While Aster slept in the abandoned house, exhaustion finally claiming him after the horrors of the day, something terrible was beginning to unfold across the kingdom.
It started just past midnight—around 2:30 in the morning, when most of the capital's residents were deep in their beds, lost in dreams or nightmares.
The first scream shattered the night's silence.
It came from a residential district in the heart of the capital—a modest neighborhood of townhouses where merchants and craftspeople lived. The sound was piercing, agonized, the kind of scream that spoke of pain beyond endurance.
Windows flew open. Lights flickered to life as people were jolted from their sleep. Neighbors emerged from their homes, pulling on robes and cloaks, drawn by the terrible sound.
The screaming was coming from the Hendricks household—a baker's family, ironically enough. Thomas Hendricks ran a popular shop on the main street, and he lived above it with his wife Mara and their two young children.
But it wasn't Thomas screaming. It was Mara.
"Someone get help!" Thomas shouted from the doorway, his face pale with terror. "Something's wrong with my wife! Please, someone get the physician! Get the guards!"
More neighbors gathered, forming a crowd in the street. Some rushed to help. Others hung back, sensing that something was deeply wrong—something that a physician couldn't fix.
Through the open door, those closest could see Mara Hendricks. She stood in the middle of their living room, her body rigid, her head thrown back. And her eyes...
Her eyes were completely black. Not just the pupils, but the entire eye—sclera, iris, everything. Pure, absolute darkness that seemed to drink in the lamplight.
She screamed again, a sound of such anguish that several people in the crowd had to cover their ears. It wasn't just pain—it was despair, corruption, the sound of something fundamentally wrong happening to a human soul.
"Mara!" Thomas tried to approach his wife, reaching for her. "Mara, please, what's—"
She turned those black eyes toward him, and he froze. For just a moment, her mouth moved, forming words that came out in a voice that wasn't quite hers—layered with echoes, as if multiple beings were speaking through her throat:
*"The eyes are opening. The king has returned. The darkness spreads."*
Then she collapsed.
Her body hit the floor hard, and the darkness drained from her eyes, leaving them normal brown once more. She lay unconscious, barely breathing, as Thomas rushed to her side.
"Someone send for the city guard!" one of the neighbors shouted. "This is dark magic! This is—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. No one wanted to say it, but everyone was thinking it: *This is the curse. This is what happens when the Cursed King returns.*
Within twenty minutes, the city guard had arrived, along with a court mage who examined Mara with increasingly worried expressions. They took statements from everyone present, documented the incident with precise notes, and arranged for Mara to be taken to the royal hospital for observation.
But this was only the beginning.
---
By dawn, twenty similar incidents had been reported across the capital.
Different districts. Different social classes. Men and women of various ages. The only commonality was the symptoms: sudden onset of black eyes, screaming in agony, speaking in that strange multi-layered voice, and then collapsing into unconsciousness.
Some of the victims recovered quickly, waking with no memory of what had happened. Others remained in deep comas, unresponsive to any treatment.
The news exploded across the kingdom before sunrise.
Every viewing crystal in every household displayed the same emergency broadcast:
"Citizens of the White Dragon Kingdom, this is an urgent announcement from the Royal Health Ministry. A mysterious affliction—what medical authorities are calling a 'dark plague'—has begun affecting residents of the capital. Victims experience sudden onset of symptoms including ocular darkness, severe pain, and altered mental states. The Ministry advises all citizens to remain in their homes after dark. Do not approach anyone displaying symptoms. Report any cases immediately to the city guard."
The broadcast showed footage of some of the victims—carefully edited to avoid showing the worst of their suffering, but still disturbing enough to cause widespread panic.
And then the anchor added, their voice grave:
"While authorities have not officially confirmed a connection, many citizens are linking this outbreak to yesterday's shocking events. The cursed king, whose return was documented in the West Valley, may be responsible for this plague. An official investigation is underway."
The message was clear, even if unspoken: Aster Thornwood had not only murdered his father and an innocent man, but now he was spreading corruption across the entire kingdom.
The manhunt intensified immediately.
City guard stations received new orders: *Operation Containment*. The primary objective was to locate and capture—or if necessary, eliminate—the cursed king. Secondary objectives included managing the plague victims and preventing mass panic.
Guard patrols doubled. Checkpoints were established at major intersections. Mages from the royal academy were deployed to scan for dark magical signatures. The entire capital went into a state of emergency alert.
---
Aster woke to the sound of boots marching past the abandoned house.
He sat up quickly, his hand instinctively moving to the Blood Sword at his back. The morning sun was just beginning to filter through the grimy windows, casting long shadows across the dusty floor.
Outside, he could hear voices—guards giving orders, organizing search parties, discussing patrol routes.
"—third district by noon—"
"—check every abandoned building—"
"—authorized to use lethal force if he resists—"
Aster's heart sank. They were hunting him. Actively, aggressively hunting him through the streets.
He moved carefully to the window and peered out through a crack in the boards. The street outside was much more active than it should be at this early hour. Guards were everywhere, moving in organized patrols, questioning anyone they encountered.
"I need to move," Aster muttered to himself. "Staying here is too dangerous now."
He gathered his few possessions—the Blood Sword already secured on his back, the helmet ready to don, the Blood Moon Stone safely in his endless pocket along with the map he'd found.
