Part 1: The Forgotten Heir's Blade : The Ceremony of Steel
The great hall of Eldoria Keep stood cold and proud.
Torches flickered against stone walls carved with forgotten kings.
Banners of black and gold hung heavy with dust.
Today they crowned a new protector.
Ewan stood at the back among the servants.
Nineteen winters old.
Freckled pale skin still marked by kitchen soot.
Tousled auburn hair fell into his nervous hazel eyes.
His worn leather tunic smelled of woodsmoke and fear.
In his pocket rested the old family locket.
Warm against his chest.
Always warm.
Lord Protector Garrick Thorne stepped forward on the dais.
Forty-eight.
Steel-gray hair cropped short.
Broad shoulders wrapped in black-and-gold plate.
His face was stone.
His eyes scanned the crowd like a wolf.
"The king is dead," he declared.
"I will hold the throne until the true heir returns."
But everyone knew no heir had been found.
The court mage Lady Seraphina watched from the shadows.
Thirty-five.
Olive skin glowing in firelight.
Long black braids woven with silver threads.
Her emerald eyes missed nothing.
Especially not the boy who shouldn't be there.
They brought forth the Blade of Eldoria.
Ancient steel etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
Laid on crimson velvet.
No one had drawn it in three centuries.
Only the true blood could.
Garrick reached for the hilt.
His fingers steady.
Controlled.
The blade stayed dark.
A murmur rippled through the nobles.
Then Ewan stepped forward.
His boots too loud on the marble.
The locket burned hotter.
"Wait," he called.
His voice cracked.
Guards moved.
"Boy, back to the kitchens."
But Ewan kept walking.
He pulled the locket free.
Opened it.
Inside was no portrait.
A single glowing rune matched the sword.
Garrick's hand froze above the blade.
His stoic mask fractured.
Just a flicker in those wolf eyes.
Fear?
Recognition?
Lady Seraphina leaned closer.
Her fingers tightened on her staff.
She saw the matching rune.
She knew something the others didn't.
Ewan touched the sword.
The runes flared bright blue.
The blade sang.
A low, ancient note that shook the banners.
The hall fell silent.
Garrick stepped back.
His hand dropped to his own hidden dagger.
"Impossible," he whispered.
But the blade was awake.
And it had chosen the kitchen boy.
Outside, storm clouds gathered over the misty forests.
Wolves howled in the distance.
Something older stirred in the ruined temples beyond the walls.
Ewan gripped the hilt.
Power surged through him.
Visions flashed.
Burning villages.
A laughing king with his face.
A betrayal sealed in blood.
Lady Seraphina smiled faintly.
Too faintly.
Garrick noticed.
The new protector turned to the guards.
"Seize him."
But the blade hummed louder.
The guards hesitated.
Ewan looked at the man who now feared him.
"What are you hiding, my lord?"
May you like
The answer waited in the dark woods.
And the blade demanded they go find it.
