Eternity of the Shattered Crown

The scent of blood still clung to the air. Even after the battle had ended, even after the last sword had fallen silent, Eldermere remained drenched in the stench of death. Aric walked through the battlefield at dawn, his boots sinking into the damp, crimson-streaked earth. The morning light stretched long shadows across the ruined fields, painting eerie silhouettes over the bodies left behind.

Crows circled overhead, their harsh cries breaking the unnatural silence. Some had already descended, their beaks tearing into the fallen, feasting without hesitation. Noble soldiers, villagers, Rift-spawn—none were spared the indifference of nature. Aric stepped over the corpse of a man he had killed the night before, his blade still drying from the blood of the fallen. He did not know his name. There was no time to grieve. The dead were gone. The living still had to survive.

Beyond the barricades, the village stirred. Doors creaked open as the people of Eldermere emerged into the cold light of morning. The fires had been put out, but the damage remained. Smoke lingered in the air, and the once sturdy walls bore deep scars where Vallis's army had struck. Some of the villagers were gathering the bodies of their fallen, their hands shaking, their eyes hollow from exhaustion. Others stood in silence, staring at the destruction, as if only now realizing what had happened.

Aric reached the town square, where the village council had already gathered. Their faces were drawn, some still streaked with blood and soot. Lira stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed, her gaze sharp. Kael leaned against a broken pillar, his expression unreadable, though his golden eyes flickered with quiet observation. Across from them, Garrick stood stiffly, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his knife.

"This is not how we live," Garrick said, his voice thick with resentment. "We were never meant to be soldiers."

No one answered immediately. The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, shifting on their feet.

"We fought," he continued, his eyes locked onto Aric. "We bled. We won. And now what? Do we just keep fighting? Do we turn Eldermere into a fortress? Because that's what will happen if we follow him." He spat the last word, nodding toward Aric. "The nobles won't forget this. They won't leave us alone. You all know it."

A murmur passed through the crowd. Some nodded. Others looked away.

"We had no choice," Lira snapped. "Or would you rather Vallis's men had burned this village to the ground?"

"And what about next time?" Garrick shot back. "You think he'll stop it from happening again? Do you think he can protect all of us forever? We need stability, not another warlord playing at being a leader!"

The word struck harder than it should have. Warlord. That was what they saw him as. A man who had led them to battle. A man who had killed. Aric looked at the faces before him—some filled with admiration, others with uncertainty, and some with fear. The blood on his hands had not faded, not in their eyes.

"If you want to leave," Aric said, his voice even, "then leave. No one will stop you."

Silence fell. Some of the villagers shifted uneasily, but no one moved.

"But if you stay," he continued, "understand this—Eldermere is no longer just a village. The nobles see us as a threat. The Rift sees us as something else. We either stand together, or we die divided."

For a long moment, nothing was said. Garrick's jaw tightened, his fists clenching. He wanted to argue. But he had no argument left.

No one left the square.

As the meeting ended, Aric stepped away, feeling the weight settle deeper in his chest.

The village was his now. Whether he wanted it or not.

The problems did not end with the battle. The war had drained Eldermere's supplies, and the people were starting to realize just how much had been lost. The farmers had gathered near the outskirts of the village, speaking in hushed voices when Aric arrived. The moment they saw him, they fell silent. Their expressions were grim.

"The fields," one of them finally said. "Some of them… they're dying."

Aric frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We mean exactly that," another spoke. "Some of the crops are rotting, and we don't know why. The soil looks… wrong. And it's spreading."

Lira crouched beside one of the withered plants, brushing her fingers against the soil. Her brow furrowed. "This isn't natural."

Aric felt something shift in his gut.

The Rift.

Kael exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "We have two choices—trade or take."

Lira let out a sharp laugh. "Trade? With who? Every noble within a hundred miles will see us as a threat after what happened to Vallis. No one is going to willingly help us."

"Then we take what we need," Kael said, his voice calm.

Lira didn't flinch. "And how long before that makes us exactly what the nobles say we are?"

Aric listened, weighing the words carefully. The Rift had already started twisting the land. If the crops continued to die, there would be no future for Eldermere. But was the answer really to steal what they needed? Was this how it began? A kingdom built on desperation, on choices made for survival?

"Not yet," he finally said. "We send scouts to nearby settlements first. See if anyone is willing to trade. If that fails, then we decide the next step."

Lira didn't look convinced. But she didn't argue.

Not yet.

The battlefield called to him again that night.

The land where the Rift had first opened was still marked. A long, jagged scar stretched across the ground, pulsing faintly under the moonlight. Aric knelt beside it, staring at the way the edges shimmered as if reality itself had been burned away. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the surface.

A breath.

A whisper.

And then—

A throne of black stone, rising above a burning city. Soldiers kneeling before him. The weight of a crown pressed against his brow.

A voice—his own, yet not.

"The world was never meant to be ruled by mortals."

He gasped, stumbling back. The vision faded, but the weight in his chest did not. The Rift had not finished with him.

And neither had the past.

Before dawn, a scout rushed into Eldermere, his face pale, his breath ragged.

"Riders," he gasped. "Knights. Moving through the forest."

Aric straightened. "Vallis's men?"

The scout shook his head. "No. Different banner."

Lira's hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger. "Then we have a new problem."

Kael sighed. "Told you. Ruling is harder than war."

Aric said nothing, staring out toward the darkened woods.

The war for Eldermere was not over. It was just beginning.