Chapter 7 Hate (4)

The grand hall of the Palace was filled with noble guests and esteemed dignitaries, their murmurs and whispers echoing off the marble walls. King Edric, despite his failing health, had insisted on holding the ceremony to honor those who had proven themselves through unwavering loyalty and valor. Rhys, dressed in the ceremonial armor of the knights, stood in the center of the hall, his heart racing with a mix of pride and anxiety.

The King, propped up by pillows in his ornate throne, looked out over the assembly with a weary but resolute gaze. His voice, though strained, carried a powerful resonance that filled the hall. "Today, we honor those who have stood by our side in the face of adversity. Their courage and commitment have earned them our deepest respect and gratitude."

As the ceremony commenced, Rhys stood before the King, his back straight and his gaze steady. Edric's weakened hand, shaking slightly, reached out to bestow the knighthood. The hall fell silent, every eye fixed on the King as he spoke the ancient words of the oath, his voice quivering with effort.

"Rhys, son of House Alistair, you have shown unyielding bravery and dedication. By the power vested in me, I knight you as the leader of the royal guards. May you uphold the honor of our house and protect our kingdom with unwavering resolve."

Rhys knelt, accepting the sword that the King placed upon his shoulder, the blade's cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his own blood pumping in excitement. The crowd erupted in applause, their claps echoing through the hall as Rhys rose, his new title cemented.

As the festivities continued, Rhys's mind was consumed by the weight of his new responsibilities and the ominous sense of change that hung in the air

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Vallis sat deep in thought. The room, usually a place of dark contemplation, was today a canvas for his rage and dark intent.

Vallis's hatred was not a recent development but a deep, seething force born from the torment of his previous life. He remembered his father with a vividness that bordered on obsession. The memories of his father's cruelty were etched into his mind with a precision that only deep-seated trauma could achieve. His father's abuse had been a constant, brutal presence in his childhood, a relentless source of pain that had scarred Vallis's psyche.

His father had been a man of unrelenting cruelty. He had inflicted suffering not only on Vallis but on his mother as well. Vallis remembered the brutal nights when his father's rage would manifest in physical violence, leaving his mother battered and broken. One particular memory stood out—a moment of horrifying clarity when his father had crushed his mother's arm in a fit of rage. The image of her pain, her silent cries, had been burned into Vallis's mind, fueling a hatred that had simmered and festered for years.

In his study, Vallis focused on the task at hand. The room was dimly lit by the flickering candles arranged in a precise pattern around the ritual space. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and the acrid tang of blood—a blend that added to the ritual's oppressive atmosphere. Vallis's eyes, dark with determination, were fixed on the ornate blade he used to draw the ritualistic symbols on the floor.

Each symbol was meticulously crafted, a complex array of lines and curves designed to channel and amplify his emotions. The symbols, drawn in a deep red ink, seemed to pulse with a dark energy of their own, resonating with the intensity of Vallis's feelings. His hands moved with practiced precision, the blade cutting through the air with a rhythmic grace that belied the darkness of the task.

As Vallis worked, he chanted in a guttural, ancient language, the words flowing from his lips in a rhythmic cadence that echoed through the chamber. The language was a remnant of an ancient, forbidden lore, its power rooted in the darkest corners of arcane knowledge. Each word was a conduit for his hatred, a way to channel the raw, emotional energy that surged through him.

The ritual space was lined with candles, their flickering flames casting erratic shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of Vallis's chants. The symbols on the floor began to glow faintly, their light pulsing in time with the growing intensity of his emotions. Vallis could feel the power building within him, a tangible force that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

His mind was a whirlwind of turbulent memories and searing rage. He relived the moments of his father's abuse with a clarity that bordered on madness. The harsh words, the violence, and the helplessness he had felt—all of it surged to the forefront of his consciousness. Each memory fueled his hatred, amplifying it until it was a raging inferno within him.

The ritual reached its climax as Vallis's chanting grew louder, the words becoming a roar of defiance against the pain he had endured. The candles flickered wildly, their flames casting frantic shadows that seemed to writhe and stretch with the intensity of his emotions. Vallis's voice rose in a crescendo, his fury and sorrow merging into a single, powerful force.

As the ritual neared its end, Vallis felt a surge of energy coursing through him, a palpable force born from his deepest, most visceral emotions. The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his hatred, the very air crackling with the dark energy he had unleashed. The symbols on the floor glowed with a fierce, otherworldly light, their brilliance illuminating the chamber with a sickly, greenish hue.

In the midst of the ritual, Vallis's mind was consumed by the memory of his father's cruelty. He could almost see his father's spectral figure materializing in the room, a shadowy echo of the man who had tormented him. The presence was a dark reflection of the pain he had suffered, a manifestation of the hatred that had been his constant companion.

With the final incantation, Vallis felt a powerful release. He collapsed to his knees, exhausted but exhilarated. The room was now silent, the only sound the faint crackle of the remnants of the ritual's dark energy. The candles had burned down to stubs, their light extinguished by the intensity of the ritual. Vallis's body was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure.

As he sat in the darkness, Vallis reflected on the ritual's outcome. The power of his hatred was now a tangible force, a weapon he could wield with precision. The emotion that had once been a source of personal torment had been transformed into a formidable tool. Vallis understood that this hatred would serve him well in the days to come, a dark force that would shape his actions and decisions.

The memory of his father's cruelty had become more than just a painful recollection; it was a source of strength, a driving force in his quest for power. The ritual had not only channeled his hatred but had also solidified it into a form that was both powerful and controllable. Vallis knew that this dark power would be instrumental in his plans, a force that would help him navigate the treacherous waters of his ambitions.

The seeds of his resentment had been planted long ago, nurtured by years of abuse and pain. Now, they had grown into a powerful force that Vallis could harness and control. The hatred he had felt for his father had become a cornerstone of his power, a dark wellspring from which he could draw strength and resolve.

As Vallis sat in the silence of his study, the weight of his newfound power settled over him. The ritual had been a testament to his ability to transform his deepest emotions into a force of immense power. The shadows of his past had become a source of strength, and Vallis was now ready to wield that strength in the pursuit of his goals.