Aeloria, a kingdom forged in blood and ruled by legacy, stands divided. Once united under the mighty Silveryn dynasty, their red-haired kings reigned for centuries from Nyros, the jewel of the realm. But betrayal and ambition shattered their rule. E...
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( City of Silhaven )
The sea wind howled against the jagged cliffs of Frostspire, carrying with it the scent of salt and the heavy weight of history. Below, the restless waves crashed mercilessly against the rocks, as if they too sought to rebel against the weight of Soryn Island's past. At the heart of this forsaken realm stood Silhaven, the lone city clinging to its fragile existence, its crooked streets carved into the rocky terrain. From here, the fading echoes of a once-proud kingdom were barely audible, drowned by the cacophony of the present.
Within the weathered walls of the castle known as Redcastle, King Loken Silveryn, third of his name, slumped on his wooden throne. His hand trembled as it held a goblet of wine, his eyes glazed over, focused on nothing. His hair, matted with sweat, hung over his brow like the remnants of a forgotten era.
Lord Sigurd Wolfscar, the chief minister, stepped forward, his face taut with the strain of a thousand frustrations. "Your Grace," he began, his voice low but firm, "the latest pirate raids—"
"Aye, the pirates," King Loken interrupted, his voice thick with wine and weariness. "What do they want this time? Silver? Gold?" He laughed, but it was hollow, without humor. "It doesn't matter, we barely have them. Let them take what they will."
"The people are growing restless, Your Grace" Sigurd continued, unyielding in the face of his king's apathy. "The raids are becoming more frequent. They're testing us."
Loken waved a dismissive hand. "The law is clear. We can't chase them. Let them take what they want. It's the deal, Sigurd. The deal of shame."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, the words of the deal, which had bound the Silveryn family for centuries, hanging like a heavy fog over the castle.
In the quiet, a voice rang out, cutting through the haze.
"I'm sick of it."
All eyes turned to Prince Aiden Silveryn, the crown prince, who had remained silent until now. At twenty-one, he was the only one who seemed capable of carrying the weight of Soryn's future. Tall, broad-shouldered, and striking, Aiden's appearance alone was enough to command attention, but it was his voice—strong, sharp, and unwavering—that truly made him stand apart from his drunken father.
"The pirates have already taken what they want and left, and yet we still cower in our own homes," Aiden said, his voice steady but charged with frustration. "We are more than prisoners here, but you refuse to see it. We are *slaves* to a law set by a king who is no longer with us. How long must we hide from the past?"
King Loken's bleary eyes narrowed, but there was no conviction in his response. "Enough of this, boy. I said the law is the law. We survive because of it. You want bloodshed? Go fight the pirates, but do not lecture me on what is right."
