MANIAKES
(The Tyrant Born of Fire and Shadows)
Recap of Chapter 2 – The Prophecy of Tyranny
The Oracle of Ashes declared Maniakes would not be Zuvendis' savior but its destroyer. The Queen clung to hope, but the King's heart turned heavy with fear. And in the silence after her dreadful words, one thought poisoned him: perhaps the boy should never live to see his first dawn…
Chapter 3 – The Betrayal of Blood
Night fell over Zuvendis, but the King did not sleep. He paced the stone halls like a hunted wolf, the Oracle's words gnawing at his thoughts. Outside, the kingdom celebrated the coming heir with song and wine, blind to the storm brewing within their ruler's chest.
Selara, glowing with hope, slept peacefully. Her hand rested on the curve of her womb. The sight should have filled the King with pride. Instead, he felt only dread.
What if she is right? What if the boy brings ruin?
At dawn, Arthelion summoned his war council. Only the most trusted generals were present. In hushed tones, he spoke of the prophecy.
"This child… my heir… will destroy us all. If the words are true, then our bloodline ends not with barrenness but with slaughter. I will not allow Zuvendis to perish by my own seed."
The councilmen shifted uneasily. To kill an unborn child was blasphemy; yet to defy prophecy was madness.
At last, the King spoke the unthinkable:
"When the child is born… we shall cast him away."
The hall fell silent, broken only by the crackle of the braziers. No one dared object, for the King's word was iron.
And so it was decided—the blood of Zuvendis would betray its own flesh.
Chapter 4 – The Cry in the River
The war drums of Zuvendis thundered. Their ancient rivals, the Olusuis, had invaded once more. The two villages clashed by the border river, steel biting steel, blood staining the water.
In the chaos of battle, Queen Selara gave birth. Her cries were drowned by the roar of drums, her tears of joy swallowed by the clash of swords. The midwives wrapped the newborn prince in swaddling cloth, his tiny fists clenched as if ready for war.
Maniakes had come into the world.
But joy turned to horror. Soldiers entered the chamber under the King's order, tearing the child from Selara's arms. Her screams echoed through the palace, but her voice was powerless against the command of the throne.
The child was carried to the riverbank, where corpses floated and shields sank beneath the current. The King himself stood there, his armor stained with enemy blood.
He looked upon his son—so small, so helpless—and for an instant his heart wavered. Yet the Oracle's voice returned, whispering: He will destroy you.
With a trembling hand, Arthelion cast the child into the river.
The infant's cry pierced the night, rising above the clash of war. The waters carried him swiftly downstream, toward enemy lands. The King turned his face away, but he knew that sound would haunt him until death.
And so Maniakes was abandoned to the current—rejected by his blood, claimed by fate.
Chapter 5 – A Childhood of Shadows
The river wound its way into the lands of the Olusuis, where a humble farmer named Deymar tended his fields. That night, drawn by the cry of an infant, he followed the sound to the riverbank.
There, among broken shields and drifting corpses, he found the swaddled child. His wife long barren, Deymar saw it as a gift from the heavens, though the omen of war clung to the boy.
"Fear not, little one," he whispered, lifting the child from the reeds. "The gods have brought you to me. You are mine now."
And so Maniakes was raised not as a prince of Zuvendis, but as the son of a poor farmer of Olusuis.
Yet strange things marked his childhood.
By the age of five, his eyes glowed faintly in the dark. By seven, he could lift stones twice his size. When angered, sparks of fire seemed to flicker in his palms. The other children whispered, calling him cursed, but none dared challenge him.
Deymar saw in him both a blessing and a storm. He trained the boy in the ways of the spear and the blade, not as a farmer's son but as a warrior. Maniakes grew swiftly, his body honed like steel, his will sharp as a wolf's fang.
But in his dreams, he heard whispers. A voice, ancient and cold, guiding him, feeding his pride.
"You are not theirs. You are more."
And though Maniakes did not yet know the truth of his blood, a hunger stirred within him—a hunger for something beyond the quiet life of a farmer's fields.
A hunger that would one day set ablaze.