Crown of the Cursed King

"They were born under three suns… but destined to burn under one war."

The morning sky over Nordrak was shrouded in smoke. The wind that once carried snow now carried whispers of blood and treachery.

Prince Kaaryan, now thirteen, was training in the desert arena of Solkar under the watchful gaze of Commander Rauth. Twin swords danced in his hands like extensions of his fury. The sand beneath his boots turned to dust storms as he sparred against three adult warriors.

His final strike — a spiraling leap and cross-slash — dropped all three to their knees.

"Good," Rauth grunted, nodding. "But remember, Prince… a lion who roars before he strikes dies to the silent arrow."

Kaaryan smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. He glanced at his sister, Princess Shaanira, seated in the shade, writing something in her journal.

"Let him swing blades. I'll win battles with ink and words," she murmured.

---

Far in the north, in a snow-wrapped training yard, Prince Arvayen of Nordrak, the lone son of King Revansh and Queen Aenya, was fighting with katars — one in each hand, moving like a shadow, precise and fluid. Unlike Kaaryan's brute force, Arvayen's style was like ice — calculated, cold, lethal.

He finished his training and looked to his mother. "When will I meet the other heirs?"

Aenya chuckled faintly. "When their swords cross your path, not your gaze."

"But I wonder," Arvayen said, eyes narrowing. "Are they foes… or kin lost in war's fog?"

---

In the west, among the gardens of Vaithara, laughter echoed.

Princess Meesha, the elder twin of King Vivaraj, stood tall, bow in hand, shooting arrows through silk-cloth targets hanging from swaying tree branches. Each shot was a poem of precision.

Her sister, Princess Raveen, sat beside the High Druid, chanting incantations over floating crystals. The grass beneath her pulsed faintly with magic — she was already a gifted healer and scholar, touching forces few understood.

"They train for war," Raveen whispered. "But we study the art of peace… until peace is broken."

---

The Trigger of War

Tensions flared like wildfire when Revansh's second high commander, Lord Derav, was slain in an ambush near the southern border with Adityan's kingdom.

His convoy, carrying both military rations and rare herbs from Vaithara, was torn apart by raiders. Revansh himself stood before the bloodied corpses, his snow-cloak soaked in crimson.

In his hand was a broken shaft — painted with the golden lion and serpent, an unmistakable mark once used by Adityan's royal mercenaries.

The flames in Revansh's eyes matched the smoke that still lingered in the air.

"I've held my patience in iron chains," he growled to his court. "But blood calls for steel. Send the war drums to echo through the ice."

---

Adityan responded not with apology, but arrogance.

"If Nordrak cannot protect its borders, let them not cry for war," he said before his ministers. "But if they desire flames, I shall give them a sun they cannot extinguish."

His armies surged toward the mountain passes — siege towers creaked, war elephants thundered, and desert fire oil was readied to melt the snow of Nordrak.

Prince Kaaryan rode ahead, thirsting for battle.

Shaanira stayed behind, sending messages wrapped in golden wax — diplomatic threads hidden within war plans.

---

The Ripple of Conflict — Vaithara's Trial

But war has no boundaries.

As Adityan's armies charged through the river-gate regions of Nordrak, one of their legions rerouted toward the river delta, where water from Nordrak flowed downstream — directly feeding Vaithara's canals.

The assault was swift and silent.

Within days, the lifeblood of Vaithara dried — aqueducts shattered, crops withered, and the people cried for water.

King Vivaraj stood at the Grand Balcony, watching farmers beg in empty fields.

"This was not a stray fire," Queen Lirasha said, voice trembling with fury. "This is a knife meant to bleed us silently."

Vivaraj clenched his fists. "So be it. The river will flow again — through fire or blood."

---

The Battle of Riverfork — Where Allies Fell

Vivaraj marched his troops to reclaim the riverbanks — archers, druids, river guards, and spirit-chanted cavalry. The emerald banners fluttered beside storming drums.

But when they reached the banks, Revansh's northern patrol mistook them for invaders, believing Vaithara had betrayed them by aiding Adityan.

The clash began like thunder.

Arrows flew like meteors, druids summoned earth walls, while Nordrak's ice-armored warriors charged with battle cries.

For the first time in a decade, two brothers' armies crossed swords, not just words.

Arvayen led the vanguard, pushing Vaithara's front line back with brutal katars and chilling precision. He faced Meesha's elite archers — each arrow narrowly missing his heart, each strike returned with unmatched fury.

And from the cliffs above, Raveen summoned winds to shield her soldiers, only to be nearly struck by a Nordrak ballista bolt.

When the blood mist settled, three hundred warriors lay dead on the banks, and the river ran crimson.

---

Three Thrones Collide

Back in their courts, messengers screamed of betrayal.

Adityan declared: "Let the brothers drown in each other's blood. We shall strike from the heart next."

Revansh shouted, "Vaithara sides with the enemy! They took revenge in the name of water!"

Vivaraj roared, "My people die of thirst while my kin slanders me. We shall flood them with wrath!"

No longer a cold war. No longer proxy fights.

It was full-scale war now.