Page 4 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
With blade in hand and a shadow as shield,
He carved his name on every field.
No army stood, no tyrant breathed,
Wherever he and darkness seethed.
He spoke to night as if to kin,
And it obeyed, that dark within.
From creeping mist to sable tide,
His shadows moved, his people’s guide.
A thousand wars, a thousand wins,
He bore no crown, but truth in sins.
A ghost to foes, to kin a flame,
The world would tremble at his name.
He led them not through light or lies,
But through the hush where silence spies.
His warriors learnt to walk the same,
To trust the dark without a name.
And so it was, from that great day,
A phrase took root that would not fray
When marching forth through skies of grey:
“May the shadows guide your way.”
Though time may grind the mountains low,
And stars forget their ancient glow,
His legend walks, still fierce, still near
Where purple eyes bring dusk and fear.
‘Purple eyes,’ Mal breathed, her chest constricting. ‘I had never heard that the first wyverian king bore purple eyes.’
At that, Queen Senka turned her attention upon her daughter. She said nothing, for she had no need to. In the silence that passed between them, truth unfurled like a shadowed banner. Mal understood, without question, that her mother had known. Perhaps the king had confided in her, or perhaps she had recognised it the moment she carried Mal within her womb. Whatever the path of revelation, one truth stood immutable: the queen knew what her daughter truly was.
Mal reached for her mother’s hand and closed her fingers around it.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, though Senka’s attention had already drifted back to the ashen horizon. ‘Thank you for loving me.’
And though no words came in reply, the queen’s hand stirred against hers, tightening with the faintest pressure of a silent, tender acknowledgement.
Our world is not ready for the gods.
