The Prophecy

Thirteen years earlier, within the grand halls of Basilia's palace, King Keres' voice thundered with authority as he delivered a decree that would shake the kingdom to its core.

"I, King Keres of Basilia, hereby order the execution of the holy saint, Hygeia Agafya of Ariadne," he proclaimed, his words resonating with the weight of his power.

On her knees before the king, the holy saint, Hygeia, bore a demeanor of resignation, her eyes fixed on the ground as if bracing for the inevitable. She made no move to defend herself, as though she had anticipated this outcome.

The crime? Resurrecting the dead without the consent or knowledge of the royal family, an act deemed sacrilegious and punishable by death.

"It's too cruel to sentence the holy saint to death," whispered one courtier, the sentiment echoed by murmurs of sympathy from the commoners gathered nearby.

"Perhaps her actions were driven by compassion rather than malice," another voice chimed in, reflecting the conflicted sentiments of the populace.

As news of the saint's fate spread like wildfire, shock and disbelief rippled through the Tower of Ariadne, particularly among those who had been touched by her miraculous deeds. Among them was a man whom she had brought back from the brink of death, now consumed by grief and fury at the injustice of her demise.

In a fit of rage, the man stormed the walls of Basilia's palace, his very presence a harbinger of destruction as he laid waste to everything in his path.

He sought vengeance for the saint who had granted him a second chance at life.

Inside the chamber, King Keres recoiled in horror as the vengeful figure confronted him, his garments stained with the blood of those who had dared to oppose him.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" the king demanded, his voice trembling with fear as he faced the embodiment of his darkest fears.

But the man only laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the king's spine.

"You'll soon find out," he taunted, his eyes gleaming with malice as he advanced with lethal intent.

Panic seized the king as he called for his guards, only to be met with silence as the man's forces decimated their ranks.

The man and his people have already slain 80 percent of the guards and knights of the Palace.

He groaned and said, "I'm bored."

"How about we play hide-and-seek?" the man said, grinning.

"You hide, and I will seek," he murmured, leaning forward toward his highness. The startled king shoved the man and fled.

Prompting him to smile, aware of his power. 

The scared King rushes into his son's chamber, where he is sleeping soundly. The prince is awakened by his father's sudden entrance. He was confused to see his father so anxious and pale. 

The king carries him on his arm and flees the chamber quickly, bumping into the three knights, who try to take them to safety.

They fled through the blood-stained halls, the king's heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that their world would never be the same again.

Confusion clouded the young prince's face as he clung to his father, his innocent questions echoing in the chaos that enveloped the palace. Such as why the palace was in a panic, why blood was all over the place, and why the knight's body lying on the ground.

But before his Highness could respond. The man appeared in front of them, causing them to feel uneasy.

The three knights, though valiant, were no match for the man's overwhelming power, their futile attack ending in a gruesome display of violence as their bodies fell lifeless to the ground, staining the man's visage with their blood.

Horror etched across his face, King Keres shielded his son's innocent eyes from the grisly sight before them.

"Is he your son?" the man's voice sliced through the air like a knife, chilling the king to his very core.

"D-don't harm him, please," the king pleaded, his voice trembling with fear.

"Do you cherish him?" the man's cold gaze bore into the king's soul, his intentions shrouded in mystery as he settled onto the floor with an eerie calmness.

"Y-yes, with all my heart," the king stammered, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he tightened his grip on his son's trembling form.

Curiosity flickered in the young prince's eyes as he peered at the enigmatic figure before him.

"Are you here to save us?" he asked, innocence tinging his voice with hope.

The man's smirk widened as he pondered the question, his motives veiled behind a mask of indifference.

"I suppose," he replied cryptically, his gaze shifting back to the king with a predatory glint as he began to starts walking in His Highness' direction.

Sensing the imminent danger. The king gently dropped his son and whispered to him to run, but the little prince gave him a puzzled expression. Not knowing what was happening.

Before the king said anything, he was unaware that the man had already approached him and the little prince. As man leans into his highness' ear, making the king shudder.

The man whispered, "The game is over," With a swift and merciless strike, the king fell to his knees, his lifeblood staining the floor as his son looked on in horror.

Tears welled in the young prince's eyes as he watched his father's life slip away, his anguished cries filling the chamber with heart-wrenching sorrow.

Driven by grief and fury, the prince lashed out at the man, his tiny fists pounding against his assailant's unyielding frame.

He hits the man repeatedly making the man looks annoyed as he stops the prince by grabbing his tiny hand.

"D-don't touch him," the king said, worn down.

But the man's grip on the prince's hand remained firm, his irritation evident as he silenced the child's cries with a cold command.

As the prince's sobs echoed through the chamber, the man's patience wore thin, his annoyance palpable as he turned his back on the grieving child and dying king.

"Shut your son's mouth. It pisses me off."

With trembling hands, the king cradled his son close, offering what comfort he could in the face of unimaginable tragedy. The little prince, his tear-streaked face pressed against his father's chest, found solace in the warmth of his embrace, his sobs gradually subsiding as he sought refuge in the safety of his father's arms.

As the man turned to leave, the monarch voice rang out with a chilling prophecy, a final declaration of defiance that echoed through the chamber.

'With heavenly blessing, on May 25, I will be born to kill you and correct your transgressions,' he vowed, his words laden with a weight that hung heavy in the air.

For a fleeting moment, the man paused, his features contorted with rage at the king's audacity. But with a final glare, he turned on his heel and fled, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a once-great kingdom and a grieving prince cradled in the arms of his dying father.

In the wake of the catastrophe, the mantle of leadership fell upon the young prince, Themis, guided by the wisdom and counsel of Damayanti, the Priest of Ariadne, who had been a steadfast friend and mentor to the late king.

Meanwhile, the man who had wrought such devastation upon the palace and its inhabitants vanished without a trace, leaving behind a legacy of fear and uncertainty that lingered in the hearts of the kingdom's people.

As the years passed and the wounds of the past began to heal, the palace once again thrived, its halls filled with the hum of daily life and the promise of a brighter future. Yet, beneath the veneer of tranquility, a shadow of mystery loomed large, as whispers circulated throughout the town of an ominous prophecy foretelling the fate of an infant born on May 25—an enigma that would continue to haunt the kingdom for years to come.