King of Blood

Fate

Once, long ago, Avalon was a land of peace and harmony, a continent where magic flowed as freely as the wind between the great trees of the Ironwood. Neighbours did not fear neighbours, and creatures of myth lived side by side with fae-kind. The centaurs, proud and noble, galloped across the plains, their hooves thundering like the heartbeat of the land itself. Kelpies, those tricksters of the moor, delighted in harmless pranks—mischief-makers who pulled gentle jests on fae children who wandered too close to the waters of Bleakwood. The mer, shimmering beings from the deep, often surfaced along the shores, their laughter mixing with the sound of the waves as they gifted shells and sea treasures to children who dared to paddle in their waters.

Avalon was more than just a kingdom—it was a world in perfect balance. The fae accepted the divine right of their monarch without question. Theirs was a sacred lineage, a bloodline blessed by the gods themselves, and none dared challenge it.

All except for two.

Zadkiel and Arawan Einar, twin princes, born on the same day from the same womb, were the very embodiment of balance—two sides of the same coin. Yet even from their earliest days, it was clear they were as different as night and day. Zadkiel, the elder by a breath, was a man of the people, a gentle scholar who sought wisdom above all else. His heart was soft, his mind sharp, and he was beloved by all who met him. He found joy in the quiet moments, in the turning of pages and the soft whisper of knowledge carried on the wind. His council was calm, steady—a light that never dimmed.

Arawan, by contrast, was fire. A fierce warrior, he cared not for books or quiet contemplation. His was a spirit forged in battle, honed by the clashing of steel and the roar of the battlefield. He was the defender of Avalon, the shield of the realm, and he revelled in it. Where Zadkiel ruled with his mind, Arawan ruled with his sword. His council was raw and wild, a tempest barely contained within the vessel of his mortal form.

For many years, they lived passively with one another, each finding his place within the kingdom. Zadkiel, the wise. Arawan, the strong. It was a fragile peace, upheld only by the strength of their father, the great King Tharlis, who reigned over the united fae courts of Avalon. But when Tharlis passed into the afterlife, the kingdom was left without a clear successor. Who would take up the crown? Who would inherit the divine right to rule?

The brothers, once bonded by blood, now found themselves at odds. Zadkiel, beloved by the people, believed that wisdom should guide Avalon into the future. Arawan, the warrior, saw only weakness in his brother's gentle ways. To him, the throne was his birthright, earned by the countless battles he had fought to defend their lands.

The kingdom could not have two kings, and so, Avalon's golden age shattered. Each brother gathered his followers, and the once united fae courts split into two. Zadkiel, with his calming presence and gentle hand, became the ruler of the Seelie Court, where light and reason flourished. Arawan, driven by ambition and a lust for power, formed the Unseelie Court—a dark and chaotic counterpart to his brother's realm. His followers were those who craved strength and victory at any cost, and the Unseelie became a court of shadows and violence.

With the courtly schism, Avalon itself began to change. The creatures that had once lived in harmony with the fae grew restless, corrupted by the spreading darkness. The kelpies, once playful, turned cruel. No longer did they tease and taunt—now they dragged children beneath the waters of Bleakwood, never to be seen again. The mer, sensing the growing unrest, fled from the shores, vanishing into the depths of their undersea kingdoms. They were seen only in stories, glimpsed at dusk by those brave enough to wander the storm-battered coasts. The centaurs, proud defenders of the Seelie lands, took up arms against the rising threat, but even their great strength was no match for the fury of Arawan's madness. One by one, they fell, their once-thundering hooves silenced beneath the crushing weight of war.

Avalon, once a land blessed by the gods, became a wasteland. The gods themselves turned their backs on the twin princes, their disappointment palpable. Evanora, goddess of the sun, clouded the skies in perpetual gloom, hiding her golden light. Alannis, goddess of the seas, made the waters wild and uncrossable, her wrath evident in the tempestuous waves that battered the coast. Amphorn, the bringer of rain, withheld his blessings, leaving the fields dry and barren. Silvanus, the god of the soil, cursed the land, and no crops would grow. The gods' disfavour was clear—their once-chosen sons had failed them.

The Endless War began a conflict that lasted for twenty-two years. It was a war that tore Avalon asunder, brother fighting brother in an endless cycle of bloodshed and betrayal. The fae people, once united, were now caught in the crossfire, forced to choose sides in a war none of them had wanted. And still, the gods watched, silent and unforgiving.

The war might have continued for a century more, had it not been for the untimely death of Zadkiel. His mind, once a beacon of wisdom, was lost to the madness of battle. He was struck down on the battlefield, his body left broken and bloodied beneath the storm-filled sky. His death marked the end of the war—but not the end of Avalon's suffering.

With Zadkiel gone, Arawan believed he had won. He believed that Avalon was finally his to rule, and for a time, he rested. But his peace was short-lived, for in the dead of night, his eldest son, Taran, crept into his chambers. In his hand, Taran held an ornate dagger, its blade glinting in the dim light. Without a word, he drove the dagger into his father's heart, claiming the throne for himself.

The cycle of bloodshed continued. Taran, now king of the Unseelie Court, led his forces in a relentless assault against the Seelie, determined to wipe them from existence with the only defence in the form of a boy raised by Zadkiel to take his place. The fairer folk suffered under his rule, their lands ravaged by the endless war. Avalon had become a desolate, cursed country, its once-vibrant life now little more than a memory.

For a century and a half, the war raged on, the two courts locked in a bitter struggle. But amidst the chaos, a glimmer of hope remained. For it was said that the gods, though angry, had not forsaken Avalon completely. A knowledge whispered between them in the wind spoke of two lovers—one born of darkness, the other of light—who would rise from the ashes of the war. They would unite the Seelie and Unseelie courts once more, bringing an end to the bloodshed and restoring Avalon to its former glory.

And so, as the dark tide of war threatened to consume all, the gods waited. They waited for the lovers who would restore their lands, for the light that would break through the clouds and heal the wounds of their broken land. They waited for Avalon's rebirth.

For in love, they hoped, lay Avalon's salvation.