Crown of the Cursed King

The valley of Durnhald echoed with the clash of steel and screams of men. Smoke billowed from shattered siege towers and broken watchtowers. Fire kissed the sky. The scent of blood, magic, and ash hung heavy.

Svarlokh was no longer in conflict. It was in ruin.

Prince Kaaryan stood atop a burning ridge, his twin swords dripping crimson. His eyes glowed with rage, wild like a beast unchained.

"Drive them back!" he roared. "No survivors!"

His Crimson Vanguard charged again, storming through Nordrak's icy wall. Magic-charged chariots rolled like thunder, launching spears of lightning across the battlefield.

But Kaaryan's eyes weren't just on the frontlines.

They were searching for him.

That boy.

The one from tales.

The one with the katars.

Prince Arvayen, son of Revansh, leapt from behind a crumbled outpost wall, katars flashing, slicing through a dozen soldiers in seconds. Frost magic clung to his armor. His eyes, cold and precise, scanned the field — until they locked with Kaaryan's from across the chaos.

They both stopped.

Even in the madness around them, silence struck their hearts.

Then — they moved.

Not toward safety.

But toward each other.

Sparks flew as blades met in a ferocious whirlwind of speed and fury. Swords against katars. Grace against rage. Precision against power.

The very ground beneath them cracked from the sheer force of their blows.

"You're just like I imagined," Arvayen muttered between strikes.

"And you're weaker than I hoped," Kaaryan hissed, eyes blazing.

They fought like demons reborn, neither giving ground. The wind howled as their blades danced a death rhythm.

But fate was cruel.

Princess Meesha, hearing of the battle's shift, had disobeyed orders and led a squad of elite archers from Vaithara to protect the Nordrak flank. Her presence was unexpected. Unplanned.

Unwanted by fate.

She spotted Kaaryan and Arvayen locked in combat and galloped toward them.

"STOP!" she shouted, unleashing a volley of arrows to push back Kaaryan's troops swarming toward Arvayen. Her voice echoed with desperation.

But Kaaryan turned, just for a moment, eyes narrowing at her.

"You... You're the twin star," he muttered.

Meesha dismounted, standing between the two princes.

"There's no honor left in this war!" she cried. "You fight for kings who only burn the world!"

Arvayen stepped forward. "She's right, Kaaryan. This is no longer a battle of nations—it's a slaughter of generations."

Kaaryan's breath heaved. For a second, something softened in his gaze.

Just a second.

But then, an arrow struck his arm — fired from a Nordrak scout in the distance. He winced in pain, staggered, and instinctively lashed out.

His sword, burning with fury, slashed through the air.

Straight into Meesha's chest.

Time stopped.

The battlefield vanished in the silence of one moment.

Meesha gasped.

Eyes wide.

Blood staining her white armor and flowing like a broken river.

Kaaryan's face went pale. "No… I didn't mean—"

She collapsed into Arvayen's arms.

"No… No! MEESHA!!" Arvayen screamed, voice breaking.

She looked at him, trembling, blood at her lips.

"I… I saw you both… not as enemies… but as brothers…"

And then her eyes closed, her body limp in his arms.

Kaaryan dropped his swords, stepping back in disbelief, shaking. His fingers trembled, stained with her blood.

He stared at her lifeless body.

A part of his soul shattered.

Around them, the battlefield still raged — but in their eyes, nothing remained.

Arvayen gently placed Meesha's body down and stood. His gaze — once noble, once gentle — turned cold. Not with vengeance… but disillusionment.

He didn't speak a word.

He simply turned and ran into the fog, vanishing from the battlefield.

Kaaryan didn't follow.

He just stood there — surrounded by corpses, swords on the ground, his heart screaming in silence.

Above them, thunder cracked the sky.

And the war went on.