The Shadow Within: Book One of A King's Wrath by Szklanny M.Z

Author:Szklanny, M.Z.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Just as the world seemed to darken around Otis, the ominous shadow of demise looming over him, a plethora of alarmed cries ripped through the thick veil of silence that had descended upon the Bog. The earth, in its cold, cruel embrace, was poised to claim him, its tendrils creeping further up his shivering body. The dark, steely glint of fear in Otis's eyes mirrored the dread that clawed at the hearts of his comrades. Their eyes, wide with terror, watched as their gallant friend was sucked into the gaping maw of the merciless Bog.

However, the thunderous sound of frantic footsteps abruptly shattered the melancholic air as they pounded against the hard earth. The once tranquil flora was violently disturbed, its peaceful slumber rudely interrupted.

A sudden noise, akin to the metallic song of clashing blades, shattered the eerie silence as Oliver and Artur brandished their swords, the steel glinting ominously under the hazy moonlight. Their eyes, burning twin beacons of defiance in the face of uncertainty, turned swiftly towards the source of the disturbance. Elara, terrified, quivered behind Artur.

Amidst the trembling reeds, a figure emerged, a man weathered by the harsh kiss of time. His garb was but humble rags, clinging to his skeletal frame, and a simple cloth satchel hung lazily across his sunken chest. His voice, a raspy whisper carried on the wind, echoed through the desolate terrain. "I mean no harm," he proclaimed, his words weaving through the thick air, melting into the night.

Artur, his voice a chilling winter wind slicing through the oppressive silence, confronted the stranger. "And who might you be?" he demanded, his iron grip tightening around the hilt of his sword, its silvered edge glinting menacingly beneath the minuscule pallid moonlight as he thrust it towards the interloper.

"I… I am but a wanderer who heard the desperate plea for aid," the figure rasped, his tone heavy with the weight of countless sunrises and sunsets. "I am intimately familiar with Malrok's treacherous landscape. Trust in my knowledge, and I assure you, your comrade shall not perish this night."

Otis, his outstretched hand sinking ever deeper into the unforgiving bog, gasped in anguish, his strength waning as each breath of the fragrant night air became a laborious struggle. Elara, her voice a gentle lullaby amidst the surrounding chaos, implored from behind Artur's imposing figure, "Please, you must save our friend…" As her plea hung delicately in the air, the wanderer nodded solemnly.

With deliberate movements, the man unfastened his worn satchel, revealing a crystalline sphere, decadent and otherworldly, ensnared within the worn confines. His emaciated hands cradled the sphere with a reverence reserved for sacred relics, the lambent glow from within casting an ethereal pallor upon his weathered visage. His eyelids descended slowly, as though weighted by the burdens of ancients, his form seeming to merge with the very fabric of reality, an entity caught within the echoes of past and present. The world, entranced, bent the knee to his silent command, the very laws of nature deferring to his will.

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