Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 31 - Chapitre 40

The sky was still bleeding when Zerach opened his eyes. He woke to the taste of iron and smoke — the battlefield reeking of death and rain. His body was half-buried under mud, his armor split, his horn chipped at the edge. All around him, the valley of Arveth lay in ruin — blackened banners, broken swords, and the cries of dying men. For a moment, he couldn’t move. His ribs screamed with pain, and his left arm hung limp at his side. The last thing he remembered was charging through the enemy’s front line, the roar of his warriors beside him — then the explosion, a wall of fire that threw him from his horse. Now there was silence. Only the rain. Then, faintly, through the storm, came a voice — not from the living, but from the heart. “Zerach…” Daphne’s voice. He froze. He would know that voice in death itself. “Daphne?” he whispered hoarsely, though no one was near. “My dove?” The wind shifted, carrying the scent of jasmine — her scent — impossibly here, among the c

Months passed, and the seasons shifted gently over the kingdom. Grief had not vanished, but time, in its strange mercy, had softened it. Zerach ruled with quiet strength again, though the shadow of loss still lingered behind his eyes. The people whispered that the gods had taken his light away, not knowing that a secret heartbeat still echoed within the kingdom’s walls. Far from the palace, in a hidden valley surrounded by silver-leaved trees, a small cottage glowed softly under the morning sun. Inside it, a child laughed — clear, bright, and alive. Lyra. Her golden curls fell in waves like her mother’s, her eyes deep blue like the calmest part of the sea. She had grown strong and wild, untouched by courtly sorrow. The midwife, old Mira — the only soul who knew the truth — watched her run barefoot through the grass. “Careful, my little star,” she said softly. “The world doesn’t yet know your name.” Lyra only giggled, clutching a wooden carving in her hand — two small figures side

The years drifted through the kingdom like a slow river — gentle on the surface, but deep with unspoken currents. The fortress that once roared with battle now breathed with quieter sounds: laughter, the clang of training swords, the song of morning bells echoing through the valley. Time had done what even kings could not — it had turned grief into memory. Zerach’s palace, once darkened by loss, now glowed again with life. For in the heart of the royal wing, running barefoot through marble halls, shouting at sparrows that perched by the balcony, lived a boy who carried both his father’s flame and his mother’s light. Lucien Reigns. He was the fire reborn. At ten years old, Lucien was bold, wild, and impossibly curious — the kind of child whose laughter echoed through the entire citadel, who wrestled with guards twice his size, and whose questions could unravel the patience of any court scholar. His hair was a deep gold, streaked with hints of bronze that shimmered when sunlight s

The night had a strange stillness to it — the kind that came before great storms. The moon hung low over the Beast Kingdom, bleeding silver light across its dark towers and ancient walls. In the royal chambers, where tapestries whispered stories of blood and conquest, King Zerach sat in silence — and dread. There had been a prophecy, spoken long before his reign — before even his ancestors had carved their names into the stone of history. It was said that once every thousand years, a child would be born under a cursed eclipse. A child whose blood carried both light and darkness — whose heart would command the shadows and whose wrath would shake the heavens. “From the blood of kings and demons combined,” the prophecy had said, “a child shall rise to burn the Beast Kingdom to ash and forge an army of fire. None shall rule after him, for he shall end the age of beasts and birth the age of ruin.” For generations, the kings of the realm had feared those words. And so, it became law

The kingdom slept under a moonless sky that night, but King Zerach’s heart refused to rest. He stood at the highest balcony of the fortress, staring into the distance where the dark forest stretched endlessly — silent, secretive, and cruelly calm. The prophecy haunted him like an echo he could never silence. A thousand years ago, the scrolls said, a child will be born under a broken moon — carrying both light and shadow. The child will rise to destroy the Beast Kingdom and build a new army from the ashes. Every king since then had feared that day. Every newborn in the kingdom was inspected the moment they cried their first breath — to ensure no mark of the prophecy rested on their skin. Any who bore it were killed instantly. But now… the cursed mark had appeared. Not on an enemy’s child. Not on some distant village babe. But on his own son — his only heir, the last living memory of his beloved Daphne. Zerach’s fists clenched as the cold wind brushed his face. He had check