Gather round! My tale begins…

They say money is man's greatest destroyer. Some say it's power, others might say it's love.

To me there's only one thing: Fear.

Fear is the pedestal of man's destruction. The precipice of his doom. The fire that incinerates all.

It was such fear that led to the witch massacre during the reign of King Anisus, the first. The son of the man that built Azith into the Kingdom it is now. The witches were regarded as the wives of the Devil; The rulers of darkness; the harbingers of death.

King Anisus sought to stamp his name in history with the blood of every dark skinned woman (witch or not).

For it was said that witches have dark skin because they've been touched by the Devil.

As the years passed into decades and decades into a millennia, witches vanished off the face of the earth and took with them the era of witch hunting.

The Kingdom Azith grew on the Mezanth hills and has been the attraction of many. From its rich lands of resources to its beautiful gifted people and its scenic landscapes, Azith has tempted many Kings to conquer it but none succeeded.

My tale isn't just about Azith. It's about the events that led up to the greatest story in the murky and bloodied history of a Great Kingdom.

It begins on the sick bed of a dying King.

~

King Zurh coughed up blood into a handkerchief that was once white. His pale bony fingers trembled as he reached for his son sitting on the edge of the royal bed. Crowned Prince Omin readily took his father's hand, not minding the blood that stained his quivering fingers a dark red. He had been surprised when he was informed his father asked for him.

"I don't have much time Omin," King Zurh whispered in a voice so raspy and ragged, it felt like sand paper to the ears. "I feel it, inside me. Eating me up."

As he talked his swollen chest heaved up and down.

"What can I do, father?" Omin clasped his other hand on their joined hands, concern etched onto his face—though he knew there was nothing to be done for the King.

There was once a time when he was the spitting image of his father; sharp jaw, high cheekbones, frigid cerulean eyes, imposing stature and a crown of black long hair.

Now, there was simply no more resemblance.

"There's nothing you can do for me, son. But there's something you can do for yourself." King Zurh's eyes widened a fraction but Omin knew he couldn't see him—It was the blindness that had kicked started his sickness. The dying man's eyes were now glazed with thick white film that no healer (near and far) could remove.

"The curse, son. You must break the curse," King Zurh breathed ragged and burst into a coughing fit, spraying blood all over Omin's clothes before he could get his handkerchief to his mouth.

When the coughing had died down Omin spoke. "You tried father," Omin said, not affected by the blood on him. "It's an unbreakable curse. It's been for generations."

King Zurh shook his hairless head and though it took more effort tried to sit up.

"Father, you need to rest," Omin said quickly.

"No. Sit me up," King Zurh instructed, struggling to rise, and Omin sighed but helped his father sit up.

"There's a way to break the curse, Omin," King Zurh tried to sound firm but his voice broke.

"Father—"

"Listen. Find a witch. Make her break the curse."

"A witch?" Omin couldn't believe what he heard. He looked puzzled at the sunken face of his father. "There's no more witches, father. There hasn't been for centuries, our ancestors killed them all."

"No. They… survived. Those harbingers of evil, survived but they're hiding." King Zurh took in a long agonizing breath and shut his eyes, conjuring up a memory in his mind.

"During my last travel before I fell sick, I found one. I tracked her to the Sands of Nebun but she… disappeared." King Zurh opened his eyes and added, "Start there."

The sickness had definitely scrambled his father's mind, Omin thought, shaking his head in disbelief.

As if King Zurh sensed his son's doubt, he admonished him. "Don't doubt son. I found a witch, she's the only way."

"There is no witch, father."

"I'm not crazy, Omin! I'm sick not crazy!" King Zurh began shaking violently. "There's a Queen of Death, living in the Sands of Nebun. Go there!"

"Father, you have to calm down."

"Find her! Make her break the curse, Omin," King Zurh insisted, despite his trembling body and heaving swollen chest.

Prince Omin had left his father's hand and held his shoulders to steady him, a frown line appearing in-between his eyebrows at the King's agitated state.

