The dead king

The laboured breathing of King Ouin was the only sound in the room that rainy morning.

The healer watched him, disheartened, unable to think of a way to restore vitality to the monarch, who lay on his bed staring blankly at the grey sky through the window.

His skin had shrivelled and dried like parchment. White hair sprouted from various spots on his face, and his eyes seemed unnaturally large in his gaunt face. His complexion had turned a greenish hue, almost cadaverous.

Standing by the bed, Sir Leoric also gazed at his lord with utter resignation. Seeing the weariness on the healer’s face, he spoke:

"Master Frye, you’ve done all you could. You should rest and allow the King to do the same."

The healer nodded sorrowfully, bowed towards the bed, and made his way to the door. Before leaving, he motioned for the knight to approach for a private word.

When Leoric was close, the man spoke in hushed tones:

"I fear I have no answers for what ails the King. Whatever afflicts him seems to have a dark origin. I do not believe simple science or human knowledge can treat it."

Leoric wasn’t surprised but refused to panic.

The healer added, "To be honest with you, I don’t think I’ll last much longer in this world either. I’m starting to feel like I’m not real. Do you feel the same, Sir Knight? After all the disappearances… I fear I may meet the same fate..."

Noticing the rising unease in the healer, Leoric tried to reassure him.

"Let’s not jump to terrifying conclusions. You’re still here, and that’s what matters. The realm needs you, and you need to rest."

The old healer sought solace in the calm gaze of the knight and allowed himself to be persuaded. He nodded at last and left the chamber.

Once the door closed, Leoric let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as though the kingdom’s woes had suddenly fallen on him.

He knew this would be the last time he saw Master Frye. Soon, the healer would vanish, just as the rest of the staff, guards, knights, artisans, peasants, and all the surrounding villages’ inhabitants already had.

In just a few days, the kingdom had been evaporating into thin air for no apparent reason, leaving only him and the King behind.

He approached the bed where the monarch still gazed wistfully out the window. Leoric knelt to meet him face to face.

"Your Majesty," he called out impatiently, "you must tell me what is happening to the kingdom. Is this the result of a curse? Do you have enemies seeking your downfall? There must be something we can do."

King Ouin barely blinked at his words. The hissing sound of his irregular breathing was the only response in the silence.

There was no trace left of the admirable man Leoric had respected for so many years. To him, Ouin had been a ruler who gave everything for the prosperity of his kingdom. Without a consort or heir, the King had governed independently, unafraid of ruin. He had vanquished his enemies and crushed entire towns to ensure his territory’s expansion. Leoric had been his right hand throughout it all.

Abandoned at the age of five in a desolate land, young Leoric had been taken in by King Ouin and raised within the castle at his side. Ouin was the only family he had ever known.

"Leo... Leoric..." The King’s raspy voice startled him.

Leoric leaned in, straining to hear.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"I need you to carry out a task for me."

Nodding gravely, the knight replied, "Of course, my King. Is it something that will resolve this situation?"

Naively, the knight tried to ignore the fact that there might be no reversing what was happening around him. Whatever the King said next was his only hope.

"You must go beyond the Ringed Forest and cross the borders of the kingdom to the West..."

Leoric frowned. Everyone knew there was nothing to the West—only endless mist. No one had ever fully traversed the Ringed Forest. During conquests, the focus had been on advancing north-eastward. Until now, the kingdom had held firm against the void that loomed at its edges, but now there wasn’t much left before they joined it.

The King continued speaking despite the knight’s confusion.

"There is a plant that grows only in the arid soil of the valley beyond the mist. You will recognise it instantly. It is red as blood and the only living thing in that place." He coughed painfully. "I need you to bring it to me so that I may consume it and regain my strength. I can restore the kingdom."

So, this was the work of a curse? Leoric wondered. What had the King gotten himself into? Had he been ensnared in some trap?

Questions flooded the knight’s mind, but when the King’s skeletal hands grasped his own with desperation, his mission became clear.

"Please, Leoric... you are my last hope."

King Ouin’s hands were ice cold. His eyes were yellow-toned, and black tears streaked down his face.

Nodding dutifully, the knight rose and hurried to begin his task.

Before he could exit the room, the King’s feeble voice called out one last time. Leoric turned and heard him say:

"I’m sorry..."

***

Riding his horse at full gallop through the Ringed Forest, Leoric estimated it would take at least two days to navigate the dense layers of trees and reach the forest’s edge, where the mist began.

It was said that anyone venturing to the innermost layers of the forest perished from the suffocating lack of oxygen caused by the tightly packed trees.

There were also tales of wild creatures with abnormal anatomies lurking in the forest’s most forsaken corners, waiting for any unfortunate soul who wandered too far off course.

