Cursed By Fate

ball disaster

The night had reached its peak. The grand ballroom was bathed in golden light, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. After the night’s dances, ceremonies, and conversations, all attention turned to the raised platform at the end of the hall. Atop it stood the king and queen, their expressions proud yet serious. Between them, a magnificent crown rested on a velvet cushion, the very crown that would signify Prince Ryker’s official coming of age, marking his rise to power.

The murmurs of the nobles faded as the royal crier’s voice boomed through the hall.

“Tonight, we witness the crowning of Crown Prince Ryker, heir to the throne and chosen by the gods!”

All eyes turned toward Ryker as he stepped forward, his movements regal and commanding. His tall, imposing figure stood out, even in the midst of the gathering of royals and nobles. The gold-trimmed black cloak he wore fluttered as he ascended the steps toward the platform. The dim light of the chandeliers reflected off his ceremonial armor, making him appear every bit the warrior prince that he was.

The queen, Seraphina, stood beside the king, holding the crown. Her eyes searched her son’s face, seeing both the ruthless warrior and the man destined for the throne. As Ryker knelt before her, she carefully placed the crown atop his head, the symbol of his birthright and the weight of the kingdom now resting upon him.

The hall erupted in cheers. Nobles from far and wide applauded, raising their goblets in toast to the new crown prince. The royal orchestra began to play a triumphant melody, celebrating the occasion.

Ryker stood, the crown shining upon his head, his yellow eyes cold and focused. He glanced toward Aria, who stood at the edge of the hall, watching over him. Her presence, always so steady, brought him a sense of calm amidst the storm of expectations swirling around him.

But as the celebration grew louder, something shifted in the air. A strange tension gripped the hall, one that did not belong to the festivities. Ryker’s sharp instincts picked up on it immediately. His hand instinctively reached for the sword at his side, but before he could react, the great windows of the ballroom shattered with an earsplitting crash.

The nobles screamed as shards of glass rained down, and a thick cloud of smoke poured into the room. Chaos erupted. Guards rushed to protect the royal family, but amidst the confusion, dark figures emerged from the smoke—an entire army, cloaked in black, their weapons gleaming with deadly intent.

The ballroom transformed from a place of celebration to a battlefield in an instant. The grand orchestra’s melody was replaced by the harsh clash of steel and the desperate cries of the guests. The air filled with the acrid stench of smoke and blood.

Ryker’s eyes narrowed as he drew his sword in a fluid motion. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, coursing through the blade as he prepared to strike. Beside him, Aria moved into action without hesitation. Her own sword was already drawn, and her expressionless face showed no fear as she advanced toward the intruders.

An assassin lunged at Ryker, but with a swift movement, he dodged the attack and brought his sword down, striking the enemy with a powerful bolt of lightning. The assassin’s body convulsed before collapsing, lifeless. Ryker wasted no time and turned to the next target, his strikes precise and lethal.

Aria was a blur of motion, cutting through the attackers with an eerie grace. Her strikes were clean and efficient, her blade slicing through the shadowy enemies as if they were nothing. With each enemy she felled, she moved closer to Ryker’s side, ensuring no one could break through their defense.

Suddenly, the great doors of the ballroom were thrown open, and through them poured more enemies—an organized, disciplined army. Siege towers loomed in the distance, and the sound of war drums echoed through the palace.