KAELEN STORMRIDER
The stone walls of the cell felt colder with each passing day. Every crack in the stone seemed to mock Kaelen's futile attempts at breaking free. He paced the length of the small, windowless room, his shackles rattling with every step. The chains were tighter than they had been before, and with each tug, they seemed to grow heavier, as if the very fabric of Druumari itself was pulling him deeper into its grip.
Kaelen's fingers itched for his sword, the one thing he could always rely on. But the absence of it, the absence of anything familiar—his ship, his men, his fleet—was a constant reminder that he was no longer in control. He clenched his fists, the frustration growing inside him like an inferno. He couldn't accept this. Couldn't bow to the reality that Seraphine had stripped him of everything.
For days now, he had been plotting his escape, looking for any weakness in the fortress that might offer him a chance. But no matter how much he searched, no matter how hard he pushed, there was nothing. The stronghold was impenetrable. The walls were thick and unyielding, the gates locked tight. He'd tried to break the chains, tried to twist the locks, but every time he made any progress, it felt as if the very land itself conspired against him.
It wasn't just the stone walls that kept him captive—it was the land. The curse that bound him to Druumari's soil, a curse Seraphine had placed on him the moment she caught him and placed those cursed chains on his wrists. It was as if the very earth here could feel his defiance, could sense his desire to escape. The deeper he tried to push into the stronghold, the more the land itself seemed to push back. It was an unsettling, supernatural force, an invisible hand that gripped his chest and made every movement feel sluggish and laborious.
He'd tried to cross the boundary that separated the citadel from the surrounding jungle, but the moment he crossed it, a violent force yanked him back, slamming him into the stone wall with such force it knocked the breath out of him. He had no idea what kind of magic Seraphine had used, but it was strong, powerful, and it was as if the land was alive, watching him, keeping him from breaking free.
The air inside the stronghold was thick with the scent of damp stone and incense, and the flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the hallways. Kaelen was alone now, save for the guards stationed outside his cell, who paid him no attention as he scoured the edges of his confinement for an opportunity to escape. It felt like a game of cat and mouse—only there was no escape, no chance for him to outsmart the queen or the land she commanded.
As he roamed the hallways of the citadel, he began to notice something strange. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, as if they had a life of their own. The silence was oppressive, and with each step, the air seemed to grow heavier, as if something unseen was watching him. His senses were on high alert, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was not truly alone, even if the corridors were empty.
Kaelen's boots echoed through the stone halls, each step feeling like an intrusion into a place where he wasn't meant to be. The temperature seemed to drop, and his breath misted in front of him, his skin prickling with a coldness that wasn't just physical—it was as if the land itself was cold, rejecting him, reminding him that he didn't belong here.
He reached a narrow staircase that spiraled upward, the stone steps slick with moisture. It was as if the citadel itself was alive, pulsing with an energy that Kaelen could feel deep in his bones. Every time he thought he had found a way out, some new obstacle presented itself, pushing him back further into the depths of the citadel.
He reached the top of the stairs and found himself in a long, dimly lit hallway. At the far end was a massive set of doors—ornate, gilded, and intricately carved with images of the moon and the spirits of Druumari. These were the doors that led to Seraphine's throne room, Kaelen realized. He had only seen it from a distance, but he knew that this was where she held court, where she made her decisions, where her power was most apparent.
His heart pounded in his chest as he approached, his fingers twitching at the thought of confronting her. He was no longer a prince, no longer the man who commanded ships and fleets. He was a prisoner. But there was still fire in him—still the remnants of the man who had defied kings and gods alike. He had no illusions about what would happen if he were caught, but there was something inside him that refused to accept this fate.
He reached the doors and tested them. To his surprise, they swung open easily, as if they were expecting him. But as soon as he stepped inside, he felt the familiar pressure in his chest—the sensation that something invisible was holding him back, making it harder to breathe, to think. He staggered, his vision swimming as the overwhelming power of the land wrapped itself around him. The pulse of Druumari's magic was stronger here, and he couldn't escape it. He was trapped, caught in a web of power he didn't understand and couldn't escape.
Before he could take another step, a voice echoed through the room, smooth and cold, like a blade being drawn across steel.
"I told you," Seraphine's voice was a whisper in the air, but it felt like thunder in his mind. "Resistance is futile, little Prince."
For Caelum's sake, he hated that obnoxious nickname.
He turned, his eyes narrowing as he saw her standing in the doorway, her presence filling the room like an ethereal force. She was calm, regal, almost detached, as though she were watching a play unfold and Kaelen was nothing more than a part of the performance.
"I don't need to escape, little Queen," Kaelen snarled, his frustration building. "You can't keep me here forever. I'll find a way out, and when I do, I'll tear your kingdom apart."
Seraphine didn't flinch. Her eyes, glowing faintly in the low light, watched him with an unsettling calm. "You don't understand, do you? You're not just my prisoner, little Prince. You're part of the land now. You can't escape it, and you can't escape me. The magic that binds you here is older than your kingdom. It's older than our gods."
Kaelen's pulse quickened, his thoughts racing. The land's magic, the curse... she was telling the truth. The feeling in his chest, the pressure on his lungs, was not a coincidence. This was no ordinary prison—it was a prison built by the very forces that governed Druumari. He wasn't just locked in a cell; he was locked in a land that would never let him go.
"You think I'm going to submit?" Kaelen's voice was hoarse, filled with anger and disbelief. "You think I'll just accept this and kneel at your feet? I don't care what kind of magic you wield in this haunted land of yours, little Queen. I will fight until the very end."
Seraphine's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "And you will lose," she said softly, as if the words were nothing more than a fact of life. "In the end, you will learn that resistance isn't about power—it's about surrender. I can't wait to see you falling to your knees at my feet, it'll be quite the pleasant view."
With that, she turned, leaving the room as quietly as she had come. The door swung closed behind her, and Kaelen was left alone in the oppressive silence of the citadel.
He took a deep breath, his chest still tight, his skin prickling with the eerie sensation of being watched by something far greater than himself. Seraphine was right about one thing—he couldn't escape. Not now. Not while the land itself was against him. But he would never surrender. He couldn't. There had to be a way out. There had to be something—anything—he could do.
But for now, the magic of Druumari held him tight, and the storm inside him only grew stronger.