The flickering light of a dimmed oil lamp cast a warm glow over the cluttered study. Shelves lined with ancient tomes leaned slightly under the weight of knowledge accumulated over centuries. The scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, broken only by the soft, rhythmic scratching of a quill.
At the center of it all sat an old man draped in heavy, royal robes of deep black and gold. His once-strong frame now bowed under the years, yet his eyes, sharp and full of unspoken burden, moved swiftly over the page. King Abel, the ruler of humanity, held the quill tightly as if it alone tethered him to the fleeting moment of his life. He paused, his hand trembling just slightly as he gazed at the half-written letter.
He sighed. The prophecy… could not be stopped.
The quill dipped once more into the inkwell before gliding across the paper, his thoughts intertwined with each word.
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To my son, Adam.
The hand that writes these words is heavy with the weight of regret. When this reaches you, I will likely no longer walk among the living. The time that was foretold, the time I and many other kings before me sought to evade, draws nearer with each passing breath. What I feared most is now upon us.
It is not only the years that burden me but the truth—the undeniable truth that we, humans and the Eldyion races as a whole, have made a grave error. In our pursuit of peace, we sought too far, too long, and too blindly. We believed we could alter fate, that we could escape the inevitable cycle. We believed that the prophecy was a choice and that we could turn away from it.
How foolish we were.
I should have stopped… should have been content, he thought, the tip of the quill digging slightly into the paper before he caught himself and loosened his grip.
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I fear what is to come, not for myself but for you. It was said that the ancient power slumbers beneath the roots of the world, waiting for our hubris to stir it from its long rest. We have stirred it, Adam. By seeking too much peace, we have awoken it. The consequence, the price for our selfishness, will soon be upon us all.
The Eldyion races, who once stood together in strength, now stand apart in weakness. We should have known better. We should have remembered that true peace is not eternal—it is but a breath between storms. The cost of what is coming… will be paid in madness.
I never wanted this for him. For any of them… His thoughts lingered on his son, the boy who had once looked at him with such hope. Will he hate me for what I've put on his doorstep?
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Even as I write this, I feel the weight of our doom pressing down. My bones ache not from age alone, but from the crushing realization that I, too, am to blame. And yet, Adam, despite all that has transpired—despite the chasm that has grown between us—I want you to know that I have always loved you.
If I had another choice, I would take it. But there is no other way. When you read this, the world will have already begun to change. And you will be left to face what I could not. I am sorry that it is you who must bear the burden.
Would he forgive me, in the end?
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I will likely be gone by the time this letter reaches your hands. Know that whatever you feel—be it hatred or sorrow—know that you were never far from my heart.
I leave the Kingdom of humanity in your hands, the hope of us all lies in your ability to lead the people through this storm. It is not right for me to do this for no father wants their child to grow up before they have to, but it is the only choice.
I do not expect you to forgive me for this, I only ask you not to take your resentment out on the people you will rule. I know you will become a king thousands of times better than your ancestors and I.
Farewell, my son. Do what I could not.
With love and regret,
Your father,
Abel.
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The king set the quill down slowly, his fingers trembling as he folded the parchment. His thoughts raced. Will he understand? Will he see that this was never what I wanted for him?
The distant rumble of thunder echoed in the night. King Edryon looked toward the window, where the first raindrops began to fall.
It is beginning.
King Edryon’s hands were steady as he slid the letter into an envelope, pressing the royal seal into the soft wax with a deliberate, final motion. He stared at the emblem—his house’s crest, the symbol of a man standing before the sun, worn and cracked by age—before sighing deeply, a slow breath that echoed the weight of the words he had just written. His fingers lingered over the seal for a moment longer than needed.
It is done.
The old king rose from his chair, joints creaking in protest, and made his way out of the study. The corridors of his fortress were dimly lit, quiet, and empty—most of the servants had already fled, sensing what was to come. Only the loyal remained, and even they knew the gravity of the situation.
