The grand halls of Draven Keep trembled with the weight of accusations. Golden chandeliers illuminated the faces of nobles, their expressions twisted with greed, scorn, or silent sympathy. The air smelled of aged parchment, wax-sealed edicts, and the cold steel of armored knights who stood as silent sentinels, awaiting their next command.
Alaric Draven knelt in the center of the throne room, shackles biting into his wrists. His long black hair, once neatly tied in nobility's fashion, hung in disheveled strands. His sharp, hawk-like eyes bore into the man who sat upon the throne—King Edric Valoria.
The king's presence was undeniable, draped in a crimson robe embroidered with golden sigils of the Valorian Empire. Yet, beneath his regal visage, there was something else—a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips, barely concealed beneath the weight of his golden crown. A smirk that spoke of a victory already claimed.
"Duke Cassian Draven and his household stand accused of treason against the crown." The voice of the High Magistrate echoed through the chamber, his tone impassive as he unrolled a lengthy parchment. "It is said they conspired with the Kingdom of Edrion, revealing military secrets and plotting against King Edric himself."
A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles, their whispers like the hissing of vipers in the dark.
Alaric clenched his fists. Lies. All of it.
His father, Duke Cassian Draven, had been a loyal vassal of the Valorian Empire, a man who had shed blood on the battlefield for king and country. He was no traitor. And yet, here he was, accused of a crime that reeked of political maneuvering.
Alaric raised his head. "This is a farce," he spat, his voice edged with defiance. "My father has fought and bled for Valoria. He would never betray the crown."
The court fell into hushed silence. The king's smirk widened.
"Such bold words," King Edric mused, reclining slightly on his throne. "And yet, evidence speaks louder than loyalty. We have reports from trusted sources—letters exchanged between your father and the enemy. Testimonies from men who swore their allegiance to the throne."
Fabricated. Bribed. Forced.
Alaric could see it all so clearly. His father had made enemies within the court, rivals who long sought to see House Draven fall. And now, they had succeeded.
"Where is my father?" Alaric demanded, struggling against his restraints.
The High Magistrate did not answer immediately. Instead, his gaze flickered toward the king, who nodded once.
The grand doors of the throne room creaked open.
Two knights stepped forward, dragging a battered figure between them.
Alaric's breath caught in his throat.
His father, Duke Cassian Draven, once a proud and towering figure, now looked like a broken man. His silver hair was matted with dried blood, his once-pristine armor now nothing more than tattered cloth clinging to his body. His face, bruised and swollen, barely resembled the formidable warrior he once was.
The knights threw him to the ground before the throne.
Gasps echoed through the chamber. Even those who had conspired against House Draven had not expected such brutality.
"Father!" Alaric shouted, straining against his chains.
Cassian Draven lifted his head slowly, his blue eyes meeting his son's. Even in his weakened state, there was no despair in them—only an unyielding resolve.
"Alaric..." his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. "Do not let them break you."
King Edric rose from his throne, stepping forward with deliberate grace. He gazed down at the fallen duke, feigning a look of sorrow. "Cassian Draven, for the crime of treason, your lands and titles are hereby forfeit. Your lineage shall be erased from history."
"No!" Alaric struggled, his vision blurring with rage. "This is wrong! You know this is wrong!"
The king ignored him. With a mere gesture, one of the knights unsheathed his sword. The polished steel gleamed under the torchlight, its edge glinting like a predator's fang.
Cassian closed his eyes.
The blade fell.
Time slowed. Alaric's scream tore through the hall as his father's head separated from his body, rolling to a stop mere inches from him. Crimson pooled on the marble floor, staining the proud crest of House Draven that once adorned Cassian's cloak.
Silence.
Then, a single, cruel voice broke it.
"The traitors are no more."
The nobles cheered, some out of fear, others out of greed. The Draven lands were vast, their wealth immeasurable. And now, they were ripe for the taking.
King Edric turned to Alaric, his smile devoid of warmth. "As for you, dear boy… execution would be a mercy." He gestured to the knights. "Strip him of his nobility. Brand him a traitor's son. Banish him to the Exiled Lands."
Alaric could barely process the words. His mind was still trapped in the moment his father fell, in the weight of his failure. He had been powerless. Helpless.
No more.
As the knights dragged him away, chains clinking with each step, Alaric made a vow.
He would return.
And he would burn Valoria to the ground.
...
The Exiled Lands were a cursed place, a wasteland where criminals, outcasts, and the forsaken were cast to perish. Jagged mountains clawed at the sky, and the land itself was barren, lifeless.
Alaric collapsed against a broken ruin, his body bruised and battered from the journey. The knights had stripped him of everything—his fine clothes, his signet ring, even his name. He was no longer Alaric Draven. He was no one.
But even in the depths of despair, fate had not abandoned him.
A flickering light shimmered in the darkness.
A voice, cold and mechanical, echoed in his mind.
[Sign-In System Activated.]
[Welcome, Alaric Draven. Your vengeance begins now.]