Temzy

When the Vikings razed Eldhame, they left behind ash, ruin—and a boy king with no crown.

Raised in hiding by a loyal soldier and a silent blade of the old court, Uthred was forged in fire, sharpened by loss, and trained for vengeance. Now grown, he returns not as a child, but as a spark set to ignite rebellion.

But reclaiming a kingdom is only the beginning.

Old gods stir beneath ice and stone. Empire sails darken the eastern horizon. And prophecy whispers that Uthred’s bloodline may bring either salvation—or apocalypse.

As war erupts across coasts, courts, and continents, Uthred must lead allies he cannot fully trust, protect a people who barely remember his name, and guard the child who may one day eclipse him.

Steel can kill kings. But only fire can make one.

UTHRED: HEIR OF ASH AND STEEL

The duel ground was a hollowed basin in the hills beyond Eldhaven—a place scorched during the first rebellion and left untouched since. No banners flew. No songs played.

Kairon stood bare-chested beneath the morning mist, his skin painted with ash sigils, his blade forged from salvaged rebel steel. Across from him, Uthred tightened the grip on his father's sword—Aedric's blade, now reforged.

There were no seconds. No timekeepers.

Only Maera and Theron stood at the ridge, watching silently.

The ground was packed dirt. Damp. Slippery.

Wind hissed between them like breath between teeth.

His first strike was fast—faster than Uthred remembered. A diagonal slash aimed high, arcing for the neck.

Uthred ducked low, pivoted, and countered with a riposte aimed for the ribs. Kairon twisted, caught the blade with the flat of his own, and shoved forward.

Kairon smiled. "You still hesitate."

Steel rang like thunder. Sparks flew. Uthred blocked two blows, parried a third, and drove a boot into Kairon's thigh.

Kairon staggered but recovered fast, lunging with a brutal shoulder-check that sent Uthred sliding in the dirt.

He rolled, regained his feet, and spit blood.

They fought in bursts—seconds of silence followed by flashes of violence. Each strike chipped bone or jarred nerves. Their breathing grew louder than their footfalls.

Kairon feinted high and went low, cutting across Uthred's calf. Blood welled. Uthred grunted, adjusted, and slashed across Kairon's shoulder in reply.

Both men backed off. Bleeding. Grinning.

"You want this to be over," Kairon said. "But the fire isn't done with us."

They locked blades. Shoulder to shoulder. Foreheads pressed in strain.

Uthred shoved with everything he had—torso, hips, boots scraping earth.

Kairon stumbled. Uthred slashed—catching the rebel king across the chest. A deep gash. Not fatal.

Kairon charged with a roar, wild now, more fury than form. He brought his blade down in a two-handed arc. Uthred sidestepped, but not fast enough—the blade scraped across his ribs.

Uthred surged upward, driving his shoulder into Kairon's gut. The two crashed to the ground.

They rolled—scrambling, fists landing where swords could not.

Then steel flashed again—Uthred's blade pressed to Kairon's throat.

Kairon smiled. "And now I'm your shadow."

Uthred drove the pommel into his temple.

Uthred rose, panting, bleeding from four wounds. His legs were shaking. His fingers wouldn't unclench.

Maera and Theron rushed down the hill.

Uthred nodded. "He lives. But the fire is out."

THE DUEL OF KINGS.