THE LAST KING OF EMBERWYLD : THE FINAL DAWN
Chapter 3: The Forest of Lost Souls
The blade struck the first tree.
And the tree screamed.
Not a sound—a feeling. A pain that shot through Kaelen’s arm, his chest, his heart. The Duskblade pulsed, once, twice, three times, and then it went still. The tree did not fall. It did not break. It simply… changed.
The bark cracked.
The branches withered.
The leaves turned to ash.
And from the ashes, a figure emerged.
A woman.
She was old—older than Mira, older than Elena, older than anyone Kaelen had ever seen. Her skin was gray, her hair was white, her eyes were black. She was wearing a dress of cobwebs and shadows, and her hands were bound with chains of thorns.
“Who are you?” Kaelen asked.
The woman looked at him.
Her black eyes were depthless.
“I am the first,” she said. “The first to be trapped. The first to be forgotten. The first to be lost.”
“You’re a dreamer?”
“I am a dream. The first king’s first dream. The one he dreamed before he opened the door. The one he tried to forget.”
“Why did he try to forget you?”
The woman smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
“Because I was his mother.”
Kaelen’s blood went cold.
“His mother?”
“I was the queen. The one who ruled before him. The one who taught him everything he knew. The one who loved him more than anything.”
“What happened?”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“He killed me. Not with a blade. With his ambition. His hunger. His need for power. He opened the door, and I was the first to fall through.”
“You’ve been trapped here for a thousand years?”
“I have been waiting. Watching. Hoping. For someone to come. For someone to free me. For someone to end this.”
Kaelen looked at the Duskblade.
At the chains.
At the thorns.
“How do I free you?”
The woman held out her bound hands.
“Cut the chains.”
Kaelen raised the blade.
The Duskblade pulsed.
He swung.
The blade struck the chains.
The chains shattered.
The thorns crumbled.
The woman fell to her knees.
She was no longer old. Her skin was smooth, her hair was dark, her eyes were brown. She was beautiful. She was young. She was free.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. You’re the one who survived.”
The woman stood.
She looked at the forest.
At the trees.
At the darkness.
“There are others,” she said. “Thousands of them. Millions. All trapped. All forgotten. All waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
She looked at Kaelen.
“Waiting for you.”
The woman—whose name was Elara, the same as Kaelen’s mother—led him through the forest.
The trees pressed close on either side, their branches interwoven, their roots grasping at his feet. But the whispers were different now. They were not desperate. They were hopeful.
Help us, they said. Please. Help us.
“The first king dreamed us all,” Elara said. “Everyone he ever loved. Everyone he ever hated. Everyone he ever feared. He trapped us here, in this forest, in this nightmare, to feed his hunger.”
“How do I free them?”
Elara looked at the Duskblade.
“The same way you freed me. Cut the chains. Break the bonds. Set them free.”
“There are thousands of them. Millions. I can’t cut every chain.”
“You don’t have to. The blade can cut more than chains. It can cut the forest itself. The nightmare itself. The door itself.”
Kaelen looked at the blade.
At the trees.
At the darkness.
“You want me to cut down the entire forest.”
“I want you to end the nightmare. Forever.”
They walked for what felt like hours.
The forest grew thicker, darker, more twisted. The trees were closer together, their branches interlocking, their roots forming a wall that seemed impassable.
But the Duskblade parted them.
The blade cut through the branches like a knife through flesh. The trees screamed, but they did not fight. They knew what was coming. They had been waiting for it.
At the center of the forest, they found a clearing.
Small and circular, surrounded by the tallest trees Kaelen had ever seen. Their trunks were massive, their bark black, their branches reaching for a sky that did not exist.
And in the center of the clearing, a throne.
Made of bones.
And on the throne, a figure.
The first king.
But not the first king he had faced before. This one was different. Younger. Weaker. His eyes were closed. His hands were folded on his chest. His lips were curved in a smile that was almost peaceful.
“He’s sleeping,” Elara said.
“He’s dreaming.”
“The same dream. The same nightmare. The same hunger.”
Kaelen walked toward the throne.
The Duskblade was warm in his hand.
“What happens if I wake him?”
Elara was silent for a long moment.
“The nightmare ends. The forest crumbles. The trapped are freed.”
“And the first king?”
“He dies. Not the way people die. The way dreams die. He fades. He dissolves. He is forgotten.”
Kaelen looked at the sleeping figure.
At the face.
At the smile.
“He was your son.”
“He was. And I loved him. But love does not excuse what he did. What he became. What he created.”
“Can you forgive him?”
Elara’s eyes filled with tears.
“I have already forgiven him. A thousand times. A million times. Forgiveness does not mean forgetting. It means letting go.”
Kaelen raised the Duskblade.
The blade pulsed.
He swung.
The blade struck the throne.
The throne shattered.
The first king’s eyes opened.
They were black. Depthless. Hungry.
But not for long.
The light came from everywhere and nowhere. It consumed the throne, the forest, the darkness. It consumed the first king.
And when it faded, he was gone.
The forest was gone.
The graveyard was gone.
Kaelen stood in the nothing.
Elara stood beside him.
“It’s done,” she said.
“The nightmare is over?”
“The nightmare is over. The door is closed. The trapped are free.”
Kaelen looked at the nothing.
At the light.
At the peace.
“What happens now?”
Elara smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“Now we rest.”
She faded.
Dissolved.
Was gone.
Kaelen stood alone in the nothing.
The Duskblade was in his hand.
The key was in his pocket.
The whispers were silent.
He closed his eyes.
And he went home.