Shadows of the crown

Chapter 2: The Gathering Storm

The morning dawned on Astera, pale and silvery in the stone corridors of the castle. Evans stood in the armory, his hands on the worn hilt of his father's sword. Like the crown, the blade had been passed down through generations of his family, forged in the fire of the ancient forge. But it had never been tainted by darkness as the crown had. It was an emblem of honor, a memento of the kingdom's golden years-before the shadows crept in.

Evans tightened his armor straps. The weight of the journey before him weighed heavy in his mind, as he had hardly slept the night before with his mind raped by visions of his father and the words he read about the crown. Thus, his mind was made up, but doubt still gnawed at the edges: could the curse that had ensnared his family for so long really be broken, or was he, like everybody else, destined to fall to the seductive power of the crown?

Jorin entered the armory, his footsteps quiet against the stone floor. Already dressed for the journey, his cloak was pulled tight around him, the faint outline of his sword visible beneath. Sharp blue eyes met Evans's, and for a moment, the two friends stood in silence, the weight of the coming quest settling between them.

"The men are ready," Jorin said, breaking the silence. "Three of the best soldiers. They are loyal and discreet. Nobody else is aware that we leave."

Evans nodded, grateful for Jorin's cautious preparation. "Good. We need to leave before anybody can notice. If the council gets wind of this, they'll try and stop us."

Jorin frowned slightly. "You don't trust the council?"

Evans hesitated. He had grown up with most of the council members and watched them advise his father with wisdom and care. But since his father's descent into madness, something had shifted. The council had grown more aggressive, pushing actions that seemed rash and dangerous, always with the same end in mind: the crown.

"I trust their intentions," Evans said measuredly, "but they're blinded by fear. They think the crown is the only way to save the kingdom, but they don't understand its true nature. If we fall under its power again, there will be nothing left to save."

Jorin's expression hardened. "Then we do this alone. We find the source of the crown's power and destroy it, once and for all."

When his friend said this, determination surged in Evans. Jorin was always the steady hand-one who could see clearly when Evans's own vision was clouded by doubt. Over the years they had gone through many trials and would go through their greatest test yet.

"Let's go," Evans said, his voice firm. "We leave for the Black Mountains."

The party left Astera under the veil of morning fog, the hooves of their horses quiet against the dewy dirt. Evans led the pace, with Jorin and the three soldiers close in his wake. The city was silent and still; none of its citizenry knew of the prince's departure. The streets were blanketed, macabrely vacant except for the infrequent flutter of movement upon the shadows. Evans could not rid this feeling that something-someone-was watching them.

As they topped the rise beyond the city's outer gates, Evans turned back again. The spires of the castle towered in the distance, soft pink in the morning light. He had lived his whole life within its walls, training for the day he would rule. Now, he had left behind the security of his home, headed out into a wide, unfamiliar world to meet an enemy he hardly knew.

To the east lay the Black Mountains, a jagged range that cut across borders. Few who ventured into those mountains returned. The old tales spoke of spirits that haunted the peaks, of lost travelers whose souls had been taken by the dark forces that dwelled within them. But those were just stories, weren't they? Evans could no longer be quite so sure. Since his father's death, the line between legend and reality had become startlingly blurred.

The better part of the day had been spent reaching the base of the mountains. As they finally came to the edge of the forest that marked the entrance to the mountain pass, the sun was high in the sky. The trees were thick and tall, with twisted and gnarled branches that stretched out like grasping fingers, their shadows long across the path. The air here was cold, heavier-the very atmosphere thick with forces unseen.

Jorin had slid off first, scanning the treeline cautiously. "We should make camp here for the night," he said. "It'll be too dangerous to travel through the pass after dark."

Evans nodded, but with each step that took them closer to the mountains, a growing sense of disquiet settled in his chest. Something was off here—something deeply unnatural. He'd felt the tug of the crown before, the distant whispering of his mind, but it was louder now, more insistent. It was as if the mountains themselves called out to him, drawing him closer to whatever lay at their heart.

The soldiers quickly set up camp, in practiced motions hurrying towards efficiency. A small fire was lit, the cold thus far having settled over the group not to be dissipated by the tiny warmth. Evans sat by the fire, staring into the flames as they crackled and danced, his thoughts far away.

"What if we're too late?" he asked low, not looking up.

Jorin, sitting beside him, frowned. "Too late for what?"

Evans hesitated, then voiced the fear which had been gnawing at his stomach since they'd left the castle. "Too late to stop whatever's coming. My father. he felt it too. The darkness. It consumed him, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the man I knew. What if the same thing happens to me?"

He was silent for a very long time, his face unreadable. Jorin finally spoke; his voice was low, but steady: "You are not your father, Evans. You've already made another choice in coming here. He wanted the power of the crown and carried it into madness; you're trying to destroy it. That, alone, proves you are stronger than he was."

Evans wanted to believe him. He wanted to feel his will was strong enough to defy the pull of the crown, to break the curse that had claimed his father. But deep down, he knew that was not something the crown could be easily resisted. It had a will of its own, a power surging through and eclipsing human strength.

Suddenly, the quiet of the campsite was broken by the sound of rustling leaves from the edge of the trees. Evans and Jorin were immediately on their feet, hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their eyes scanning the darkness for any movement. The soldiers already stood alert, weapons at the ready, eyes darting toward the source of the sound.

For a moment, nothing-just the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. Then, suddenly, without warning, a figure emerged from the dark, stepping into the circle of firelight.

Evans's heart jumped a beat.

The figure was clad in black, its face hidden beneath some sort of hood. It moved with an unnatural, almost ethereal grace, its footsteps silent on the ground as it approached them. The air around them seemed to ripple with some kind of strange energy; a soft glow emanated from beneath their cloak.

"Who goes there?" Jorin said, his voice sharp with authority. The soldiers raised their weapons, tense and ready for battle.

He was across the circle of light, his head canted to one side, his eyes quite fixed on the group. Then, in a voice no more than a whisper, he spoke.

"I come with a warning."

Evans took another step forward, his fingers tight on the hilt of his sword. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice firm though his heart threatened to crawl up his throat.

It was then that the figure raised their head, and for one quickening instant, Evans saw its face-a deathly pale, ghostly countenance framed with eyes that glowed with eldritch light.

"The crown," the figure whispered, centuries of weight carried in its voice. "It is awake. And it knows you are coming."

Evans's blood ran cold. The figure's words hung heavy in the air, like an omen, that even the earth beneath them shook in expectance of what was to come.

Before Evans could utter a word, the figure stepped back into the shadows, just as suddenly as they appeared. The night became silent once more, but the warning still lingered on, echoing within his brain.

The crown knows you are coming.

Evans stared back into the darkness. His heart racing in his chest, the journey had only just begun, but already, the onus of this crown weighed upon him.

Whatever was in store, Evans knew it would change everything.