Becoming the Elf King's bride
Smoke poured forth like the breath of some colossal beast, and from the abyss, a figure began to rise.
The Dark Lord.
Prince Ron and Alaric watched, eyes wide as he emerged wreathed in fire and shadows, coiling around him like serpents. His neck and four limbs were bound in heavy chains of blackened iron, each etched with glowing golden runes that burned against his flesh. The chains clanked and groaned as he ascended, dragging against the rock with a sound that split the air like thunder. His presence alone seemed to crush the world under its weight; even the lava bent away from him, as if afraid to touch his skin.
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