The Shattered Kingdom by Frank Mehl

THE SHATTERED KINGDOM

The sky was blood red when the horsemen reached the hill. Before them, the castle blazed, once a symbol of power and eternity, now a memorial to pride that had fallen. Towers collapsed, walls burst, and the wind carried screams and ashes across the scorched land.

At the head of the cavalry sat Ser Caelis, the king's last commander. His gaze was fixed, not on the flames, but on the banner lying in the mud—torn, like the empire he once served.

“We could have saved it,” someone murmured behind him. Caelis did not answer. Words had no place in this world anymore. Only memory.

In the distance, the last villagers fled, shadows amid smoke and rubble. Children clung to their mothers, old people stumbled over roots and stones. But no one turned back.

Caelis raised his sword, not to attack, but to say goodbye. One last time, the blade glinted in the firelight—then he lowered it, and with it, any hope of return.

The horsemen turned around. No command was necessary. They rode into the darkness, to the place where legends die – and stories begin...

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