Chapter 2 – The Promise Buried in Stone
The king had commanded armies, conquered cities, and sentenced hundreds of men to death.
But standing beneath the glowing eyes of the stone guardian, Alaric could barely speak.
“Kill him!” he shouted, pointing at the beggar.
The royal guards hesitated.
“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?”
Six soldiers rushed toward the old man.
Before their blades could reach him, the guardian raised one enormous hand.
A powerful shockwave swept across the temple.
The soldiers were thrown backward, crashing into marble pillars.
The crowd screamed and scattered.
Yet the beggar remained untouched.
King Alaric stared in disbelief.
“What are you?”
The old man looked at him sadly.
“Someone who remembers the man you used to be.”
He struck his wooden staff against the floor.
Suddenly, a circle of golden light spread outward.
Images began appearing in the air above the broken crown.
The crowd watched as the temple disappeared behind a vision of another time.
A younger Alaric stood before the same guardian.
His armor was broken.
Blood covered his face.
Beyond the palace walls, an enormous army surrounded the city.
The kingdom was dying.
Its people were starving.
And the young king was kneeling.
“Please,” the younger Alaric begged. “Save my people.”
A voice answered from the darkness.
“I WILL PROTECT THIS KINGDOM AS LONG AS ITS RULER PROTECTS THOSE WHO CANNOT PROTECT THEMSELVES.”
Young Alaric placed his hand upon the guardian’s stone foot.
“I swear it.”
The vision vanished.
Nobody spoke.
The beggar slowly turned toward the king.
“Do you remember that night?”
Alaric’s lips trembled.
“I was trying to save my people.”
“And you did,” the old man replied. “The guardian destroyed the invading army before sunrise.”
A terrible memory returned to Alaric.
He remembered the golden light.
The trembling mountains.
The enemy soldiers fleeing as something enormous moved through the darkness.
For years, he had convinced himself it was only a dream.
“But twelve years ago,” the beggar continued, “a winter famine struck the northern villages.”
The old man’s voice grew heavier.
“Thousands came to your gates asking for bread.”
Alaric looked away.
“You ordered the gates sealed.”
“They carried disease,” the king said.
“Some were sick,” the beggar answered. “Most were simply hungry.”
“They would have emptied our granaries!”
“Your granaries were full.”
The king’s face hardened.
“Enough!”
But the guardian spoke again.
“LET THE KINGDOM SEE.”
Another vision appeared.
This time, the crowd saw royal wagons carrying thousands of sacks of grain beneath the palace.
They saw golden coins being counted.
They saw starving families begging outside the northern gates.
And finally, they saw a young mother holding a freezing child against the iron doors.
She screamed for help.
Nobody opened them.
The child stopped moving.
The mother remained there until morning.
Several people in the crowd began crying.
An elderly woman dropped to her knees.
“My daughter,” she whispered.
“She was one of them.”
Alaric stared at the vision.
He had never seen the faces of those he had condemned.
He had only seen numbers written on parchment.
The beggar stepped closer.
“Do you know what happened to the food?”
The king remained silent.
“Lord Varek sold much of it to neighboring kingdoms.”
At the mention of his royal adviser, Alaric suddenly looked toward the throne.
Varek stood near the guards, his face pale.
“That is a lie!” the adviser shouted.
The beggar ignored him.
“Your people starved while your court celebrated.”
The guardian lifted its enormous sword.
Golden cracks spread across the temple walls.
“BEFORE SUNSET, A WORTHY RULER MUST CLAIM THE THRONE.”
Alaric swallowed.
“And if no one does?”
The giant lowered its blade until the tip touched the marble floor.
“THEN AETHERION WILL FALL WITH ITS KING.”
The crowd erupted in panic.
Alaric turned desperately toward the beggar.
“What must I do?”
The old man hesitated.
Then he spoke quietly.
“First, open the underground granaries.”
“Second, confess what you have done.”
“And third, surrender the one thing you love more than your kingdom.”
The king frowned.
“My crown?”
The beggar shook his head.
“No, Alaric.”
He looked toward the palace entrance, where a group of soldiers was dragging a hooded prisoner through the doors.
“Something far more precious.”