But where to go? The guard stations would be on high alert. The Thornwood mansion was certainly being watched. Silas's house was probably under surveillance as well.
Then Aster noticed something else through the window. People were emerging from their homes despite the early hour, but they moved fearfully, hurrying quickly from door to door, glancing around nervously as if expecting to be attacked at any moment.
"Something else happened," Aster realized. "Something besides my supposed crimes. They're not just angry—they're scared."
He needed information. Carefully, staying close to the walls and shadows, Aster made his way to the front of the abandoned house and cracked open the door just enough to hear the conversations happening in the street.
"—my neighbor's daughter was affected last night—"
"—black eyes, they said, completely black—"
"—twelve cases just in our district alone—"
"—the cursed king's plague, that's what they're calling it—"
Aster felt his blood run cold. A plague? Black eyes? And they were blaming it on him?
"But I was asleep," he whispered to himself. "I didn't do anything. And my father is dead. If he was the source of the curse, shouldn't it have ended when he died?"
Unless his father hadn't been the source at all. Unless the entity wearing his father's face had told him the truth about one thing: that the Eye of Evil was far larger and more complex than anyone realized. That destroying one manifestation—even the Altar itself—wouldn't stop it.
"Is this the witches' work?" Aster wondered. "The cult that was performing those rituals?"
He needed answers, but he also needed to maintain his cover. His plan to join the guard still made sense—perhaps even more so now. If he could present himself as just another warrior trying to help protect the kingdom, he might be able to investigate from the inside.
Aster donned his helmet, checking that it completely obscured his face. He adjusted his clothing—the color-changed fabric still looked appropriately common and worn. He loosened the Blood Sword in its sheath, ensuring he could draw it quickly if needed.
Then he stepped out into the morning light, just another mysterious warrior in a city that was suddenly full of people seeking protection.
---
The streets were chaos—organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Despite the official warnings to stay inside, people were everywhere. Some were fleeing to the homes of relatives they considered safer. Others were stocking up on supplies, worried about a potential lockdown. And everywhere, the city guard moved through the crowds, vigilant and tense.
Aster moved with purpose, trying to project confidence rather than suspicious nervousness. He'd changed his gait slightly, making his movements a bit more aggressive, more military. He kept his hand near his sword hilt—not threatening, but alert, as a trained fighter would.
Several people gave him nervous glances. A mysterious armored figure would normally attract more attention, but in the current crisis, armed warriors were suddenly in demand. No one stopped him or questioned him.
As he made his way toward the royal palace—where the guard recruitment office was located—Aster passed several viewing crystals displaying the ongoing news coverage.
"—death toll now at three, with fifteen victims still comatose—"
"—symptoms appear to manifest during sleep, suggesting the plague may spread through dreams or spiritual means—"
"—Royal Mage Council has declared this an unprecedented magical crisis—"
Aster's jaw clenched behind his helmet. Three people dead. Fifteen more possibly dying. All being blamed on him, when he'd done nothing but try to sleep in an abandoned house.
He kept walking, pushing through the crowded streets. The royal palace loomed ahead—a massive structure of white stone and elegant towers, representing the power and majesty of the White Dragon Kingdom. Under normal circumstances, it was a symbol of hope and order.
Now it looked like a fortress preparing for siege.
Then Aster saw him.
About fifty feet ahead, standing at an intersection and studying something on the ground with intense concentration, was Silas.
The mage wore his formal blue robes, his staff in hand, his eyes glowing that distinctive blue color that indicated he was using magical sight. He appeared to be examining the cobblestones themselves, searching for traces of dark magic or some clue to the plague's origin.
Aster's first instinct was to turn away, to avoid the one person who might recognize him despite the disguise. But Silas was also the one person who might believe his story, who might understand what was really happening.
Before he could decide what to do, his path took him directly past the mage. He tried to act casual, just another warrior passing through, but—
"Wait," Silas said, his head turning toward Aster.
Aster froze, his heart hammering. *He knows. Somehow he knows.*
But when Silas spoke again, his tone was simply concerned, not accusatory. "What are you doing outside? The plague is certainly dangerous. You should take shelter somewhere safe."
Aster realized with relief that Silas didn't recognize him. The disguise was working. But now he needed to respond without giving himself away.
He altered his voice slightly—making it deeper, rougher, as if damaged by years of shouting battle commands. "Yes, thank you. I will find shelter."
Silas studied him for a moment longer, his glowing eyes narrowing. "That sword... and your energy signature. You feel like a mage despite your warrior's appearance. Unusual combination."
"I've had unusual training," Aster said carefully, keeping his answer vague.
For a long moment, Silas continued to stare at him, and Aster was certain he'd been discovered. But finally, the mage nodded. "Very well. But truly, be careful. Whatever is causing this plague, it's more dangerous than the official reports suggest. I've found traces of magic I've never encountered before—ancient, powerful, and thoroughly malevolent."
"I'll be careful," Aster promised, and he meant it.
Silas returned his attention to his examination of the street, and Aster continued walking, forcing himself to maintain a normal pace despite his urge to run.
*That was too close,* he thought. *If Silas can sense something unusual about me even through the disguise, others might too. I need to be more careful.*
---