When he stepped outside, the cold night air bit into his skin, but he did not shiver. A retinue of his guards stood waiting in formation. Their armor bearing the crest gleamed faintly in the moonlight, their faces somber. At the front of them, a young soldier stood at attention, probably in his teens, his helm tucked under his arm, a silent question in his eyes.
King Edryon walked forward, the sealed letter in hand, and placed it into the soldier’s grasp. “Take this to the royal capital, to my son. No delays, no distractions.”
The soldier bowed low, his eyes catching the royal crest on the envelope. “Your Grace, I’ll ride with haste, but…” His voice faltered as he straightened. “The roads are dangerous. The skies even more so. How—?”
The king’s gaze shifted towards the distant stable, where a powerful figure moved in the shadows. The griffon, a creature as old and proud as the king himself, stood still, its golden feathers ruffling slightly in the evening breeze.
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“You will take my steed. Faldrin,” he gestured toward the creature, “he will bear you swiftly across the skies. It is the only way to get there in time.”
The soldier hesitated, his eyes widening at the thought. “Your Grace, the griffon… It has never been ridden by anyone except royalty. Surely—”
“Do as I say,” the king’s voice, though hoarse with age, cut through the air with authority. “Take him. I no longer need his strength. My time has passed. Yours has not.”
The soldier swallowed hard, giving a stiff nod before heading toward the griffon. As he neared the creature, Faldrin lifted its head, golden eyes gleaming with intelligence and understanding. The griffon let out a low, sorrowful cry as the soldier approached, but it was not directed at the guard. Its gaze turned towards the king—its master for years too many to count.
King Edryon stepped forward, his heart heavy. He placed a hand gently on the creature's powerful neck. “You’ve served me well, old friend,” he murmured, voice soft but filled with gratitude. “Far longer than I deserved. This fight is not for you. Go with him, carry this one last burden, then rest. Find a place of peace, far from these lands. Do not die for the mistakes I made.”
Faldrin ruffled its feathers, and for a moment, it seemed as though the mighty beast might refuse. Its eyes brimmed with a deep sadness, a loyalty that transcended words.
But, with a mournful cry, the griffon lowered itself, allowing the soldier to climb atop its back. The old king gave it one last pat, his voice barely above a whisper. “Farewell, Faldrin. Be free.”
The griffon hesitated no longer, wings spreading wide as it prepared to take flight. It looked back at the king once more before leaping into the sky with a powerful beat of its wings, carrying the letter—and the last vestiges of King Edryon’s hope—into the night.
The other guards stood silent, their eyes following the creature’s ascent until it was nothing more than a shadow against the moonlit clouds. Then, they turned their attention back to the king.
“Your Grace,” one of the guards spoke up, stepping forward. “We were ready to depart as well. But…we will not leave your side. Not now.”
King Edryon’s weary eyes flicked over his men, their faces resolute. “I told you to go. You’ve done your duty. What comes now is not your fight, your families need you.”
But the guard stood firm, his voice unwavering. “We swore an oath to you, my lord. To the crown, to you, and our families. We will fight. No matter the cost. To protect these lands and our loved ones”
The old king’s lips pressed into a thin line. He had hoped they would leave—hoped they would live. But these men were as stubborn as he had been in his youth, bound by loyalty that went beyond orders. He felt a surge of both pride and sorrow.
“The cost will be your lives,” he said gravely. “This is a fight we cannot win.”
“Then we will die with honor,” the guard replied, and the others echoed him with a united thud of their armored fists against their chests.
King Edryon stood silently for a moment, his heart heavy with their devotion. These men, like Faldrin, did not deserve the fate that awaited them. But he knew there was no changing their minds.
“Very well,” he said, at last, his voice quiet but steady. “Then let us face it together.”
The distant roll of thunder rumbled again in the sky, and the king’s gaze turned toward the dark horizon. The purge had begun, and soon, the storm would be upon them.
