Prologue
The monster will sleep for a thousand years so he may be slain by a hero most worthy.
The inscription, etched into a gold plaque resting atop a casket, gleamed as if untouched by time. While dust coated the room’s surfaces, forming thick contrasts with the shining plaque
The myth the plaque referred to was old and aged, retold and twisted over the years. One detail became consistent in every retelling of the tale: “The villain is the man lying in the casket.” In every version, he stole the heroes’ happily-ever-after for himself. He was a man who would see the world burn for his greed.
The shadows knew his story, but they saw him in a different light.
The seal was slipping, neglected for centuries. The curse that kept him asleep required upkeep, but that part had long been omitted from the tales, the records of the original curse lost to time.
The man inside the casket was asleep, but forces he’d once commanded were slipping from their bonds. They called upon two stray travelers who were seeking treasure. The shadows’ inhabitants lead them through the ruins of Shadowspire. Through the heart of the castle, and around each measure of protection around the room.
A curse meant to last a thousand years suddenly lasted five hundred instead, all within a single moment.
The first traveler went to brush the dust from the casket to look at the glowing runes. A pained gasp pulled from his lips as something cut across his palm. The blood beaded then sizzled and hissed as it came into contact with the ancient magic.
The second traveler followed the shadow of a cat as it knocked over a book, opening it to a specific page. Curious, the traveler picked up the book mumbling ancient words displayed on the page with no knowledge of their meaning.
The room fell into darkness and then silence.
Screams echoed against the stone walls as bones began to snap and twist. Blood spilled from every orifice of the adventurers as their bodies slumped forward forever stuck in horrified expressions.
Their blood continued to flow, edged on by magic thinning it until it became watery and wove itself within every cell.
The magic wove crimson patterns over the marble floor and the casket, snapping runes and shattering the curse keeping the villain asleep.
As the room stilled and the moon reached its peak the casket opened.
A man sat up grabbing the sides of his prison with pale bony fingers. His dark red hair fell over his face as he took in his first breath in centuries, his body no longer in suspended animation.
“A pity I can’t thank them.” His voice broke the silence, raspy from unuse.
He sighed as he stood up pushing back his hair, motions regal but unsteady. He let himself stand for a moment before he snapped his fingers to ignite the room. The candles lit with purple flames dousing the room in an eerie light. He snapped again and the shadows creatures slipped from the edges of the room to serve.
His cold gray gaze swept over the blood and the bodies then back to the creatures.
He did not need to order them with words, even after five hundred years.
With a bored expression he turned his back on the scurrying creatures and left the room of his prison.
Clasping his hands behind his back he walked with his head held high noting the ruined state of his once grand palace. His servants have work ahead of them but so does he.
Afterall, now that he is awake there’s a world to ruin and a woman who’s been haunting the last two years of his imprisonment. She’s familiar to him and that is not something he’ll ignore.
Fate has taught him two things, he was never going to have a happy end, and nothing happens without reason.
