Volume 2: The Kingdom Behind the Veil
Chapter 1: When Virelia Fell Silent
Once, the Kingdom of Virelia was a land sung of in ballads.
Nestled between emerald hills and silver rivers, it was a place where the banners of honor flew alongside those of wisdom. The people lived not in luxury, but in dignity. Kings ruled with justice. Knights walked among the common folk not as tyrants, but as guardians. Art thrived. Magic served. Children laughed freely in the sunlit streets of marble and vine.
It was called the Crown of the Eastern Light.
But that crown now hangs rusted and bloodied, buried beneath ash and silence.
The King Who Was Not Meant to Rule
The fall began not with a war—but with a man.
His name has been struck from most records, replaced only by a title whispered with fear:
The Hollow King.
He was not the rightful heir. He came through shadows and succession forged in secrets. Some say the old king was poisoned. Others say he vanished the night the stars dimmed. Whatever the truth, his throne was still warm when the Hollow King claimed it.
And Virelia—once a realm of light—began to rot from within.
A Kingdom Unraveled
At first, it was subtle.
A noble disappeared. A law was rewritten. A temple was closed. People whispered, but the banners still flew.
Then the children began to vanish.
One by one at first. A daughter here, a son there. Then in groups. Whole orphanages emptied overnight. No ransom. No trail. Only a symbol burned into doorways: a spiral of thorns.
The Hollow King issued no decree, offered no explanation. And when the parents begged for answers, soldiers came instead.
Soon after, the markets changed. Prices rose. Guards turned cruel. Crime grew bold.
The kingdom that once stood against corruption now bled under it.
Women Silenced, Men Slaughtered
What came next was unspeakable—but it was spoken, because no one else would.
In the alleys where musicians once played, screams replaced melody. Women were taken openly by those in power—abused, discarded, forgotten. Men who resisted were branded traitors. Or worse, they simply disappeared.
Not even the temples were safe. Clerics who once healed the wounded were forced to bless the guilty.
The streets ran red by dusk, and black by dawn.
Even the royal crest was changed—its lion now bore no crown. Only a chain.
The Rise of the Criminal Lords
As noble houses fell, new powers rose: The Lords of Shadow Trade.
They were murderers, smugglers, defilers—elevated by the Hollow King himself. Given noble titles. Lands. Armies.
The rule of law gave way to the rule of deals made in dark corners. Coin replaced justice. Blood became currency.
They carved up Virelia like carrion birds. The cities became fortresses of vice. Forests burned to feed forges. The once-great libraries were looted. Books became firewood. And beneath it all, something worse stirred—whispers of rituals, of children taken not for ransom, but for rites.
The Silence of the World
Virelia's neighbors turned their eyes away. It was easier that way.
Trade continued—quiet, selective, complicit. The Hollow King sent gifts, false smiles, golden lies. And the world accepted them.
But inside Virelia, hope became a whisper. And even that was hunted.
Today, there are no heroes in the streets. No songs in the taverns. Only fear, and the faint sound of weeping behind shuttered windows.
The people wait. Not for salvation, but for survival.
But History Remembers
Yet even now, in hidden cellars and forgotten caves, some still speak the old words. Some still remember the Virelia before—its honor, its warmth, its light.
They believe a reckoning will come.
That someone will rise, not from the nobility or the council, but from the dust. From the wilds. From beyond the maps.
Someone who will remind the Hollow King what Virelia once was.
And what it must become again.