"Let's say there's a…witch, what makes you think this witch will help me break the curse? They were hunted and killed in the most brutal ways," Prince Omin said, in order to calm his father and make the man lie back down.

"There is something. That's why I've asked for you today." King Zurh suddenly seized Omin by the shoulders, his grip surprisingly strong and stared straight into his eyes, giving the Prince a sudden chill. "I found something, my dear boy."

Even on his sick bed, Omin still found his father terrifying. Flashes of memories best forgotten flicked through Prince Omin's mind but he quickly blinked them away.

"What is it?"

A sinister smile crept up the King's sallow face, making his bloody lips seem alive with malice.

"Go to my study, behind the painting of your mother," King Zurh whispered, like the walls had ears, "there's a safe in the wall. Blood is the key. You will find—" but his coughing fit started again and wracked his body violently into submission. Omin gently laid the worn out body of his father back on the bed.

King Zurh heaved painfully and opened his mouth but no words came out.

The door to the King's room opened quietly and three healers marched in, carrying trays of various medicines. They stopped at the foot of the bed and bowed.

"Your healers are here, father. I have to go," said Omin softly, running a gentle hand over his father's bald head.

"Everything's in there," the King managed to croak out.

Omin stood up morosely and stepped back for the healers. He headed for the door and stopped short, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Omin was never one to cry or wear his emotions the way normal people do but as he turned to regard his father a last time, his eyes held a deep sorrow.

Lying with his glazed eyes half closed, flocked around by healers King Zurh mouthed three words to his son.

"Find the witch." Then he faded.

Omin left his father's chamber feeling worse than when he first entered. It was always so whenever he visited the dying King but today was much worse. He couldn't shake the feeling that the noose that hung his father was coming for him next.

The Prince hadn't taken two steps when he found Fliroy, one of the elder members of the Royal Court, leaning on a pillar beyond the guarded door, waiting for him. Fliroy bowed in respect, tucking his hands into the big sleeves of his dark green robes.

"How is the King?" Fliroy asked with his head still bowed.

"Worse as the days go by," Omin replied, stepping past the bowing man.

Small streaks of daylight filtered in from the high windows into the corridor, littered with small pillars melded into the ornamented walls.

Fliroy followed, falling a step behind.

"The court is wondering if it's time to start the preparations," he said reluctantly.

Omin was not in the mood for such talks. His voice rumbled with growing annoyance as he said, "My father isn't dead yet."

"But my Prince, you've been handling all the affairs of the Kingdom. Our King hasn't made a royal decision in three years."

"Yet, he's still alive and still the King," Omin emphasized the last word. Whatever sorrow he had felt had morphed into anger but Fliroy was behind him and didn't know it was time to shut up.

"For three years we've been waiting for death to take him. Don't you think he's suffered enough? Isn't it time to put him to rest?"

Omin stopped abruptly and turned to Fliroy with blazing eyes that chilled the little elder. "Fliroy, are you suggesting I kill my father?"

Fliroy shrank back. "N-No, my-my Prince. I-I merely asked if it's time he rested. I w-would never suggest—"

THWACK!

Omin silenced the mumbling man with a tight slap across his face that echoed around the empty corridor. Fliroy stumbled back into the wall, holding his cheek stained with a smidge of the King's blood. His eyes wide in fear.

"Don't you forget who you address Fliroy. My father gave you a seat in his court, I can easily take it away. I don't want to hear another word from you. Get out, I'm sick of your face."

Fliroy scrambled away from the wall and hastily departed, taking a left turn down another corridor. Omin fisted his vibrating hands and shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths to calm himself.

Kill his father? Fliroy had some nerve. Did the rest of the Court feel that way? He hoped for the sake of their lives, they wouldn't bring it up during a meeting.

Omin freed his hands and opened his eyes. He was getting too worked up, he needed to keep a level head. His anger rarely turned physical but when it did, it was destructive.

How would he make a good King if he couldn't keep his cool during such a trying time for his Kingdom.

He resumed walking again, heading for his father's study with long purposeful strides.

He didn't know what he would find in the King's safe but if there really was a witch, he would find her.

The curse had to end with his father.