The King Who Never Was

​The Twilight of Peace

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the grand city of Balswarth. Banners fluttered from every tower, displaying the royal crest of the Al-Rune dynasty—a majestic silver eagle, wings outstretched, clutching a golden sword in its talons. The eagle, with its piercing eyes, symbolized vigilance and power, while the sword represented the justice and protection the Al-Runes had provided for centuries. The crest was set against a deep blue field, bordered in rich crimson, signifying the bloodline’s noble roots and the kingdom’s enduring peace.

The streets were alive with celebration as the kingdom marked the 100th day since its founding. Market stalls overflowed with goods, and the air was filled with the scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries. Musicians played lively tunes, and dancers in colorful attire twirled with joy. The people of Balswarth, human and otherwise, had every reason to rejoice under the benevolent rule of King Kaiser Al-Rune. Kaiser Al-Rune stood on the grand balcony of the royal palace, overlooking his people with a warm smile. His tall, broad frame was draped in a robe of royal blue, trimmed with silver thread that caught the light. His hair, once a fiery red, had faded to a dignified silver, yet his green eyes still sparkled with the vigor of youth. He had ruled Balswarth for over thirty years, a time marked by peace and prosperity, thanks to his wisdom and just hand. Beside him stood his five children, the pride of the Al-Rune dynasty. The eldest was Crown Prince Valen, a young man of twenty-three years, tall and strong like his father.

Valen had inherited his father’s red hair, though his was still vibrant with youth, and his sharp blue eyes were always watchful. His armor, polished to a mirror finish, bore the family crest proudly on his chest. Next was Princess Elysia, twenty years old, with the grace of her mother and the fiery spirit of her father. Her auburn hair cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes gleamed with intelligence. Elysia was known throughout the kingdom for her sharp mind and compassionate heart, often spending her days in the city, aiding the less fortunate.

Prince Cedric, the third child, was seventeen, lean and wiry, with the quick reflexes of a born warrior. He had a mischievous smile and a glint in his blue eyes that suggested he was always up to something. Cedric was often found in the company of the palace guards, practicing his swordsmanship and planning daring escapades. Fourth in line was Princess Elara, a delicate beauty of fifteen years. She had inherited her mother’s dark hair, which contrasted sharply with her fair skin. Her violet eyes, a rare trait in the Al-Rune family, gave her an otherworldly appearance.

Elara was quiet and reserved, often found in the palace gardens, where she tended to the flowers and communed with the elves who visited from the nearby forests. And then there was Prince Alric, the youngest at thirteen. Alric was small for his age, with a slender build that made him seem almost fragile compared to his older siblings. His hair was a dark auburn, almost brown, and his eyes were a soft hazel, filled with a kindness that endeared him to everyone he met. Despite his gentle nature, Alric had a fierce determination hidden beneath his quiet exterior—a trait that would soon become essential.

As the royal family looked out over the crowd, their moment of joy was interrupted. King Kaiser, who had been waving to his people, suddenly staggered back, clutching his chest. A murmur of concern rippled through the crowd as his children rushed to his side. Valen caught his father before he could fall, and Elysia called for the royal healer. The king’s face was ashen, his breath shallow, and for the first time in their lives, his children saw fear in his eyes. “Kaiser!” a voice called out, and Angus Al-Rune, the king’s younger brother, pushed through the crowd of courtiers.

Angus was a stark contrast to his elder sibling—shorter, with a stout build, and dark hair that was only beginning to gray. His eyes, a cold blue, lacked the warmth that defined Kaiser. He knelt beside his brother, his face a mask of concern, but there was a hardness in his gaze that went unnoticed by all but the most observant. “The healer is on his way,” Angus assured the king, but his words were laced with something unsettling. The celebration continued around them, but the joy had dimmed, replaced by a growing unease. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the kingdom as night began to fall. In the silence of the royal chambers, the healer worked frantically to save the king, but as the minutes passed, the hope in the room dwindled.

Kaiser Al-Rune lay on the grand bed, surrounded by his children, who watched helplessly as the life drained from their father. Alric stood at the foot of the bed, his small hands clenched into fists. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew it was something terrible. He felt a cold hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Angus standing over him, his expression unreadable. “Your father is a great man,” Angus said softly, “but even the greatest cannot escape their fate.” Alric didn’t reply, his heart too heavy with fear and sorrow to find words. He watched as the healer finally stepped back, shaking his head. The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with despair.

Kaiser Al-Rune, the benevolent king of Balswarth, was gone. The silence was broken by Angus, who knelt beside his brother’s lifeless body and gently closed his eyes. He then rose to his full height and turned to the gathered courtiers and guards who had entered the room. “The king is dead,” he declared, his voice ringing out in the chamber. “Long live the king.” There was a moment of stunned silence, and then, slowly, the courtiers knelt, bowing their heads in respect—not to the king who had passed but to the one who now claimed the throne.

​Alric felt a chill run down his spine as Angus’s gaze fell upon him, the weight of his uncle’s words pressing down on his small frame. In that moment, the young prince understood that the world he had known, the peace and safety of his family’s rule, had come to an end. Night had fallen over Balswarth, and with it came the darkness that would soon engulf the kingdom.​

The Flight from Balswarth​

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the darkened city of Balswarth. The joyous sounds of the day’s celebrations had long faded, replaced by the eerie stillness of night. But within the walls of the royal palace, chaos reigned. Prince Alric sat in his chambers, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. His father was gone, and in his place stood Uncle Angus, a man Alric had never fully trusted. The look in Angus’s eyes as he declared himself king had chilled Alric to the bone.

He had seen something dark, something dangerous, lurking behind that cold blue gaze. There was a sudden knock at the door, sharp and urgent. Before Alric could respond, the door flew open, and Sir Rowan, one of the king’s most loyal knights, rushed in. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a look of desperation. “Prince Alric,” Rowan said in a hushed voice, “we must leave at once. Angus has sent men after you.” “Leave?” Alric’s voice wa