King Edryon gazed at the edge of his crumbling world, gazing into the distant abyss. It was as if the land itself fell away into nothingness—an endless, yawning chasm that stretched to the horizon, its depths shrouded in a thick, impenetrable darkness. The abyss resembled the edge of the world, and beyond it, a void that no light could pierce.
He felt the cold wind whip against his face, carrying with it the scent of something ancient—something wrong. His hand clenched involuntarily around the hilt of his sword, though he knew it would do little good against what was coming.
I was never meant to stand here, he thought bitterly. Not like this.
He had always been a king first—a ruler of men, a protector of realms. But as he stood there, staring into the abyss, the weight of his failures pressed down on him like a mountain. His mind wandered back, unbidden, to a time when his crown had been lighter when his decisions had not yet carved scars into his soul.
I should have been a better father, he thought, his heart tightening. I should have been a better husband. But I chose to be a king first. I thought—foolishly—that ruling wisely was the same as loving my family. He closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts thick with regret. Adam… my son…
He had driven them all away in his pursuit of power, of safety for the kingdom. In seeking to preserve peace, he had sacrificed what mattered most. He had told himself it was for them—that he was doing what was necessary. But the truth was he had been afraid. Afraid of being weak, of losing control, of failing the kingdom his ancestors had built.
And now look where I’ve led us.
A distant screech echoed from the abyss, snapping him from his thoughts. His eyes opened to a sight that clawed at the edges of his sanity. From the depths of the void, glowing eyes emerged—hundreds at first, then thousands, then millions. Each pair of eyes shimmered with an unnatural, eldritch light, their gaze burning into the night. The creatures, twisted and grotesque, began to pour forth from the darkness, their forms barely discernible, writhing like shadows given terrible life.
The air grew thick with their maddening cries, a sound that seemed to come not from their mouths, but from the darkness itself, as if the abyss was alive and laughing at the folly of mortals.
The soldiers shifted beside him, their faces pale but resolute. They gripped their swords tightly, their bodies tensed for the inevitable battle. Fear hung in the air like smoke, but they would not flee. They had made their choice.
The king's eyes traced the horizon, where the creatures now flooded the sky like a plague of shadows. This—this—was what they had brought upon the world. In their arrogance, in their pursuit of eternal peace, they had awakened something far older, far darker than they had ever imagined.
We should have left well enough alone, he thought, his heart sinking deeper into despair. The prophecies weren’t a warning we could avoid. They were a certainty.
For so long, they had tried to escape fate—to reshape the world according to their will, believing they could outwit destiny. But the prophecy had not been wrong. It had been patient. And now, it had come to collect its price.
He could feel it in his bones—the end of everything they had built.
One of the soldiers glanced at him, his eyes searching for orders, for guidance. But the king could offer none. His mind was lost in the endless tide of regret, the crushing realization that it had all been for nothing.
I brought this upon us, he thought. All of it. The abyss… the abomination… the end of our world. This is the consequence of our ambition, our greed for more than we deserve. How many lives will be lost because of the choices we've... no, I've made?
A chill crawled up his spine as the first of the eldritch creatures descended from the skies, their twisted forms blotting out the stars above. The soldiers, though frightened, held their ground, raising their weapons as the creatures swooped low.
This is the trial we brought upon ourselves, the king realized, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. His eyes hardened, focusing on the abominations. His voice, though low, carried the weight of a lifetime’s worth of understanding.
“The most dastardly and torturous of trials are not the ones the world gives us, they are the ones we give ourselves.”
The words lingered in the air, bitter as the wind that swept through the ravaged land. He had thought he was protecting them all. But he had only led them to the slaughter.
The creatures shrieked as they descended, a storm of madness and shadows. The soldiers braced for impact, their hearts pounding in time with the pulse of the darkening sky.
King Edryon straightened his back, the weariness of age seeming to lift from him, if only for a moment. His hand rose to the sky, pointing toward the approaching horrors. His voice, though cracked and heavy with sorrow, rang out clearly.
“And so, the Age of Xenith, our purge, begins.”
The first of the creatures collided with the front lines, and the world plunged into chaos.