Kingdom of Yabla Vol.1: Aric Valen's Journey

Chapter 5.5: The Master's Awakening

Tavar's POV

In the deepest recesses of the forgotten realm, where light had long since ceased to reach, Tavar stirred. His presence, once dormant for centuries, now stretched outward, a dark shadow seeping into the fabric of the world. He had been waiting—watching through the eyes of his servants, biding his time as the ancient forces he had once commanded slowly began to shift.

Now, with the Obsidian Crown awakening, his time had come again.

His essence, bound to the ether between life and death, pulsed with anticipation. The emissary had failed, of course. That had been expected. The Seeker was more resilient than Tavar had hoped, and the boy—he was not as weak as the others who had come before. But no matter. Both would fall soon enough, crushed beneath the weight of the crown's power.

Tavar's mind stretched across the darkened land of Yabla, his reach vast but unseen. He could feel the magic coursing through the veins of the world, drawn to the crown like a moth to flame. It was a power older than the kingdom itself—older even than the First Kings who had once dared to control it. But it had always belonged to him. It was his destiny, the source of his strength, and it would soon be his once more.

The boy—Aric Valen—had dared to place the crown upon his head. Tavar could feel it, the brief connection that had flared between the boy and the relic. For a fleeting moment, the crown had obeyed him, its raw power bending to his will. It had been... impressive. Surprising, even. But Tavar knew the truth. The boy's control was fragile, temporary. He was young, untested. The crown would consume him eventually, just as it had consumed so many others.

Tavar allowed a thin smile to curl across his lips, though his face remained hidden in the darkness of his sanctum. The boy would break. They always did.

"They think they can escape," he murmured, his voice a low, echoing whisper that reverberated through the void. "But there is no escape from me."

His servants were already on the move. The Dark Hunters, the Spirits of the Lost—these were mere extensions of his will, tools to be wielded in his pursuit of the crown. They hunted the boy and his protector relentlessly, drawn by the pulse of magic that flowed from the crown's awakening. But Tavar was patient. He had waited for centuries, and he would wait a little longer if necessary.

The Seeker, Alistair—Tavar remembered him well. One of the last of his cursed kind, bound to the ancient order that had once stood against Tavar and his reign. They had fought before, long ago, in battles that had left kingdoms in ruins. Alistair had survived, much to Tavar's irritation, and had managed to keep the crown hidden for all these years.

But no more. The Seeker's time was ending.

Tavar closed his eyes, letting the cold darkness of his realm settle around him like a shroud. His power was still incomplete, his body not fully restored, but his reach extended far beyond the boundaries of the physical world. He had learned much in the centuries of his exile, gathering secrets and bending ancient magics to his will. Soon, when the crown was in his possession, he would return to the world in full, no longer bound to the shadows. Yabla would fall at his feet, and all who had once defied him would bow.

His thoughts drifted to Aric once more. The boy had potential—that much was clear. His bloodline, tracing back to the House of Valen, made him a key to unlocking the full power of the crown. But it also made him vulnerable. Tavar could sense the boy's fear, his uncertainty. It thrummed through the magic like a discordant note, a crack in the boy's resolve that would grow with each passing moment.

"Fear," Tavar whispered, his voice curling through the void like smoke. "It will break him."

Fear was the ultimate weapon. It had broken kings, shattered armies, and driven entire civilizations into madness. Aric's fear would be no different. The crown would weigh heavier and heavier on his soul, until he could no longer bear its burden. And when that moment came, Tavar would be there to claim what was rightfully his.

The faint glow of distant magic flickered across Tavar's mind, and he focused on the scene unfolding miles away. He could see through the eyes of his hunters—the way they swarmed through the forest, the boy and the Seeker just barely keeping ahead of them. He watched as Aric unleashed a surge of magic, scattering the Spirits of the Lost with the power of the crown. Impressive, yes. But reckless. Each use of the crown drained the boy, pulling him deeper into its grasp.

Tavar's smile widened. Soon.

"Let them run," he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement. "Let them think they have escaped."

His presence flared out once more, sending a silent command to his servants. The Dark Hunters and the Lost Spirits would continue their pursuit, never stopping, never resting. They would wear the boy down, sap his strength, until he had no choice but to give in. And when that moment came, Tavar would reach across the void and take the crown for himself.

But he would do more than that.

The crown was powerful, yes, but it was only a tool—one piece of a much larger puzzle. Tavar's plans extended far beyond simply reclaiming the throne of Yabla. He sought to reshape the world itself, to bend the very fabric of reality to his will. The crown was the key to unlocking that power, but it was the boy's blood—the blood of the Valen kings—that would fuel the final transformation.

In time, even the boy's body would be his to command.

Tavar opened his eyes, his gaze piercing the darkness that surrounded him. He could feel the pulse of magic growing stronger, the convergence of forces drawing nearer. The boy and the Seeker were heading toward the southern edge of the kingdom, toward one of the last remaining Seeker strongholds. It wouldn't matter. No sanctuary could protect them from what was coming.

Tavar's voice, a low, malevolent hiss, filled the void around him.

"The chase is almost over."