Blood And Light

The capital of Xezar had always been a beacon of unity, its white spires piercing the sky like a promise of peace. But as Arthur approached its gates with the survivors from Greystone, it felt as though the city's light had dimmed. The streets were tense with quiet unease. Merchants muttered behind their stalls, while groups of citizens huddled together, whispering anxiously.

Arthur rode in silence, the events of Greystone weighing heavily on his mind. The ruined town, the horrors of corruption, the man's dying words about Kael—it all felt like a fever dream, too surreal to be true. But it was true. Every scar on the faces of the people who followed him back to the city, every hollow look in their eyes, was a testament to what they'd endured.

At the gates, the guards let them through without question. Arthur dismounted, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. He handed the reins of his horse to one of the stable hands and turned toward the palace. Darius would need to hear everything.

Inside the palace, the tension was no less palpable. Servants hurried down the halls, eyes cast downward, while nobles and advisors gathered in hushed groups, their expressions grim. Arthur found Darius in the council chamber, surrounded by maps and documents, his face drawn with frustration.

"Arthur," Darius said, his voice taut. "You're back. What happened in Greystone?"

Arthur recounted everything: the corruption, the survivor's tales of Kael, and the horrifying strength of the corrupted individuals. Darius listened intently, his expression darkening with every word.

"This isn't just a military threat," Arthur finished. "It's something worse. Something we don't understand yet."

Darius nodded grimly. "We'll need to act quickly. But before that, you should speak with Roderic. He's uncovered something about your sword—something that might help us understand what we're facing."

Arthur followed Darius through a series of winding corridors until they reached a dimly lit chamber deep within the palace. The room smelled of aged parchment and ink, and shelves lined with books and scrolls covered every inch of the walls. Roderic stood at the center, pouring over a table covered in open tomes.

"Arthur," Roderic said warmly when he saw him. "Welcome back. I understand you've been through a great deal."

Arthur gave a tired nod. "Darius mentioned you've learned more about the sword?"

Roderic's gaze fell to the weapon at Arthur's hip, his expression thoughtful. "The runes you etched into it—they amplify a force called Resonance. We discussed the Echoes of Light before, and Resonance is their source. It's the energy that shapes life itself."

Arthur frowned. "What about the corruption? The people I've seen affected by it—how does that tie in?"

Roderic gestured to an ancient scroll. "Resonance has two sides. The Echoes of Light are its stable form, but when it becomes chaotic, it manifests as corruption. Your sword seems capable of stabilizing it—but only briefly, and at great strain. Tell me, have you noticed anything unusual while wielding it?"

Arthur thought back to Greystone, to the faint pulse he'd felt in the sword during moments of heightened focus. He hesitated. "I... felt something, like the blade was guiding me. But I don't know if that was real or just desperation."

"It was real," Roderic assured him. "The sword is responding to you. Resonance reacts to willpower and intent. The stronger your resolve, the more you can control it. But be cautious—Resonance is not a tool to be wielded lightly. It's as dangerous as it is powerful."

Before Arthur could respond, a soldier burst into the chamber. "Your Highness," he said breathlessly, addressing Darius. "There's unrest in the market district. A crowd's gathered near the west square. They're demanding answers... and calling for blood."

Darius cursed. "Arthur, come with me."

The west square was a scene of chaos. Hundreds of people had gathered, their voices rising in a cacophony of anger and fear. At the center of the crowd, a young man stood on an overturned cart, shouting above the din.

"King Argos is dead, and what has the crown done? Nothing! The corruption spreads, the nobles bicker, and we are left to fend for ourselves!" The crowd roared in agreement. "But Kael—he understands our pain! He fights for the people while the palace hides behind its walls!"

Arthur's stomach twisted as he listened. The man's words were laced with desperation, but they struck a chord with the crowd.

Before Darius could speak, a ripple of energy swept through the square. The air grew heavy, and the crowd instinctively recoiled. Arthur felt it too—a low, thrumming pulse that seemed to resonate with the sword at his side.

The man on the cart clutched his head, his body convulsing. His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly red. "Do you hear it?" he hissed. "Do you feel it? The power of freedom... the power of truth!"

The transformation was sudden and violent. The man's muscles bulged unnaturally, and his voice deepened into a guttural snarl. The corruption had claimed him.

Arthur drew his sword instinctively, the runes flaring to life. The corrupted man lunged, moving with unnatural speed. Their blades clashed, and Arthur staggered under the force of the blow. The man's strength was monstrous, his strikes wild but devastating.

Arthur focused on the hum of his sword, letting the Resonance guide him. With a surge of will, he pushed back, the blade's runes glowing brighter. The corrupted man hesitated, his body trembling as the sword's energy seemed to stabilize him. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered back to normal, filled with confusion and fear.

"Please..." the man whispered, his voice barely audible.

Arthur froze. His grip on the sword faltered.

"Arthur!" Darius shouted.

The corrupted man lunged again, and instinct took over. Arthur drove his blade forward, the Resonance pulsing as it pierced the man's chest.

The square fell silent. The corrupted man collapsed, his body lifeless.

Arthur stared at the body, his chest heaving. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. He stumbled backward, his mind reeling.

"I... I killed him," he murmured, his voice trembling.

"You had no choice," Darius said firmly.

But Arthur barely heard him. His vision blurred, the weight of what he'd done crushing him. The man's face, twisted with fear and pain, burned itself into his memory.

Arthur turned and walked away, leaving the square behind.

That night, Arthur sat alone in the forge, staring blankly at the sword resting on the anvil. The runes that had glowed so brightly earlier were now dull, lifeless.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

His hands trembled as he reached for the blade, but he stopped short. The memories of the fight, of the man's dying plea, were too much.

Arthur buried his head in his hands, tears streaking his soot-covered face. For the first time, the weight of the battle ahead felt unbearable. He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't ready for this.

But deep down, he knew there was no turning back.