MANIAKES
(The Tyrant Born of Fire and Shadows)
Recap of Chapter 1 – The God's Gift
In the barren halls of Zuvendis, King Arthelion and Queen Selara begged the gods for an heir. Their prayers were answered—not by the gods of light, but by something older, hungrier. Shadows whispered a promise: a child would come, strong beyond kings, feared beyond nations.
The Queen's womb quickened. The people rejoiced. Yet in the unseen cracks of the world, laughter echoed. The child's name was whispered in the dark—
Maniakes.
Chapter 2 – The Prophecy of Tyranny
The palace of Zuvendis blazed with celebration. Horns thundered, dancers filled the courtyards, and golden banners hung across the stone walls. The Queen's swelling womb was hailed as a miracle, a sign the gods favored their kingdom once more.
But not all voices sang with joy.
On the seventh night after the news was proclaimed, the Oracle of Ashes stirred from her silence. She was a relic of the old gods, veiled in soot-stained cloth, her eyes clouded white as milk. For decades she had spoken rarely, her words carrying weight enough to sway kings. That night, she demanded audience with Arthelion.
The King granted it—though his heart shivered at the thought.
The Oracle was brought into the throne hall in chains. Not because she was dangerous, but because men feared her touch, claiming her hands left frost upon the flesh. She shuffled forward, her bones creaking as if each step carried centuries.
When she raised her face, the torches guttered as though the air itself bent to her will.
"King of Zuvendis," she rasped, her voice echoing beyond its natural strength. "You prayed for a son. The gods have given you one."
The Queen's lips curved into a trembling smile. But it vanished as the Oracle's voice deepened, cracking like thunder.
"Rejoice not. For this child is no savior. He is fire given flesh. His sword shall drink of your people's blood. His shadow will stretch across kingdoms, and where it falls, no light will remain."
The Queen gasped, clutching her belly as though to shield the unborn life.
"Lies!" she cried. "This is jealousy—nothing more than poison from an old tongue!"
But the Oracle's head tilted back, and her mouth opened wider than nature allowed. The voice that poured out was not hers. It was something greater, layered, as if a hundred voices spoke in unison.
"The boy will be your undoing, King Arthelion. He will tear down your walls, feast upon your throne, and his name shall become a curse upon the wind. You will cast him away, but he will return. And when he does, your blood will be the first to fall."
The torches burst, flames stretching toward the ceiling as shadows writhed along the walls. The hall shook, and every soldier clutched his spear in terror.
Then, as suddenly as it began, silence fell. The Oracle collapsed in her chains, her body lifeless and cold.
The Queen wept, rocking in place, whispering to the unborn child in her womb.
"My little one… they cannot see. You will be my joy, not my ruin."
But the King said nothing. His face was stone, yet his eyes betrayed the storm raging within.
And in that silence, a thought lodged in his mind like a blade:
If the prophecy is true… then perhaps this child should never live to see his first .