The Forsaken King の小説・ストーリー

“He must be thirsting for so much blood for being away from his clan for so long.” “So he came here to feed?” Violet asked. “Not just that, I’m not so sure, but I think he’s here for vengeance.” “For what? He’s a rogue. What is he avenging?” “Geez, Valerie, you’re so outdated. He’s not a rogue because he got banished from his clan, it’s because he’s a survivor from the attack on his clan.” He paused, making my heart skip a beat as I was slowly getting the idea of where this was leading to. Atlas stared at them one by one like he was about to reveal something big. “He was a member of The Night Exiles clan, the one that was supposedly wiped out three years ago.”

The king's grief transforms into determination, his eyes now filled with steely resolve. Seeking solace and counsel, King Frederick calls upon his trusted advisor, Lord Arcturus, who tells him that the kingdom of Maxoria must be confronted . Together, they strategize and plan, piecing together the fragments of the conspiracy. The king's regret fuels his pursuit of truth, his unwavering commitment to expose the malevolence that had infiltrated his kingdom.

An embarrassment. So Finn played the game. He needed Maisie. He needed her to complete the illusion—the perfect son, with the perfect bride-to-be, living the perfect life. The heir with a clean image and a bright future. And it was all a lie. Because his real vision? The one he burned for day and night? It was simple—tear that old man down. Dismantle him piece by piece. Rip every damn dime from his empire and build something darker from the ruins. Finn had a plan. And Maisie? She was just a pawn in it.

"I’m using it." From the crimson sky, three shapes descended. Argentis and the other drakes landed with a spray of salt and slush. Lucien leaped from his mount before it had even fully settled, his white-hot fire flaring in the red gloom. Leo and Mara followed, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the ruins of the Spire. They stopped ten feet away. Lucien, the King of the Forsaken, the man who carried the fire of the sun, took one look at me and let out a low, involuntary growl. His grey eyes were fixed on mine, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of my new power.

born of devil's spite, a monster wearing the skin of a beast. Time fractured again, the scene dissolving into a blur of seasons. A year slipped by in ghostly montage: Damitri wasting away on his throne, skin pallid and stretched over bones, coughing black ichor into velvet cushions, his once-mighty frame reduced to a husk by the curse's insidious creep. Whispers filled the castle—poison? Sorcery? None dared speak of pacts or devils. Then, one storm-lashed night, the king's final rattle echoed through the halls, his eyes glazing over as shadows claimed him. The crown passed uneasily, but grief festered deeper.

The king did not speak. He looked at Doran Blackwood for what felt to the watching pack-folk in the courtyard like a long time and was in fact perhaps three breaths. He did not need to speak. The look was enough. The look told Doran Blackwood several things. The look told Doran that the king of Velmoria knew exactly what the dark thing in the centre of his chest was. The look told Doran that the king of Velmoria knew where the dark thing had come from and what it had been doing for the past four years and where the bruises on the rejected Luna's body had come from. The look told Doran that the king of Velmoria had been planning to drag him to the capital in chains an hour ago, and was no lon

"Rhea, you were never intended to rule by inheritance. You were destined to govern voluntarily.” Something inside me moved, an uncertain knowledge setting in. For a long time, I had thought that Kael was responsible for my destiny and that other people could control my power. However, what would happen if I *opted* to claim it instead? Varra's face became softer. "But there is always a cost to power." I paused. "How much is it?" Her voice was somber as she turned to another inscription. Although her path will be fractured, the Forsaken Queen will emerge. She will have to decide between war and love. And her choice will affect the fate of everyone who follow her.”

“Prophecies written in the very stones of this land, buried beneath centuries of fear and denial. Of a Shadow Queen, born of banishment and betrayal, destined to rise from the ashes of her pack. And of a Lost King, who would guide her path, waiting for her awakening” Selene felt a profound jolt, a surge of realization that pulsed through her new form. A Lost King? The whispers from the forest had mentioned fragmented images, ancient texts about a forgotten ruler, one connected to primal shadow magic, a cosmic dancer of light and dark. Could he be the source of Malachi's power? The pieces began to click, a terrifying, exhilarating puzzle slotting into place in her mind.

But it was the eyes; deep crimson and inhuman, that made her blood run cold. Ryker’s lip curled. “And who the hell are you?” The man smirked. “Call me Azrael. The Alpha of the Forsaken.” Selene stiffened, the name igniting memories of whispered legends; an alpha who had once ruled a brutal, exiled pack, known for bloodshed and madness. A pack thought long dead. “Impossible,” Selene scoffed. “The Forsaken were wiped out a century ago.” Azrael chuckled. “You of all people should know the dead rarely stay dead.” His gaze lingered on her, appraising and dark. “I came to see the queen who dethroned an Elder and bound the Moonborn. I expected...more.”

“What is this? You’re supposed to be gone.” “I was,” Rhea said, her tone almost gentle. “And yet—here I am. Some debts to the moon don’t end in death.” Serena’s voice was hoarse. “You were the one who taught me to fight them.” “And now I will teach you what comes next,” Rhea said. “The Forsaken are not your enemy, Serena. Not entirely.” “What the hell does that mean?” “It means everything you’ve been told is a half-truth. A story spun by those who feared the old power. The Forsaken weren’t born evil. They were made. By kings who wanted obedience. By Queens who were afraid of prophecy.”