The king’s voice rang through the throne room, cold and final.
“Banish them.”
The guards stepped forward in polished silver armor, their axes gleaming in the torchlight. The air was thick with smoke and betrayal. I tried to shout, to remind him of all the battles I had fought for him — all the blood I had spilled in his name — but the cloth around my mouth muffled every word.
My name is Shaka, Commander of the Iron Vanguard.
Or at least, that was my name before my king decided I was too dangerous to keep alive.
The soldiers advanced, grinning like hungry beasts. My hands were tied, my body weak from weeks in the dungeon. Still, I glared at them — if I was to die, I would meet death standing.
They raised their axes.
I looked up at the king — once my brother in arms — and I saw nothing but cold eyes staring down from the throne.
The axes came down.
There was a blinding flash — not of pain, but of light.
A sound like wind and water rushing through my skull, and suddenly… silence.
Then darkness.
And for a long time, there was nothing.
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