The sounds of distant battles told tales of a conflict that had once split the world in two. Armies of magical creatures had battled humans to the death long ago.

  After centuries of violence, a shaky truce was finally reached. A treaty designated one realm for humans and another for magical creatures called Supernaturals. To avoid rekindling war, nobody dared cross the barrier.

  But peace bred resentment.

  Deep in a mountain cavern, Grim brooded. A massive troll, scarred from commanding armies against humans, he sat hunched in shadow. Memories clawed at him—villages burning, children screaming. His family, slaughtered. His fists clenched.

  "We should rule them," he growled to the darkness. "Humans care only for themselves."

  Miles away, in the vaulted halls of the supernatural palace, King William paced. Morning light streamed through stained glass, painting rainbows across stone. His expression was calm, but tension lined his face.

  A breathless messenger knelt. "Your Majesty—Grim's stirring trouble again. His followers grow daily."

  William's jaw tightened. "Summon him."

  The throne room doors crashed open. Grim stormed in.

  William froze halfway off the throne. His hand twitched toward the empty space beside him—where Grim used to stand during council. No guards moved.

  "Grim," he breathed, stepping down. His voice cracked. The troll who'd wrestled him in mud as boys. Shared stolen bread when they starved. Took a spear for him in battle.

  Grim stopped short. His massive shoulders sagged—just a heartbeat—revealing the boy William once knew.

  "You call this peace?" Grim growled. His eyes flicked to William's empty sword belt—the one he'd forged.

  William rubbed the blood-oath scar on his palm. "Grim... we're brothers," he said, stepping closer. "Don't make me imprison you."

  His hand trembled mid-air, inches from Grim's scarred shoulder—the one he'd bandaged after their first battle. His eyes glistened.

  Grim's chest heaved. He looked away, jaw locked. "Then do it," he rasped. "Because I won't stop. Not for you. Not for anyone."

  William flinched like he'd been struck. "Guards," he whispered. "Drakefall."

  Grim didn't fight the chains. Just held William's gaze until the doors slammed.

  William sank onto the throne, one hand pressed over his eyes. Silent tears cut clean tracks through the dust on his cheeks.

  One year later…

  The realm hummed with fragile normalcy. But rumors whispered of a secret door beneath the city—a hidden path to Drakefall prison. Only William held its key.

  Queen Seraphina glided through torchlit halls, silver hair shimmering like moonlight. Forced into marriage with William, she seethed. The throne is mine by blood, she thought. Father's murder was my coronation stolen.

  Her fingers brushed an ancient door carved with runes. They glowed faintly. Heart steady, she slid a stolen key into the lock.

  The stone rippled like water. A shadowed passage yawned open.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Grim's chains end tonight," she whispered, ice in her voice. "The realm will burn—and I'll rise from the ashes."

  The next day, the realm celebrated.

  Sunlight filtered through glowing leaves as children laughed. King William's newborn son had arrived. The grand party filled every hall—his only chance to show the people their king who ended the war.

  William hadn't always been royal. War-orphaned with siblings Mike and Lily, he'd risen from street rat to savior, uniting Supernaturals against humans. They crowned him king. Mike and Lily became his right and left hands.

  Laughter rang through the feast—

  "Your Majesty! Drakefall's broken open!"

  Silence crashed down. A guard stumbled forward, pale with terror. "Grim's escaped. Hundreds with him. They're attacking—heading here!"

  Panic rippled. William rose. "Guards—seal the palace! Lily, summon the wizards. Mike, east gate!"

  Lily's eyes flashed. "Elders are ready."

  Mike growled, "How did they escape?"

  "Doesn't matter," William snapped. "They want war? They'll get it."

  Protective spells crackled. Wizards chanted. Thunder rolled outside.

  "They're here!" a guard screamed. "Grim hits the east gate!"

  "To arms!" William roared.

  Mike charged out. "Hold the line!"

  Lily rallied wizards, magic sparking like lightning.

  As battle raged, shadows moved inside.

  Queen Seraphina stormed the royal nursery. The infant prince slept, innocent.

  "This throne will never be yours," she hissed. Dark magic coiled around her fingers.

  William burst through the door just as her hand rose—

  "NO!"

  He threw himself between them.

  Sparks exploded as William and Seraphina clashed.

  Magic tore through the nursery—vases shattering, tapestries burning. William scooped his crying son, ducking a bolt of dark energy. Seraphina's knife flashed. It sliced his arm. He stumbled, baby slipping from blood-slick hands.

  The infant tumbled through the air—straight into the glowing time machine humming in the corner.

  Mike's invention. Gears whirred. A portal ripped open, swirling violet and gold. The prince vanished with a scream, gone from time itself.

  William roared, lunging—but Seraphina pinned him against the nursery wall.

  The baby wailed as the time machine hummed louder behind them. His grip tightened on her wrist—then he saw her eyes.

  Not rage. Confusion. Tears welled. Her mouth trembled. For a split second, she was the girl he'd sparred with, laughed with, before the crown came between them.

  "Seraphina..." His voice softened. His grip loosened.

  "I don't know what happened to you," he whispered, searching her face. "But this isn't you."

  Her free hand shook—then plunged the dagger into his heart.

  William gasped. A wet, choking sound. His eyes widened—not in anger, but recognition. Blood welled fast, staining gold-threaded robes.

  His hand found hers on the dagger hilt. Not to pull it out. To hold her there. Like their old training days. Like he could still save her.

  "I... never... stopped..." His voice failed. Blood bubbled on his lips.

  His body sagged forward. Dead weight against her. Eyes locked on hers, unblinking. The hand on the dagger went limp.

  Seraphina's scream tore through stone—a raw, guttural wail. She collapsed under him, cradling his body, rocking. "No... no no NO!"

  The time machine roared. The baby prince vanished into swirling light.

  She never looked away from William's face.

  Footsteps pounded. Seraphina bolted for the shadows.

  Mike burst in. "William!"

  He dropped beside his brother, hands pressing futilely against the chest wound. Blood seeped between his fingers. William's breaths had already stopped.

  "Seraphina..." Mike whispered the name like a curse. "Where's the prince?"

  A rustle. Seraphina sprinted for the wall. Mike surged up, faster than humanly possible. She hurled dark magic—he twisted aside, robes singed.

  "Get out of my way!" she snarled.

  Golden light erupted from Mike's hands. It wove into chains, wrapping her tight. She thrashed, cursing.

  "You murdered my brother!" Mike roared. He ripped open a portal—black void shot through with crimson lightning.

  With a final, guttural cry, he hurled her through. The rift snapped shut. Silence rang.

  Mike swayed. Blood loss. Exhaustion. The golden magic flickered out.

  He staggered to his feet, clutching the amulet at his neck—the one he'd forged to protect them all. It pulsed once, then dimmed.

  A healing cave. That's what he needed. His siblings would hold Grim back. Just... heal... then fight...

  But as he stumbled toward the cavern mouth, invisible hands seized him. Not enemy magic. Something older. Deeper.

  Mike's eyes rolled back. He collapsed into stone, trapped in eternal sleep—one final guardian, watching over secrets lost to time.