The Childs Father

The kingdom of Aramore had known peace once, before Aldric ascended the throne. In the days of his father, King Ulric, the land had prospered, and the people had lived under the benevolent hand of a ruler who sought balance, a hand that guided more than crushed. But peace was fleeting, and the taste of power, once savored, lingered long in the mouths of those who sought it. For Aldric, it wasn't enough to inherit the crown; he wanted more than just the throne. He wanted the world.

Aldric had been born into privilege, the son of a king who had led Aramore to greatness, and from an early age, it was clear that he was not like his father. Where Ulric had been fair and just, Aldric was hungry and ruthless. Even as a young man, he craved dominance, his actions guided by an unrelenting ambition that was both admired and feared by those around him. His father's courtiers whispered of his cruelty in secret, noting the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that few could match. They saw in him not the future of a just ruler, but the makings of a tyrant.

When Aldric took the throne after his father's sudden death, the court was thrown into a mix of grief and fear. No one knew for certain what had caused the old king's demise, though there were whispers-there were always whispers-that Aldric had hastened his father's end. But no one dared speak openly of it. Aldric had ascended, and with his ascension came an era that would reshape not only Aramore but the lands beyond its borders.

At the time of his coronation, Aldric was already known for his prowess as a warrior. His ability to shift into his wolf form made him a formidable presence on the battlefield, a creature of raw power and violence. His army revered him, for he was not a king who ruled from the safety of a throne room, but one who fought beside them, claws and teeth flashing, blood staining his fur. It was said that he could single-handedly tear through an entire battalion of enemy soldiers in his wolf form, and no one doubted the stories.

But Aldric's power did not only come from his wolf. His reign was built on fear, manipulation, and the utter destruction of those who dared stand against him. He ruled with an iron fist, his control over his people absolute. His laws were strict, and the punishments for breaking them were severe. Entire families had been wiped out because one member had dared to speak out against the crown.

Villages were razed, crops destroyed, all to remind the people of Aramore that Aldric's will was law.

In the capital city, his fortress loomed like a dark shadow over the land. The structure itself was a symbol of Aldric's rule-imposing, cold, and impossible to escape. Its high walls were guarded day and night by soldiers loyal only to him, men who had seen firsthand what happened to those who defied the king. Inside the fortress, Aldric's court gathered, a mix of nobles and advisors, all of whom feared the king almost as much as the people outside the walls.

But Aldric did not care for the opinions of his court. To him, they were tools-useful only so long as they served his purpose.

He ruled alone, trusting no one, not even his closest advisors. His only companions were his generals, men like General Kael and General Lorne, who had proven their loyalty through blood and battle.

Kael was a man of few words, his scarred face a testament to the countless wars he had fought in Aldric's name. Lorne, younger and more ambitious, was as ruthless as the king himself, eager to prove his worth.

Together, they had led Aramore's armies to victory after victory, seizing control of neighboring kingdoms and expanding Aldric's empire. But conquest was not enough for Aldric. He wanted more than just land; he wanted absolute power. And so, even in times of peace, he continued to wage war-not against external enemies, but against his own people.

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The sun barely peeked over the horizon as the city of Vordane stirred to life. Merchants opened their stalls, and farmers drove their carts into the market square, their faces drawn with worry. The citizens moved with a quiet, practiced caution, always aware that eyes were on them. Aldric's spies were everywhere, listening for any hint of rebellion or dissent.

In the streets, guards patrolled with heavy steps, their armor gleaming in the early morning light. They wore the insignia of the wolf, Aldric's personal crest, a reminder to all that the king's reach extended far beyond the walls of his fortress. Conversations were whispered, eyes averted as the guards passed. No one wanted to draw attention to themselves in Aldric's kingdom.

Inside the fortress, the air was no less tense. Aldric's court had gathered in the great hall, waiting for the king's arrival. Nobles and advisors stood in clusters, speaking in hushed tones, their expressions grim. Rumors had spread quickly through the capital-there was unrest in the eastern provinces, whispers of rebellion growing louder with each passing day.