A Worthless Crown

The man smiled, revealing teeth like shards of glass. Each stained with red marks, like a ravenous beast.

"I was once a king," he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with an undercurrent of spite. "Exiled by the people I protected, by the friends I saved. They chained me here, buried me beneath their city, hoping the realm would forget. But the earth remembers, fate desires me. And now you have found me."

I dared not move, it felt like my life was hanging on a thread. I was already covered in blood and wounded heavily, plus that previous power was far-gone.

"What do you want?"

"Freedom," the king replied. "Break these chains, and I will grant you power. The objects of your dreams, wealth, power, strength. You will rise above the Vista Family. You will never see these mines again. You will be reborn anew."

His six-legged creature growled before retreating down into the darkness.

My father's eyes met mine. There was no emotion, they only shook as if urging me, as if this was the only way to save us. My hands trembled as I took a few steps forward and reached for the chains. They were freakishly warm, heated by the violet boulder behind him, and their steel seemed to bite into my skin, but with each pull, they loosened. With a final snap, they fell away into the ground below and became nothing.

The king stretched, his limbs cracking with unnatural sounds. The purple stone pulsed, its light growing brighter, searing into my eyes. I fell to my knees as the chamber quaked around us, the world had shifted.

"Wonderful," the king cheered. "Years must have gone by, and perhaps they have all indeed forgotten. So I must return greatly, leave and I shall reach you when you desire power. To that, I promise."

He held my right arm and grasped it tightly. Something inside me changed, I felt it through my soul. It felt similar to that fate-chosen power but in the opposite fashion. I felt a little weaker after he touched me.

I looked to my father, but he was already an impalpable blur in the dark, his form dissolving into the tears of reality. Tears stung my eyes and marked them red, I stumbled back to the tunnel, clutching what I could of the rare ores that hung from the walls, before they had all been hidden but now they had all come loose. The King's words were true. Eventually, my bag was filled with the most luxorious ores these mines had to offer.

My mind was a mess, not just because of what had happened, but because the air in these mines had a strange quality. It was making me go insane. That alongside the pain roaring out from my wounds.

Perhaps this was why people were only left down here for a week, and why many did not even last that long.

When I emerged from the mines, dragging sacks brimming with the crimson ore and many others, the crowd gathered at the surface gasped. Their eyes widened in disbelief. It had been years since anyone had returned with such a haul. Whispers spread like wildfire, my name was spoken with praise and cheers.

"He went to the depths," someone murmured.

"He should be dead with that much ore, have the angels saved him? He's covered in blood and wounded, did he fight a monster?"

"Forget that, he needs healing!"

I stood, my skin caked in soot and blood, as my arms clutched a bag worth more than the entire city. People peered over shoulders just to glance at the edges of the crystals peeking out of my bag. My wounds were threatening to bring me down, fortunately a healer came and casted several spells to ensure my safety.

"I got these ores by killing monsters." I said, out of breath. The crowd cheered in unison.

I didn't mention the strange King.

The Vista Family would hear of this. My name would be spoken all across Alto Mora. One of the mansions on the edge of the town would now belong to me, I would be granted the status of a local hero and some of the wealthes I had claimed too. Such were the norms for these once in a decade miracles.

As the crowd closed in, their faces a blur of greed and curiosity, I recalled the faint echo of that poem, drifting from the depths below:

Let roses wilt, let rain fall,

Let bells toll, let sorrows keep.

Tomorrow begins, do not mourn loud—

Let the dead sleep, let the dead sleep.

But the dead would not sleep. Not now. Not ever again.

For in my right hand, a new vein of purple had formed. It pulsed, more than anything else in my body. It called out to me, silently. I felt that if I answered it's call, that man would reach out to me.

And I did not know what to do with that information for now.