Hate by K.A Knight
Aldros, Lord of Flames
Deep in Klasfor...
The healer winces as he covers the talon gash with ruebc paste. “My king,” he whispers, bowing his head, his frail frame shuddering under my gaze as I swivel to stare at him from atop my golden throne, my subjects observing me from around the room. “This is healing nicely.”
“Good, leave,” I order, and turn back to watch my people. That foolish child had tried to defy me. To stop my plans, to defend his former king who left without a care for his people. Who forsook us, for them. For the humans. It was all too easy to kill him. I did not expect him to escape Klasfor and travel into their world as a warning though…never mind. It has happened and now they know we are coming.
“It is time the world remembers who we are!” I roar as I get to my feet, and every dragon’s gaze turns to me, my crown glowing under the fires of our home. “We hid away, afraid to anger them, afraid to kill. To get bloody. We hid and we waited, forgetting who we are. Under his rule and his family’s, we became weak!”
Growls sound around the room as I watch them with a smirk. “No more, we are not weak! We are dragons! We are the great riders! They will tremble when they see us coming, they will scream when they hear our roars, and when we take their world, they will fall to their knees before me. Your king!”
Chanting emanates from the crowd as they tip their heads back and fire escapes their mouths. Just then, the great doors at the end of the hall open and my unrest, my guards, drag in three women.
Three witches.
They come willingly, not even fighting the restraining grasps, their eyes cold and knowing. I gesture for them to be let through as I sit back down on my throne. The unrest throws them before my feet, they kneel there, heads unbowed. Disrespect! How dare they! I am a king!
“False king,” one of them sneers with a laugh.
“No tricks, witch,” I snarl, leaning forward, the throne creaking under my weight. “You are here for a reason.”
“We know why we are here, false king, it will not change what is to come. You think to weaken them, to stop their sources. It will not matter,” another argues.
“You cannot stop fate,” the other concludes, and then they all smile at the same time. I hate witches.
“Fate? Oh, my little witches, fate has no hold on me, it cannot control or order me to do its bidding.” My people laugh with me and I glare at them. “But your fate rests here,” I state.
Standing, I step down the ruby-encrusted stairs, my bare chest glistening under the fires above, highlighting my scars from the many battles I have been in and won. Leaning down, I bend to look into their eyes as I speak, so they will not mistake my words or intent.
It is time.
What I have been waiting for, planning for centuries. It is finally here…
“It is time for Askaliarian to return home and take his place in my army. Their world will become ours, it will burn under our feet as I rule from high. War, little witches. We are going to war, and you are to be the first casualties.”
Turning away, I smile at my unrest. “Burn them,” I order, as I head back to my throne, and the sound of flames fills the sacred temple, their screams soon following.
As they shriek, their skin melting and bones scorching, I chuckle.
Askaliarian, I am coming for you. You and your world. They will both be mine...
