Chapter 4 – The Betrayal of the Golden Throne
“DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
King Alaric’s command echoed across the temple.
Nobody obeyed.
Lord Varek stood beneath the balcony, surrounded by soldiers wearing the royal crest.
For twenty years, he had served as the king’s most trusted adviser.
He had organized the royal treasury.
He had managed the grain supplies.
And he had controlled the northern border.
Now Alaric understood why the northern gates had remained closed for so long.
Varek had not simply been protecting stolen grain.
He had been creating an army from the suffering of the kingdom.
“You betrayed me,” Alaric whispered.
Varek laughed.
“No, Your Majesty.”
“I learned from you.”
He stepped closer.
“You taught me that fear is more useful than loyalty.”
“You taught me that starving men will obey anyone who promises them bread.”
“And you taught me that a kingdom belongs to whoever is ruthless enough to take it.”
Alaric slowly drew his sword.
“I made you who you are.”
Varek’s expression changed.
“Exactly.”
He raised two fingers.
The crossbowmen prepared to fire.
Elara stood defenseless in the center of the hall.
The king realized he could not reach her in time.
“Elara, get down!”
Varek lowered his hand.
Dozens of arrows flew toward the princess.
But before they struck, something extraordinary happened.
The old beggar threw his wooden staff across the marble floor.
It landed between Elara and the soldiers.
A circle of golden fire erupted around her.
Every arrow froze in midair.
Then the guardian moved.
Its massive arm swept across the temple.
Stone pillars shattered.
The balcony collapsed beneath the crossbowmen.
Soldiers screamed as the enormous statue stepped down from its pedestal.
The entire building shook.
Dust filled the air.
Varek staggered backward.
“Impossible!”
The guardian lowered its glowing eyes toward him.
“THE KINGDOM WAS NEVER YOURS TO SELL.”
Varek attempted to run.
But a colossal stone hand descended in front of him, blocking the exit.
The royal soldiers dropped their weapons.
For the first time, the adviser looked genuinely afraid.
Alaric seized the opportunity.
He rushed toward his daughter and tore the chains from her wrists with a fallen soldier’s sword.
“Elara!”
She collapsed into his arms.
For one brief moment, he held her as he had when she was a child.
Then she pushed herself upright.
“Father, the granaries.”
He looked at her.
“The people still need food.”
Behind them, the guardian suddenly released a terrible groan.
The golden light in its chest flickered.
A deep crack appeared along its left shoulder.
The old beggar looked up in horror.
“The oath is failing!”
Alaric turned.
“What does that mean?”
“The guardian is using the last of its power.”
“If the oath is not restored before sunset, the protection around Aetherion will disappear.”
Outside, the sky was already turning red.
The king looked toward the damaged throne.
Beneath it lay the entrance to the royal grain vault.
For years, he had hidden the kingdom’s emergency stores beneath the temple, guarded by ancient mechanisms.
The underground doors could be released from the throne itself.
But there was a reason they had remained sealed.
The mechanism required the destruction of the royal seat.
Not merely the furniture.
The ancient altar beneath the throne held the sacred foundation of Alaric’s rule.
Breaking it would permanently end his claim to the crown.
There would be no restoration.
No royal decree.
No way to undo the decision.
Alaric stared at the throne.
He remembered the day he had first sat upon it.
He remembered his father’s words.
A king must never surrender his crown.
Then he looked toward Elara.
Beyond the temple, hungry people were waiting for a miracle.
For the first time in his life, Alaric realized that the miracle would have to begin with him.
He approached the golden throne.
Varek screamed from across the hall.
“Don’t you dare!”
Alaric ignored him.
He removed his crown.
Then he placed it on the throne and raised his sword.
His hands trembled.
The old beggar watched silently.
Alaric closed his eyes.
And struck.
CRAAACK!
The sword shattered the golden crest above the throne.
A violent tremor ran through the temple.
The marble beneath it split apart.
Far below the palace, enormous iron locks began opening one after another.
The underground granaries had been released.
Outside the city, the sealed northern gates slowly swung open.
Citizens rushed toward the palace warehouses.
For the first time in twelve years, the hungry were welcomed into Aetherion.
Elara began crying.
The old beggar dropped to his knees.
The guardian’s golden eyes slowly dimmed.
Alaric turned toward it.
“It’s over,” he whispered.
But the old man suddenly grabbed his arm.
“No.”
His voice was filled with terror.
“The throne is broken, but the oath still demands a ruler.”
The stone guardian lifted its sword for one final time.
“THE LAST JUDGMENT BEGINS.”
And then it pointed directly at King Alaric.