The War of No Mercy
The morning after Kael's coronation, thunder rolled across the skies—not from storms, but from war drums.
Kael had waited long enough.
The traitors who aligned with Varyx.
The border lords who dared question the child's right to inherit.
The spies who whispered in the shadows about Elara's weakness.
> He hunted them.
He found them.
He ended them.
Mercy was for kings like Auren.
Kael was not Auren.
His soldiers—trained under his ruthless hand—swept across the outer regions with fire and steel. Anyone who had raised a sword against the royal house fell beneath Kael's blade.
He rode into their strongholds like a shadowstorm.
> He executed six traitor lords himself—without trial.
When a surviving noble begged for mercy, claiming ignorance of Varyx's plan, Kael's voice was ice:
> "You watched my brother die. You waited to see who would rise. You chose wrong."
He burned their banners.
He spared no names.
Aetheria would never forget the wrath of its dark king.
---
The Birth of the Heir
Back at the palace, Elara's labor began.
The midwives rushed to her side as golden light shimmered faintly around her body—magic reacting to the pain, the power, the soul about to be born.
Elara clenched the sheets, sweat running down her temple.
Kael wasn't there.
He was at the gates, covered in blood, issuing final orders before returning.
She cried out as another contraction hit. Her fingers reached instinctively for Auren's pendant at her neck.
> "Come on, little light… come into the world."
The skies cleared.
And then—
A cry.
High and strong.
A boy.
Wrapped in silver cloth, his eyes gleaming the soft, bright gold of his father's magic. A single streak of black hair across his crown like Kael's—proof of the blood that now protected him.
Elara cradled him, tears falling freely for the first time in weeks.
> "Auren," she whispered.
"You're here."
---
The Return of the King
Kael returned to the palace bloodied and bruised.
He had not slept.
He had not eaten.
But when they told him the child had been born, he ran.
He stepped into the Queen's chambers and stopped dead.
Elara lay in bed, pale and glowing, their child in her arms.
Not his by blood.
But his to protect until his last breath.
He approached, slowly. Carefully.
Elara looked up at him, and for the first time since the wedding… she smiled.
"He looks like his father," she said softly.
Kael nodded. "He is his father's son."
She extended the child toward him.
Kael stared, unsure—until the baby opened his eyes and gripped his finger with a hand so small, so warm, Kael forgot how to breathe.
"I would die for him," Kael whispered.
"No," Elara said, tired but sure. "You'll live for him."
---