The Fall of Shadows

Kalen didn't know who was speaking his name or how the voice had come from an archive that few had access to. The only thing he knew was that it sounded strangely familiar, like a voice from a long time ago, just beyond his reach. It resonated with a deep, calm tone, echoing in the still air. Kalen couldn't help but think that the walls around him—seemingly alive—were making the room feel even heavier. The silence that pressed down on him seemed to fill every corner, tightening its grip.

"Kalen..."

Hearing his name once more, Kalen felt his thoughts fade away. For a moment, it seemed as if time itself had stopped. The voice was all that existed. It was as though everything—everywhere—had paused to wait for the sound of that word.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, his voice tight with unease.

"I know more than just your name, Kalen," the voice replied, cold and distant. But there was something more in its tone—something threatening, yet quietly commanding.

"Who are you, and how did you get in here?" Kalen's voice was firmer now, his curiosity mingling with a growing wariness.

With careful steps, he moved toward the source of the voice. But as he walked, fear was replaced by a sharp, almost obsessive curiosity. I have no reason to fear. This is my kingdom, Kalen thought, his resolve hardening. The voice's source was becoming clearer—an old, dusty book, its pages yellowed with age. Kalen reached for it, and as his fingers brushed against the cover, the silence grew deeper, the book now still, as if waiting for something.

"Majesty!" came Lord Caelum's voice as he stepped into the room.

"lord Caelum, I am quite busy," Kalen replied without turning, still fixated on the book.

"My lord, there's been an incident at the southern mine, where the slaves work. You must come immediately!" Caelum's voice was urgent, almost frantic.

"Very well, Lord Caelum, I will come. Meet me in my private chambers," Kalen said, his voice steady and cold. There was an edge to his tone, and Caelum couldn't help but think, Our young prince is no longer a child.

"Understood, my lord," Caelum replied, his voice filled with respect and determination. He quietly closed the door behind him as he left, casting one last glance at the closed door, the oppressive darkness behind it.

Five Minutes After King Kalen Left the Council Room:

The air was thick with murmurs and whispered voices. A booming voice broke the silence: "The new heir to the throne does not deserve to be king!" Another voice joined: "I agree with Treasurer George—such childish behavior!" Lord Caelum, unable to allow any further criticism, drew his sword and placed it on the table with a sharp clang.

"Any more ill words about our king will be considered TREASON AGAINST THE KINGDOM AND WILL RESULT IN DEATH!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the room.

The council members, intimidated by Caelum's outburst, quickly fell silent and retreated to their chairs. Caelum, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere, exited the council room. As he passed through the crumbling stone walls, he felt the weight of the kingdom's glory, but also the dark, oppressive air that clung to it. Ah, Lord Leonard, how I served this kingdom with honor by your side. Where are you now? he wondered.

Suppressing a sigh, he reached his quarters, opened the heavy wooden door, and inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh air that had eluded him since leaving the council room.

Lord Caelum's Room:

Lord Caelum's room reflected his strong yet refined character. At the center stood a large, dark brown desk. The surface was neat, though covered with papers bearing the marks of time. Everything was in its place, yet there was an unmistakable coldness in the air. The walls, bearing the weight of years, seemed as though they might collapse at any moment. In the corners of the room, faint moss had begun to grow on the stone, a testament to the dampness of the atmosphere.

Beside the desk was a large, old wardrobe. Its doors had not been opened in years, but inside, everything was meticulously arranged. The shelves were lined with old history books and kingdom documents, their pages yellowing with age. Everything in the room, every corner, seemed to hold the history of the kingdom, each detail a reflection of Caelum's past.

The room's large windows blocked out most of the outside world. Only a faint light filtered through a small crack in the left window, casting a pale glow over the room. Darkness enveloped the space, giving it an eerie, oppressive feel. The old rug, faded and worn, stretched across the floor. With every step, it seemed to whisper the secrets of the past, echoing through the silence.

At the back of the room, a fireplace stood cold and unused. Ashes had gathered on the stone floor, remnants of a fire long extinguished. Beside the hearth, a chair, its leather surface worn and cracked, sat empty. Above the fireplace, an old mirror reflected Caelum's image, but there was something strange about the reflection. It seemed to hide something—something Caelum himself couldn't quite place.

In the corner of the room, the bed lay draped in shadows. Its cover was made of old, faded fabric, as if untouched by time. The headboard, intricately carved, resembled the back of an ancient throne. The only light in the room came from the faint glow of the window and the flickering candle on the nearby table.

Caelum found solace in this environment—the weight of the room, the thick air, and the isolation it brought. It kept his mind sharp, reminded him of the dark history of the kingdom, and prepared him for the shadows that lay ahead. He entered the room as though greeting an old friend, noticing a papyrus on his desk. Looking at the fragile parchment, he muttered:

"I specifically instructed that no papyrus be sent to me unless absolutely necessary," he thought, noticing the seal on the paper.

The papyrus had been hastily sealed, ink smudging the surface. He glanced at the sender's name and froze. "Senior Crambell, manager of the southern mine?" he read aloud, his voice filled with surprise.