Chapter 20 – The Gates Tremble
The walls of Zuvendis rose like jagged teeth against the dying light. Torches burned along the battlements, their glow swallowed by the vastness of the night. The people within had been ordered to silence, yet the city breathed fear — a thousand whispers pressing against stone.
At the northern gate, Captain Deyros held his spear tightly, though his palms sweated. He had faced wars, ambushes, beasts, yet never had he known dread to gnaw so deeply. Word had spread of a warrior who could not be slain, whose gaze made soldiers falter, whose strength turned men into ash.
And now, he was here.
A dark mist drifted across the fields beyond the gate. The moon was veiled, the stars drowned. Somewhere in that darkness, footsteps echoed — slow, deliberate, heavy as doom.
Deyros's men shifted uneasily, gripping their weapons.
"Captain," one whispered, "is it true… he bleeds fire?"
"Silence," Deyros barked, though his own throat quivered.
Then, a voice came from the mist. Low. Cold. Inescapable.
"Arthelion."
The men froze. The name was not shouted, but it carried like thunder.
From the fog, a figure emerged — tall, broad, armored in blackened steel that drank the torchlight. His eyes glowed faintly, as though embers smoldered within. And behind him… shadows. Countless shapes shifting and writhing, not men, not beasts, but something caught between.
The soldiers at the gate took one step back.
Deyros forced himself forward, lifting his spear. "You will not enter Zuvendis. I am sworn—"
Maniakes raised a hand. He did not strike. He did not roar. He merely gestured, and the shadow-beings behind him moved, their bodies melting into the ground like ink. In an instant, they reappeared along the walls, clinging like spiders, their claws scratching against stone.
The torches sputtered and went out.
Screams tore from the battlements. Soldiers were dragged into darkness, their cries cut short. Blood dripped from the walls like rain.
Deyros fell to his knees. His spear clattered. His voice broke as he whispered to himself: "This is no man… this is the curse returned."
Maniakes looked upon the gates of his birthplace, his voice cold as the grave.
"Tell your king… his son has come home."
The gates trembled beneath the silence followed.