Chapter 2: A Kingdom Frozen in Chains
The wind that swept through the frost-choked valleys of Erelith was not one of life but of silence. Bitter. Hollow. Heavy with the taste of ancient blood and forgotten songs.
Kael stood upon the edge of a cliff overlooking the borderlands, his black cloak fluttering in the icy wind. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he surveyed the land ahead—vast, frigid plains stretching beyond sight, where jagged mountains pierced the heavens and the howls of beasts echoed endlessly. Erelith. A kingdom not yet dead, but slowly suffocating under its own weight.
Below, a force marched under his banner—his army.
A patchwork legion of warriors bound not by blood, not by oath, but by fear and awe. Mercenaries who'd seen his blade cut through knights like paper. Outcasts drawn to his rising star. Survivors from Velmora, their broken loyalty reforged in the Abyss. And at the heart of them all, his chosen—the Abyssborne.
Wielders of dark gifts, trained in silence, cloaked in shadow.
Seris appeared beside him, barefoot as always, the snow refusing to touch her skin.
"Erelith fractures," she said softly. "Three claimants to the crown. Three fools playing at kings while their people starve."
Kael nodded. "They'll either kneel… or shatter."
"They will not yield easily."
"Good." Kael's breath turned to mist. "That makes the fall more satisfying."
Vaen approached from the rear, his armor darkened with ash and trimmed with furs scavenged from northern beasts. "The scouts returned. The city of Coldmere lies just beyond the river. The bridge is held by the Black Wolf Company—a mercenary band loyal to Lord Harvyn, one of the would-be kings."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "How many?"
"Roughly eight hundred. Hardened. Disciplined. They've fortified the banks. If we march directly, they'll bleed us before we cross."
Kael considered this in silence. Then, a faint smile touched his lips. "Then we won't march directly."
Seris tilted her head. "You'll unleash the Abyss?"
"No." Kael turned, walking toward the ridge. "We'll do worse."
---
Night fell swift and thick, swallowing the land in a sea of shadows. Kael moved with purpose through the woods lining the river, flanked by a dozen of his Abyssborne. Their armor was black and seamless, their presence a mere whisper, their breath silent.
Across the river, firelight flickered behind barricades. The Black Wolf Company had set up a proper defense—spikes, watchtowers, mages among them. They were prepared for an army.
But not for shadows.
Kael crouched beside a snow-covered tree. "Seris. The silence."
Seris knelt beside him, her fingers brushing over the earth. She whispered something in a language not spoken by any living race. The air twisted. The wind died.
Suddenly, there was no sound. No rustling leaves. No chirping birds. Even the river's rush had vanished.
Only silence.
Perfect and unnatural.
Kael signaled forward.
The Abyssborne moved as one, gliding like specters across the riverbank. They didn't splash. They didn't stumble. Within moments, they were behind enemy lines—inside the camp, in the shadows between tents.
The screams began two heartbeats later.
Muted, gurgled cries as throats were slit and sentries dragged into the dark. Kael advanced slowly, his blade drawn. The weapon pulsed in his hand—alive, feeding on fear.
A mage turned toward him, eyes wide, mouth opening to cast.
Too late.
Kael moved with inhuman speed, his blade flashing once—then the mage's head rolled across the snow, eyes still twitching in confusion. More guards turned, chaos erupting, but in the silence, even their dying gasps went unheard.
It was over in minutes.
Vaen arrived with reinforcements to find the Black Wolf Company slaughtered to the last man. The bridge lay soaked in blood, the river running crimson.
Kael stood in the center, his cloak billowing around him, the blade at his side dripping shadow.
"No survivors?" Vaen asked, voice low.
Kael shook his head. "One."
---
The man was dragged before Kael—bloodied, trembling, eyes filled with disbelief. He was young, barely past twenty, his armor marked with the sigil of Harvyn's household.
Kael crouched before him, resting the tip of his blade beneath the soldier's chin.
"Name."
"L-Lorrin…"
"Lorrin. You will deliver a message to your lord."
Lorrin blinked. "Y-you're… letting me live?"
"For now," Kael said. "Tell Harvyn that the Abyss is coming. That there is no throne, no wall, no army that will stop me. He has one chance to bend the knee… or Coldmere will become Velmora."
Kael stood, sheathing his blade. "Run."
The man scrambled to his feet, half-sobbing, and fled into the night like a wounded animal.
Seris appeared beside him. "Mercy?"
"No," Kael said. "Strategy."
She smiled. "Even cruelty has logic with you."
He didn't respond. He stared northward, where beyond the hills lay Coldmere—frostbitten capital of Harvyn's stolen rule.
The first of the pretender kings.
The first to fall.
---
The days that followed were swift.
With the bridge secured, Kael's army crossed like a tide of black iron, pouring into Erelith's fractured heart. Villages surrendered before a single blow was struck. Word of Coldmere's defenders being butchered in silence spread like wildfire. Fear was Kael's vanguard—loyalty born not of love, but survival.
But not all bowed.
On the fourth day, Harvyn's banners were spotted flying high above the city. The gates were closed. Ballistae lined the walls. From his spies, Kael learned that Harvyn had summoned aid from the second claimant—Lady Veyra, a noble sorceress who controlled the Eastern Isles.
An alliance.
Temporary, but dangerous.
Kael stood atop a hill overlooking Coldmere's distant walls. Snow drifted lazily around him.
"They're uniting," Vaen said grimly. "You forced their hands."
"Let them," Kael replied. "When they gather in one place, they make it easier to break them all at once."
He turned to Seris. "Can you find the boy?"
Her blindfold shifted slightly. "Lorrin? Yes. He's in the keep. Alive, afraid, but useful."
"Good. He'll open the gates."
Vaen frowned. "You trust him?"
"No," Kael said. "But I trust fear. It's more loyal than faith."
---
That night, the sky wept ice.
Kael's forces surrounded Coldmere under cover of darkness. Inside the city, panic had already taken root—whispers of Kael's blade, of Seris's sorcery, of the shadows that moved without sound.
Lorrin opened the eastern gate before dawn.
The army poured in.
What followed was not a battle, but an execution.
Harvyn fell in single combat, his flaming sword shattered by Kael's abyssal blade. Lady Veyra fled, her sorcery useless against Seris's binding runes. The remaining guards either surrendered or were impaled.
By midday, Coldmere burned.
Kael stood atop the highest spire, gazing down at his new prize. The city groaned under the weight of smoke and screams, but beneath it all was a sound only he could hear:
The heartbeat of the Abyss.
Growing. Thriving. Hungering.
Seris joined him, eyes closed, hands trembling. "It awakens."
"I know," Kael said softly. "It stirs every time we conquer. Every time we spill blood. This is only the beginning."
"The other claimant—Duke Malrick—he won't wait long. He'll strike soon."
Kael's eyes gleamed.
"Let him come."
He raised his blade high, its darkness pulsing against the light of the rising sun.
"This land belongs to me now."