The grand hall of the Citadel, situated at the heart of the ancient city of Ilyria, was filled with tension. The seven kings of Taeloria had gathered for a rare council, each accompanied by their most trusted advisors and guards. The air crackled with magic and the weight of unspoken threats, as the rulers eyed each other with a mixture of suspicion and barely concealed contempt.
King Rodric of the Kingdom of Red Falcon, a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a stern countenance, spoke first. "The blood of Artemis is more than a relic; it is the key to ultimate power. We all know that the Crimson Chambers of Mount Hami, guarded by the Golden Serpents of Thimier, hold the secret to awakening The Red Rising. It must be mine to secure our future."
Queen Selene of the Silver Moon, draped in shimmering silks and adorned with jewels that glowed with their own light, retorted, "And what would you do with such power, Rodric? Subjugate the rest of us? No, the blood must be used for the greater good. It should be entrusted to the scholars of Silver Moon to study and understand."
A grizzled voice interjected, belonging to King Torvald of the Emerald Isle, whose green eyes glinted with a fierce determination. "You speak of understanding, but it is nature that will guide us. The druids of Emerald Isle should be the ones to safeguard the blood, to ensure it is not misused."
Arguments erupted from all sides. The King of Stormcliff, the Queen of Gold River, the Sultan of Sable Sands, and the Chief of the Frostlands each voiced their claims, each arguing their unique perspective and asserting their kingdom's right to the blood. The cacophony of voices and clashing magics was deafening, and it seemed no consensus would be reached.
As tensions reached a boiling point, a sudden gust of wind extinguished the torches lining the hall, plunging the room into darkness. When the flames reignited moments later, a shadowy figure stood at the center of the hall, clad in a dark cloak. The mysterious figure spoke in a voice that resonated with power, "The blood of Artemis is not for any of you to claim. The prophecy is in motion, and the Red Rising is already among us. Seek not the blood, but the one destined to wield its power."
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Before anyone could react, the figure vanished, leaving the rulers in stunned silence. The implications were clear: the prophecy was unfolding, and the one they sought was already out there, unknown and hidden.
---
In the bustling village of Nika, nestled within the tranquil lands of the Kingdom of Blue Rose, Nathen Albrich moved through the shadows with practiced ease. His target, a wealthy merchant known for his opulent lifestyle, had left his mansion doors slightly ajar. Nathen slipped inside, his heart racing with anticipation.
Carefully, he navigated the lavish halls, his eyes scanning for valuables. A silver candlestick here, a pouch of gold coins there. He moved with the grace of a cat, pocketing his finds swiftly. As he reached for a particularly ornate vase, a voice cut through the silence.
"Nathen," the voice was gentle yet firm. He froze, his hand hovering over the vase. Slowly, he turned to see Sister Marry standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a look of disappointment etched on her face.
"Sister Marry," he began, trying to muster a charming smile, "I was just—"
"Stealing again," she finished for him, her tone leaving no room for excuses. "What have I told you about this, Nathen? You have such potential, and yet you squander it on thievery."
Nathen sighed, lowering his gaze. "I'm just trying to survive, Sister Marry. It's not like anyone cares about an orphan like me."
Sister Marry walked towards him, her expression softening. "I care, Nathen. And there is more to you than you realize. The path you are on will only lead to trouble. Come back to the church with me. We can find a better way."
Reluctantly, Nathen nodded, allowing her to guide him out of the merchant's mansion. As they walked through the moonlit streets of Nika, Sister Marry placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "There are whispers of great things to come, Nathen. You have a destiny far beyond these petty thefts. Trust in that, and in yourself."
Unbeknownst to Nathen, his life was about to change dramatically. The prophecy that had the kings of Taeloria in a frenzy would soon sweep him into a world of magic, danger, and a destiny he had never imagined.