The Kingdom of Light
In the annals of history, there was once a kingdom so radiant, bards wept when they sang of it, and children dreamed of walking its golden streets. Verdantia—the Crown Jewel of the Eastern Continent. The Realm Where Sorrow Never Dwelled. The Kingdom Blessed by Heaven itself.
The morning sun bathed white marble spires in hues of amber and rose, casting long shadows across cobblestone streets untouched by blood. From the highest tower of the Crystal Palace, one could see paradise itself: emerald fields stretching to the horizon, vineyards heavy with fruit that tasted of sunlight, and rivers so pure it was said angels drank from them.
King Aldric Verdantia stood upon his balcony, weathered hands gripping the ornate railing as he gazed over his domain. Once, this view had filled him with pride. Once, he had believed himself the most blessed ruler in the world.
But now, even the sunrise cast shadows too long to ignore.
"The people gather in the squares again," whispered his advisor—Gareth, a gaunt man whose eyes held the weight of unspeakable truths. "They whisper of the failed harvests. Of merchants fleeing. Of children who cry through the night."
Aldric closed his eyes. "How did it come to this, Gareth? How did paradise become a prison?"
It hadn't always been this way.
For seven generations, the Verdantia dynasty ruled with wisdom and grace, guided by the visions of the Eternal Seer—an ancient woman whose prophecies had never once proven false. Wars were averted before they began. Famines stopped with timely planning. Enemies turned to allies with words sweeter than wine.
Verdantia rose from a city-state to an empire spanning three mountain ranges and two seas—not through conquest, but through compassion. Other realms begged to join them. It was said even criminals wept when pardoned, ashamed to disappoint such a just king.
But even the purest power corrupts.
As generations passed, humility gave way to pride. Compassion soured into condescension. Justice remained—but it became cold, and without mercy, even justice is cruelty in finer clothes.
King Aldric was not an evil man.
But he was not good either.
He had inherited greatness—and mistaken it for his own.
When the first signs of decay appeared—rising crime, growing disparity, smiles that no longer reached the eyes—he ignored them.
The Seer had always guided them. She would again.
But the Seer… was dying.
"My lord," Gareth said, voice brittle, "She asks to see you. She says… it is time for the final prophecy."
Aldric turned from the balcony. In the distance, he heard the sound that haunted his sleep: the voices of his people, crying out for a salvation they could not name—but felt coming like winter's chill.
"Then let us not keep destiny waiting," he said, though fear cracked beneath his words.
They walked the gilded corridors—past tapestries depicting Verdantia's golden age, past portraits of kings who never knew despair. Neither spoke of what they both knew:
Some prophecies are not gifts, but curses.Some truths are too heavy to bear.And some kingdoms, no matter how brightly they shine…
…are destined to burn.
Before them loomed the throne room doors—carved with salvation and redemption.Behind them waited the Eternal Seer.Behind them waited the future.
And a question no king should ever be forced to answer:
What if the prophecy does not save you… but names the thing that ends you?