With his sword sheathed at his belt and daggers tucked into his boots, the knight trusted his combat skills, honed through countless past battles. His determination for his kingdom and his King drove him to ignore the lost whispers in the air and the creeping darkness as the trees obscured the sky.

He stopped to rest only twice during the two-day journey to the other side of the forest. Sustaining himself on provisions from his pack, he dared not sleep. He could feel eyes watching him in the gloom of the woods. After his second rest, he resolved to press on without further pause.

When he finally spotted the forest’s last line of trees, his horse began to neigh nervously. Several times, the animal abruptly stopped, attempting to turn back, ignoring Leoric’s commands.

At one point, the horse reared up on its hind legs, and though Leoric tugged at the reins to steady it, his fatigue weakened his grip. He fell heavily to the ground as the horse bolted in the opposite direction, disappearing among the trees.

"No!" he cried.

Rising from the grass, he looked around. Ahead of him lay only the thick mist creeping through the darkness. He had reached the end of the Ringed Forest.

Ignoring the whispers beckoning him back to the trees, the knight stepped into the mist. It felt like being caught in the eye of a whirlwind. The fog was so dense that he could feel it clinging to his limbs, making every step forward an ordeal.

Screaming with effort, he forced one step, then another, refusing to give up.

All around him was a grey haze. He had no way of knowing how far he had travelled or where he was going.

Strangely, the eternal mist was not unfamiliar to Leoric. There had been a time when he was lost just like this.

His only childhood memory was of these low-lying clouds shrouding the ruins of his pillaged village. The bloody bodies of his family and friends had been forgotten forever in the Void beyond the border.

Was this why he had been so determined to come here? Was it loyalty to his King or the hope of returning to what had once been his home?

Whatever he had hoped for, it wasn’t here, he realised. He had come to die.

After what felt like an eternity of aimless wandering, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted and unsure if he would ever rise again.

"Welcome home, Leoric," a feminine voice called out in the distance.

He managed to lift his head and found that the mist had vanished.

He was in the valley.

It was strange. He did not remember any change in the terrain underfoot or descending into the valley. It was impossible to have arrived here by chance.

"Come," the voice said again.

Without questioning it, he allowed himself to be guided and attempted to follow the voice's source.

The ground was barren, with nothing in the landscape but black stone outcroppings that would have made the path much more treacherous had the mist remained.

"The orphaned boy finally returns home..."

The voice led him to the only trace of vegetation left in the area: the withered trunk of a small tree, its branches bare except for a single bloom. A rose with sharp crimson petals drooped as if dehydrated, yet its vivid colour stood out starkly in the desolate landscape.

"The King you serve is dead," the voice announced.

Leoric gave up trying to locate the speaker and, forgetting his lack of energy, stood as he processed the information.

He blinked, astonished.

"The King is dead?"

"You’ve been wandering for seven days."

"Seven days...?" He cut himself off, stunned. He sat on the ground, defeated, facing the mysterious flower.

Burying his face in his hands, he spoke in a broken voice:

"I have failed him... I’ve failed the kingdom."

But then the voice interjected, its tone more accusatory:

"Failed him? That murderer whose power comes from the blood of your own people?"

Leoric’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his past.

"What do you mean?"

"Haven’t you wondered why his physical state had deteriorated so much in recent days? Why his kingdom, the one he worked so hard to build, has been vanishing as if it never existed?"

Leoric stood now, looking around, trying to pinpoint the voice.

"Who are you? Death, or a messenger of hers?"

The voice laughed, amused by his question.

"I am something less noble than Death and more fond of deals. Hell, it was I who offered your dear King absolute power in exchange for a bite of this fruit."

As the voice continued, its tone grew darker and less human. The air around him felt colder than before.

"What happened when he ate the fruit?" Leoric asked.

"He died."

"Died?"

"That was the condition! He would gain the power to create his own reality and rule eternally, but in exchange, he would lose his soul and need to sustain his power with innocent blood. However, he grew complacent, didn’t he? He stopped conquering and pillaging and decided he had sacrificed enough. He forgot our agreement."

The anguish in Leoric’s chest turned to hatred and bewilderment.

Everything he had experienced for most of his life wasn’t real and had never existed. The kingdom had merely been a territory conjured in the midst of the endless mist; an illusion of a man obsessed with power. He had been the only living, real thing—dwelling beside a corpse.

His real family, his friends, his village... Was everything the King had taken from him part of a grand sacrifice?

As his right hand, how many people had he helped Ouin exterminate? His hands were as stained with blood as the King’s.

"Is there any way I could see my family again?" the knight asked in a hollow voice.

He already knew the answer. He had nothing left to lose.

Still unable to put a face to the mysterious voice, Leoric could sense the demon smile as it replied:

"There’s only one way to find out, dead knight."