Prophecies of the Fallen

Chapter 7

The clouds loomed heavy and dark over the capital, casting long shadows over the cobblestone streets below. Ilyra stood at the palace balcony, watching as the winds whipped through the banners, the crests of her family fluttering violently in the storm’s approach. The air was thick with the scent of rain and something else—something foreboding, like the calm before a battle.

Behind her, the war council had concluded, but its discussions left a bitter taste in her mouth. It wasn’t enough. The kingdom was fracturing faster than they could hold it together, and no amount of strategic planning would keep it whole if they didn’t act quickly.

“Elira has taken the towns of Ilthria and Lonneth,” Elysia reported as she entered the chamber. “The rebellion is gaining ground faster than we anticipated. There’s talk of her marching on the capital.”

Ilyra’s eyes narrowed as she turned to face her trusted friend. “The council’s bickering over troop placement isn’t going to stop her. They’re still treating this like a dispute between nobles, but this... this is different. Elira’s pushing for something more. It’s not just about power; it’s about turning the kingdom against me. And it’s working.”

Elysia nodded grimly. “The rumors about the prophecy aren’t helping either. People are scared, and fear is a powerful weapon. If we don’t do something soon, Elira’s movement will become a wave too large to stop.”

Ilyra’s heart pounded. Every decision seemed like a weight around her neck. The kingdom she was sworn to protect, the legacy of the Ethlete dynasty—it all felt as though it were slipping through her fingers. She had trained for this her entire life, but no amount of swordplay or diplomacy could prepare her for a war of hearts and minds. Not when her very existence was tied to the dark prophecy.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Enter,” she called, her voice sharp.

The door creaked open, and a tall, hooded figure stepped inside. His face was obscured by shadow, but the faint shimmer of a magical ward glowed around him—an emissary from the Order of the Silver Flame.

“Your Majesty,” the man said, bowing deeply. His voice was gravelly, like the sound of rocks shifting beneath the earth. “I come bearing news from the Order.”

Ilyra straightened, her pulse quickening. The Silver Flame was an ancient magical order, sworn to protect the realm from mystical threats. They had remained neutral in the kingdom’s political affairs for centuries, rarely interfering unless the balance of magic was at risk. If they were getting involved now, it could mean only one thing.

“The Order has been watching the events unfolding within the kingdom,” the emissary continued, his tone grave. “The prophecy that has resurfaced... it is not to be taken lightly. The darkness it speaks of is more than mere rebellion. There are forces at play beyond what the kingdom’s armies can fight.”

Ilyra exchanged a glance with Elysia, who remained stoic but alert. “What do you know of this prophecy?” Ilyra asked, her voice calm but laced with tension.

The emissary stepped forward, lowering his hood to reveal an older man, his eyes burning with the intensity of someone who had seen too much. “The prophecy speaks of an ancient force, one that predates the Ethlete dynasty. It foretells the rise of a great shadow, one that will bring ruin to the kingdom unless it is stopped. The bloodline of the ruling house is tied to this prophecy, and you, Your Majesty, are at the center of it.”

Ilyra’s stomach twisted. She had always feared that the prophecy would come for her, but hearing it spoken aloud made it all the more real.

“What does this force want?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

The emissary’s expression darkened. “It is not a force of this world. It is a manifestation of the chaos that exists beyond the veil of our reality. It feeds on fear, division, and death. Elira’s rebellion has given it strength, and if the kingdom continues to fracture, it will grow powerful enough to tear through the veil and consume everything.”

A silence fell over the room. Ilyra felt the weight of the man’s words like a boulder pressing down on her chest.

Elysia was the first to break the silence. “And what is the Order’s role in this?”

The emissary’s gaze flicked to her. “We are protectors of the realm’s magical balance. The forces we face are not bound by physical might—they are ancient and malevolent. The Order seeks to prevent the prophecy from coming to pass by sealing the rift that threatens to open.”

“Can it be stopped?” Ilyra asked, hope creeping into her voice.

The emissary hesitated. “It can be delayed. But the prophecy is a warning, not a curse. It speaks of inevitable conflict, one that only the rightful ruler of the kingdom can face. If you, Your Majesty, fail to unite the kingdom, the darkness will rise.”

Ilyra’s thoughts raced. Uniting the kingdom seemed impossible with the rebellion gaining strength by the day, with the nobles divided and the common folk gripped by fear. But she couldn’t allow herself to think of failure. Not now.

“What must I do?” she asked, her voice steady with determination.

The emissary’s eyes bore into hers. “You must prove to the people that you are the rightful ruler—not through power, but through unity. The forces that oppose you are feeding on the kingdom’s divisions. If you can restore faith in your rule, if you can bring the lands together, you will weaken the darkness.”

Ilyra’s mind churned with possibilities. Elira’s rebellion had torn the kingdom apart, but it wasn’t too late to repair the damage. She would need to act quickly, decisively, but not with the brute force her council advocated. She would need to win hearts, not just battles.

Elysia stepped forward. “We need to rally the loyal houses first. Show the people that they still have hope.”

The emissary nodded. “But beware. Elira is not the only enemy you face. There are others working in the shadows—those who seek to manipulate the prophecy for their own gain.”

Ilyra met his gaze, her resolve hardening. “Let them come. I’ll face whatever darkness lies ahead.”

The emissary bowed once more. “Then may the light guide your path, Your Majesty.”

As the emissary left the chamber, Ilyra turned back to the storm outside. The rebellion was just the beginning. The true battle was yet to come, and it would not be fought with swords or armies, but with the very fabric of the kingdom’s soul.

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