Prince Asher opened his eyes and took in the scene around him. He was in the throne room, high in the tower of Aziria’s royal keep. His surroundings were familiar, but as his vision came into focus, something was… different. A thick layer of black soot covered everything. Grimy swords and battle axes littered the floor, making the room feel like a treacherous death trap. Blood spattered the walls all the way up to the ceiling, dry and encrusted into the stone.

The more Prince Asher looked around, the more an intense dread crept up his spine and into his mind, clouding his every thought. He rushed to the great balcony, where his father, the High-King Aemon, would stand and address his subjects. He stood in that same spot and peered out to the city below.

What he saw took the air out of his lungs. The devastation in the throne room was insignificant compared to the catastrophe that awaited outside. The royal capital of Aziria was reduced to ash. The once beautiful gardens were charred and barren. The usually serene waters of the canals now ran black and filthy. Even the buildings themselves were reduced to little more than piles of smoldering rubble. But the worst part wasn’t the remains of Aziria, it was the remains of her citizens. Blackened corpses littered the streets, devoid of flesh. Skulls formed piles in the thousands, cracked and broken.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

The young prince staggered backwards as an ominous voice filled his head, ancient and guttural. He couldn’t understand the words, but the message was clear. “Surrender yourself to my will…”

Prince Asher awoke in a cold sweat. His eyes quickly scanned his chamber, but to his relief, everything was as it should be. He sat in bed for a moment, breathing heavily and collecting himself. Minutes passed and his fear and anxiety began to dwindle. The dream faded from his memory, as dreams often do.