growing louder, and with it, the inevitable end of an era for the man who had once dared to challenge the monarchy.

The protagonist, still bruised from his trial, was dragged through the corridors of the castle, his chains rattling with each labored step. His breath was ragged, his thoughts clouded. But he wasn't afraid—not yet. The faintest flicker of something else stirred inside him—something more dangerous than fear. A strange resolve. There was still time.

As the gates of the castle courtyard opened before him, the protagonist was brought out into the harsh light of day. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder as they gathered, their eyes trained on the figure that was about to be cast out. Queen Elenora IV had already taken her seat on the raised dais, her gaze cold and unmoving. The guild heads, the Crownbrands, sat in their respective sections, their faces unreadable.

The trumpets blared, the drums began to play, and the rhythm of the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

The Queen glanced around for her daughter, but one of her maids, her voice trembling with unease, whispered, "Your Majesty, Princess Elyra is missing."

Her brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line of barely-contained fury. "Find her," she commanded, her voice quiet but filled with a dark promise. "Find her, or I'll have every last one of you replaced."

The air grew thick with tension as the murmurs of the crowd reached a fever pitch. The protagonist stood, shoulders squared, eyes defiant as he was pushed to the front. The Queen's sharp gaze met his for a moment, and he felt her eyes pierce through him—calculating, cold.

"Iriana," the protagonist muttered, just loud enough for the Queen to hear, his voice rough from days of neglect. "You'll regret this."

She stood, unfazed, her voice low but firm as she began her declaration. "You stand before me, a man accused of treason, of espionage, of dishonoring this kingdom and its crown. The evidence is clear, the verdict is final."

The guild heads remained silent, watching intently from their high seats.

The Queen's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a thin smile. "This kingdom doesn't tolerate spies, traitors, or those who would undermine the Crown's authority. Your fate is sealed."

A soldier, dressed in gleaming armor, approached with a small box, opening it to reveal a golden-crafted collar. The golden sheen caught the sunlight, making it look like an ornament of some long-lost, cruel deity. The collar was cold to the touch as the guards fastened it around the protagonist's neck.

The finality of the gesture was enough to send a chill through the crowd. The Queen's gaze was now steely, resolute. She signaled for the banishment to begin.

"Take him to the edge of the kingdom," the Queen ordered, her voice carrying across the courtyard. "Let him live. But know this: Should he ever dare to return, the collar will tighten until his life is no more."

The drums grew louder, filling the air with a heavy beat as the protagonist was escorted through the gates. His chains were removed, the sound of their clinking dying away as the doors of Eiravell Castle closed behind him with an ominous finality. The protagonist looked back one last time, the gates closing with a resonant thud. The air beyond was dry, the land barren, stretching endlessly into the horizon.

He took a deep breath, savoring the air that was free from the suffocating weight of the palace. He was free, but at what cost?

The collar around his neck seemed to burn with every step, but he dared not touch it. His mind raced. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not with this thing around his neck. The golden collar, a reminder that his very life was now a thin thread hanging by the smallest of chances.

Yet even with that weight on his neck, his mind was still working. He had three days. Three days to survive. Three days to figure out how to escape this trap.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to Elyra. He couldn't help but wonder where she was now. What she was doing. If she even cared about what had just happened. Her absence weighed heavily on his chest. Had she abandoned him? Or had something happened?

Suddenly, a voice broke through his thoughts—faint at first, a whisper on the wind. "Hey… you!"

The protagonist stopped in his tracks, straining to hear. His eyes scanned the horizon, his heart pounding in his chest.

There it was again—clearer now. "You! Get clear!"

He turned, and there she was—Princess Elyra, atop a large, swift beast, her figure barely visible against the dust clouds kicking up behind her. But something else was coming—something far larger, its form blurry at first. The ground trembled beneath his feet as the enormous creature gave chase.

Instinct took over. He turned, sprinting toward her. But the creatures were too fast—closing in on them with terrifying speed.

Just as the predator's jaws snapped in the distance, the protagonist stumbled. His feet caught on a rock, and with a sickening crack, his head slammed into the ground. His vision blurred, and darkness claimed him.

Dream Sequence

He was floating. No—drifting. There was a bright light in his face, something so bright it blinded him, but it wasn't the sun. It was a presence, a figure. He tried to focus, to bring the image into clarity, but everything was too hazy, too unclear.

"Who—who are you?" he called out, but the words were lost, swallowed by the light.

The figure stepped forward, close enough for him to feel a presence—a warmth that was both comforting and unnerving at once. And just as he thought he could grasp the identity of the figure, the light flickered, and the image disappeared.

A sudden chill wrapped around him, and the dream slipped away, leaving him in the nothingness.