THE CROWN OF ASH

Chapter 3 : A Flicker of Hope

The riot had simmered down, the chaotic echoes replaced by a tense silence. The people of the Pisspit, ragged and hungry, had retreated to their hovels, whispering the name of Prince Aiden. Unlike his father, the worthless King Loken, Aiden had shown a sliver of strength and understanding, something the downtrodden could latch onto. The resemblance to Aiden the Uniter, a long-dead Silveryn king who once brought prosperity to Aeloria, was too tempting to ignore. Whispers grew louder—could this new Aiden be their savior?

Ray, their fiery young leader, walked briskly to his broken-down home on the edge of the Pisspit. The roof sagged, and the walls were patched with mismatched planks, yet it was the only place he'd ever known. Inside, three figures awaited him—his closest friends and allies, bonded by a shared struggle to survive the hellhole they called home.

Klaus, the sharp-eyed thinker of the group, leaned against the wall, his face dark with doubt. Gunther, a massive boy with shoulders like boulders, sat sharpening a rusted blade, his perpetual scowl etched deeper by hunger. Finally, there was Meleys, the beautiful and spirited girl who had become the heart of their little group, her golden hair tied back with a scrap of cloth.

As Ray entered, Klaus wasted no time. "You really think this prince is going to save us?" he asked, his voice cutting through the dim room. "A few words and a sword won't fix anything. The Silveryns are still shackled to the deal of shame. What can Aiden do when his hands are tied by a dead king's bargain?"

Meleys sat on a crate, her eyes thoughtful. "He'll be better than King Loken," she said softly, though her tone carried an edge of uncertainty. "At least he's not drowning in wine and apathy."

Gunther let out a derisive laugh, his large hands gripping the blade tighter. "Better? That's not enough, Meleys. We don't need 'better.' We need a king who will shatter that deal, burn the law, and give us real change. This place is rotten from the roots. We need a revolutionary, not some prince with a famous name."

Ray raised his hand, silencing them. His dark eyes gleamed with conviction. "Trust me, Aiden is not like his father. He knows this kingdom is broken, and he'll find a way to fix it. I know he will."

"How?" Klaus pressed, his tone sharp. "How do you know?"

Ray's lips curved into a small, secretive smile. "I just do," he replied. The confidence in his voice was unshakable, leaving the others staring at him with a mix of doubt and curiosity.

Before the conversation could continue, Klaus frowned and gestured toward Ray's head. "Don't forget Ray. It's about that time again, isn't it? You're due for a shave."

Ray ran a hand through his hair, realizing it had grown longer than usual. "You're right," he muttered. "I've been so caught up I nearly forgot."

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Queen Maeryn Silveryn's carriage creaked and groaned as it rolled down the uneven path toward Weldor, a small fishing village perched on the eastern cliffs of Soryn. Flanked by the ever-vigilant Silverguard, the queen sat poised, her regal demeanor unshaken by the bumpy journey. Beside her sat Princess Bella, radiant and sharp-tongued at eighteen, and Princess Sofia, a delicate girl of thirteen whose wide-eyed innocence often made her seem out of place in their crumbling kingdom.

"Why are we even going to Weldor?" Princess Bella asked, her arms crossed. "We have nothing to offer them, Mother. What's the point of comforting people when we can't fix their lives?"

Queen Maeryn turned her piercing gaze on her eldest daughter, her tone firm yet patient. "Because even when we have little to give, our presence reminds the people they are not forgotten. Sometimes, child, a kind word can soften wounds that gold cannot."

Princess Sofia, ever the idealist, clasped her hands together. "I just hope the pirates get tired of raiding soon. We barely have anything left for them to take."

The queen's expression darkened, but she said nothing. They arrived at Weldor, where the Archea Sea stretched endlessly before them, its waves shimmering in the pale sunlight. The village was a ruin—smoke still curling from blackened homes, the stench of saltwater mingling with ash. Villagers emerged slowly, their faces hollow with despair.

The queen and her daughters moved among them, offering words of comfort and sympathy. Yet, the reception was not entirely warm. An old woman, her back bent with age, glared at the royal family with open disdain.

"What good are words?" the crone hissed. "You come here with empty hands and promises. We needed protection, not pity!"

Ser Braun Bayne, the imposing commander of the Silverguard, stepped forward, his presence silencing the crowd. "We should leave, Your Grace," he said quietly. "The people's anger is too fresh."

Queen Maeryn hesitated, then nodded. The villagers' resentment was palpable, and she would not risk the safety of her daughters. As they climbed back into the carriage, Princess Bella whispered to her mother, "You see? They don't want words, Mother. They want solutions."

Queen Maeryn sighed, her heart heavy with the truth.

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In the dimly lit chamber of Redcastle, Prince Aiden Silveryn sat at the head of the council table, his expression sharp and calculating. The absence of King Loken was glaring—his father was likely sprawled in his chambers, clutching a goblet of wine and a maid. The weight of leadership had fallen squarely on Aiden's shoulders.

Seated around the table were Chief Minister Sigurd Wolfscar, Marshal Gasper, Treasurer Mavos, High Priest Josep, and Granary Lord Tydos. Each man bore the exhaustion of Soryn's struggles, their faces etched with worry.

Marshal Gasper spoke first, his voice gruff. "The pirates are growing bolder. They've struck three villages in a fortnight. We need men to fight back."

"We have no men to spare," Mavos countered, his tone bitter. "And even if we did, our coffers are empty. The coins we have left are barely worth their weight in copper."

Tydos sighed heavily. "And our granaries are nearly bare. The people are starving, and the mountains are too dangerous for hunting. We're cornered."

The high priest clasped his hands in prayer. "God have mercy on us all," he murmured.

Chief Minister Sigurd turned to Aiden, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Well, my prince? You've been quiet. Do you have a solution, or are we to sit here and mourn our fate?"

Aiden leaned forward, his voice calm yet commanding. "We cannot fight the pirates—not now. But we can talk to them."

The room fell silent, the councilors staring at him in shock.

"Talk to them?" Marshal Gasper repeated, his tone incredulous.

"Yes," Aiden replied firmly. "We make them an offer. A deal. If they want to take from us, let's ensure it's on our terms, not theirs".

The council was stunned, their silence broken only by the sound of Sigurd's slow exhale.

"And what will this deal entail, my prince?" Sigurd asked cautiously.

Aiden's eyes gleamed with determination. "Leave that to me. But know this—I will not sit by and watch this kingdom collapse. If the pirates want to bargain, we'll give them something worth taking."

And with that, the meeting ended, the young prince's audacious plan leaving the councilors both uneasy and intrigued.