Chapter 1: The Fallen Prince
Dark clouds loomed over the once-glorious kingdom of Valoria. The castle gates stood shattered, flames licking the stone walls as chaos spread through the streets. The air reeked of blood, betrayal, and the dying cries of loyal warriors.
Raiden Valorian, once the rightful heir to the throne, stood at the edge of the Royal Citadel, his breath ragged, his royal cloak tattered and drenched in the blood of his own men. His father, King Aldric Valorian, lay slain in the throne room, murdered not by an invading army, but by his own council—those he once called trusted advisors.
"Run, my son!" His father's final words still echoed in his ears.
His most loyal knight, Ser Edric, dragged him through the secret tunnels beneath the castle. The world he knew was gone—his home, his family, his destiny—ripped away in a single night of treachery.
"The enemy is everywhere, Your Highness. If you stay, they will kill you." Edric's voice was urgent as they emerged into the dense Ironwood Forest, their only escape route. The sounds of soldiers hunting them were close. The new tyrant, Lord Malagar, would not rest until Raiden was dead.
Raiden clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palm. I am the rightful king… I will not die like a hunted animal.
But he was powerless. His army was slaughtered, his kingdom stolen. All he had was a handful of loyal followers and a burning rage deep within his soul.
As dawn broke, Raiden turned one last time toward the distant ruins of Valoria. He made a silent vow.
"I will return. I will build something greater. And I will make them pay."
With nothing but determination, exile began.
Embers of a Lost Throne
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as Raiden Valorian trudged deeper into the Ironwood Forest. His boots sank into the mud, his royal cloak now nothing more than a tattered reminder of his former life. Every breath burned with exhaustion, but stopping meant death.
Behind him, his most loyal knight, Ser Edric, moved with practiced silence, scanning the surroundings for danger. The handful of remaining followers—worn, battered, but still loyal—followed at a distance, their eyes hollow with loss.
"We need to keep moving," Edric muttered. "The enemy won't stop hunting us."
Raiden's fists clenched. Enemy. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. They were once my own people. The nobles who had sworn fealty to his father had turned into vultures, picking at the remains of the fallen kingdom.
But Lord Malagar, the snake who had seized the throne, was the true mastermind. A ruthless man who believed that power belonged only to those strong enough to take it.
And Raiden had been weak.
A surge of rage threatened to consume him, but he forced it down. Not yet. My time will come.
The First Shelter
Hours passed before the group stumbled upon an abandoned hunting lodge deep in the forest. Its walls were cracked, the roof half-collapsed, but it was shelter.
"This will have to do for now," Edric said, motioning for the others to enter.
Raiden stood at the doorway, watching as his people—now nothing more than refugees—settled into the cold space. They were hungry, weary, but still alive. Alive because they chose to follow me.
For the first time since the fall, responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"We can't stay here long," said a voice.
Raiden turned to see Elara, a former royal strategist, her piercing green eyes sharp as ever. She had once served his father, advising him on political matters. Now, she was here, standing beside a fallen prince.
"The world thinks you're dead," she continued. "That's our greatest advantage. But if you want to take back what's yours, you need more than vengeance. You need a plan."
Raiden exhaled slowly. A plan.
Not just to survive—but to rebuild. To rise again.
And one day… to conquer.
The First Sparks of Rebellion
The lodge was deathly silent, save for the occasional crackle of burning wood in the crude fireplace. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, a vast cloak of darkness hiding both allies and enemies alike.
Raiden Valorian sat at the rough wooden table, his fingers tracing invisible lines on the surface. His mind was sharper than ever—no longer clouded by grief, but instead focused on one singular truth.
Survival was not enough.
"We can't keep running." His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of a king.
Elara leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, studying him. "Then what do you propose? We're outnumbered, outmatched, and low on resources."
Ser Edric, ever the soldier, spoke next. "We need men. Supplies. Weapons. Without an army, we're nothing but fugitives hiding in the woods."
Raiden smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Then we stop being fugitives."
The Plan: Raising the First Banner
Raiden unfurled a rough map of the surrounding region, placing a dagger at the center.
"There is a village two days' ride from here—Black Hollow. Small, isolated, but suffering under Malagar's rule. He raised taxes, took their men for his army, and left them with nothing. They have no reason to be loyal to the throne."
