Dark smoke drifted along the dread aura within the room. The torpid aura permeated across the throne room as weary men, battered and bruised, laid strewn, broken along the floor. Cries of pain and fear echoed throughout the old stone walls, but was barely audible through the great golden doors barring entry to the throne room.

This throne room was once adorned with the finest of paints and the most expensive of silk. It was not far-off to claim that the royalty could have bathed in milk and honey daily with the amount of wealth that they were able to amass.

It was difficult to imagine how this came to be, this once-great citadel of a formerly mighty kingdom, brought to its knees and bathed in fire. Akin to a prideful lion, brought low with its mane sheared.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A man sitting on the throne of the forlorn room lamented as his bastion crumbled around him. He stretched his arms out towards the brazier, diagonally planted in front of his obsidian seat. In contrast to the destruction and death that surrounded and consumed the citadel, the brazier stood proudly, spewing out blue flames that threatened to leap out and devour all inside the room.

The king’s hands trembled as it neared the roaring fire, but he had made his peace. His armor-clad hands suddenly thrusted into the maw of the flames, both charring the armor and consuming the flesh within.

He felt his power, along with his life, seeping out from his burning flesh. He closed his eyes and attempted to ease his breathing, as the searing pain and depriving force assaulted his senses.

As the king drew his last breath, a powerful magic was released in the citadel, sealing the fate of all inside.