CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

Along the peaceful borderlands of the Duchy of Alban, Grand Commander Teryn knelt alone in the mud. He had stripped off his golden pauldrons and laid his longsword upon the earth before the silent, motionless ranks of the Obsidian Legion.

Caius stood before him, draped in his dark mantle, his violet-gold eyes glowing with lethal coldness. Beside him stood Old Bones.

”I bring no excuses, Sovereign,” Teryn said softly, his voice trembling, not from fear for his own skin, but from horror at the coming devastation. ”I stood by at Castle Precipice on King Alden’s direct command. It was the King who lusted after your mother, the King who orchestrated her abduction, and the King who sealed Cullum’s fate when she chose your father over his crown.”

Teryn raised his head, looking directly into Caius’s unyielding eyes. ”If your army marches, hundreds of thousands of innocent commoners will burn in the crossfire. The kingdom cannot withstand your legion. I beg of you, grant me a chance to spare the people from this slaughter. Let me bring you the heads on your list. I will bring you King Alden myself.”

Silence stretched across the plains. The crystalline seed inside Caius’s mind sea hummed, pulsing with refined spatial energy as he evaluated the man kneeling before him.

”One week,” Caius spoke, his voice vibrating like low thunder. ”Seven days to deliver the heads of the King and every man named on my list. If the task is not complete when the sun sets on the seventh day, the Obsidian Legion will turn your capital to ash.”

”It shall be done,” Teryn swore, bowing his head before riding hard back toward the capital.

What followed was seven days of absolute, fratricidal horror inside the royal capital.

Refusing to let the kingdom burn for a corrupt monarch’s sins, Grand Commander Teryn rallied the Royal Guard and turned his steel against the Crown. The city erupted into a brutal, bloody civil war. King Alden’s loyalist factions and elite household guards fortified the inner palace, fighting with feral desperation, but Teryn’s veteran legions fought with the fury of men buying their nation’s survival.

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Streets ran red with blood, cobblestones were slick with noble gore, and on the sixth night, the heavy iron doors of the royal inner sanctuary were finally breached.

On the morning of the seventh day, Teryn and his surviving commanders emerged from the ruined city gates. Covered in blood, soot, and sweat, they marched across the open field where Caius waited atop his shadow-draped steed.

Teryn and his co-leaders dropped to their knees before the Sovereign. Before them, five severed heads were laid upon bloody velvet cloths, including the crown-wearing head of King Alden, his eyes frozen in open terror.

Caius looked down at the blood-soaked trophies, then at the exhausted commander.

”You have fulfilled your word,” Caius said coldly, sheathing his blade. ”Now listen carefully. Stabilize this realm. Suppress the remaining loyalist pockets, clear the streets, and enforce order. In one month, I will march to the capital.”

Caius leaned forward on his saddle, his dual-colored eyes pinning Teryn in place. ”Gather the noble houses from all six major cities of the realm. Examine them. Judge them. Choose among them those who possess the strength, wisdom, and character to rule. When I arrive, those six will be crowned as the six regional Kings under my sovereign seat.”

”It shall be as you command, Sovereign,” Teryn wheezed, slamming his fist against his blood-stained chest armor.

One month later, the heavy iron gates of the royal capital swung wide open without a single arrow fired.

The thirteen thousand troops of the Obsidian Legion, the five colossal Orc Chieftain puppets, and the subterranean Arachne shock-troops marched through the pristine, quiet streets in absolute, terrifying order. The populace stood along the avenues in stunned, reverent silence, watching the dark legion that had shattered their corrupt monarchy.

Caius rode through the city gates and dismounted at the steps of the Grand Palace. Accompanied by Old Bones and his elite cohort, he walked up the marble dais, stepping over the scrubbed stains of the civil war, and entered the great hall.

He paused before the ancient Golden Throne, the seat from which King Alden had once plotted his father’s downfall.

Without hesitation, Caius turned and sat upon the throne. Resting his arms on the gilded armrests, the Sovereign looked out over the vast, echoing hall as the six newly chosen leaders knelt at the base of the dais, signaling the total death of the old realm and the birth of a new empire.