Elara's eyes flickered with understanding. "You're not just looking for shelter. You want to recruit them."
Raiden nodded. "They need hope. I will give it to them."
Ser Edric hesitated. "If we fail, we'll be exposing ourselves."
Raiden met his gaze, unwavering. "We won't fail."
He stood, his presence commanding even in the dim firelight. "We ride at first light."
A Dangerous Path
Dawn came too soon, and the group set out on horseback, moving through the dense Ironwood Forest with the precision of seasoned warriors.
As they neared Black Hollow, Elara pulled her cloak tighter. "Malagar's men patrol this area. If they catch us—"
"They won't," Raiden assured. But even he knew it was a gamble.
A Kingdom's First Seed
The village was worse than he expected. Starving children, broken homes, men and women with hollow eyes.
This wasn't a village—it was a graveyard waiting for its dead.
As Raiden dismounted, the villagers eyed him warily. To them, he was no king. Just another armed stranger.
But Raiden had not come to beg for their loyalty. He had come to offer them a choice.
"You know me," he said, his voice steady. "You know what was taken from me. From all of us."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"You suffer under a tyrant who sees you as nothing but tools. But I see you. I know your pain. And I swear to you—if you stand with me, we will build something greater. A kingdom that belongs to its people. Not to tyrants."
Silence.
Then, from the back, an old man stepped forward. His voice was cracked with age, but his words were steady. "And if we refuse?"
Raiden met his gaze without hesitation. "Then I will leave. And you may continue to suffer under Malagar's rule."
A long pause. Then, a single voice rose from the crowd.
"I will stand with you."
Then another.
And another.
Until the village roared with new life.
For the first time since his exile, Raiden had something more than just a dream.
He had his first army.
Forging the First Warriors
A cold wind howled through Black Hollow, rattling the wooden homes and stirring the newly formed resistance. The villagers who had pledged themselves to Raiden Valorian stood in the open square, shifting uneasily, their hands gripping rusted farm tools and old hunting bows.
They were not soldiers. Not yet.
Raiden stood before them, his cloak billowing in the wind, eyes sharp and unyielding. "You have chosen to fight. But choice alone is not enough. Strength is forged through fire, and war does not wait for the unprepared."
The village elder, the same man who had questioned him the night before, stepped forward. "We will fight, but we are farmers, not warriors. How do you expect us to defeat Malagar's trained soldiers?"
Raiden smirked. "By becoming something far deadlier than them."
The Training Begins
The next morning, Black Hollow transformed into a training ground.
Ser Edric drilled the men on basic combat. Sword swings were clumsy, footwork was slow, but determination burned in their eyes.Elara taught them unconventional tactics—ambushes, traps, and deception. "A soldier fights on the battlefield. A survivor fights where the enemy least expects."Raiden himself sparred with the best of them, ensuring they understood one brutal truth—mercy was a luxury they could no longer afford.
By the third day, they could hold a weapon. By the fifth day, they could fight as a unit.
And by the seventh, they were ready.
Just in time.
The First Real Battle – The Wolf's Fang Patrol
Dusk had barely settled when the alarm rang through the village.
"Riders! Malagar's men!"
From the forest, twelve armored soldiers on horseback emerged—The Wolf's Fang Patrol, Malagar's enforcers. They were scouts, meant to crush any whispers of rebellion before they could take root.
Raiden stepped forward, his gaze locked on the lead rider, a cruel-faced captain smirking down at him. "Surrender now, exile. Or we burn this village to the ground."
The villagers tensed, gripping their weapons. This was their first test.
Raiden raised his voice. "You see a village of farmers. I see the first warriors of a new kingdom."
The captain laughed. "Then you will all die as fools." He raised his sword. "Kill them all!"
But Raiden was ready.
With a single motion, he gave the signal. Arrows rained from the rooftops, striking the soldiers before they could react. The horses reared in panic as hidden spike traps skewered them from below.
Ser Edric and his warriors surged forward, overwhelming the disoriented enemy.
Raiden himself charged into the fray, his blade flashing under the moonlight as he cut down a soldier. The battle was swift, brutal, and one-sided.
Within minutes, it was over.
Blood stained the dirt. Malagar's patrol lay dead, and not a single villager had fallen.
They had won.
And now, Malagar would know the rebellion had begun.
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( To be Continue....)