Chapter 47: chapter 47

The king reclined on his lavish cushions, his eyelids growing heavy with the weight of exhaustion. The night air was still, the only sound the faint rustling of the tent fabric in the breeze. But then—something changed. A subtle shift, a whisper of movement above him. Before he could react, a sharp tearing sound split the silence.His gaze snapped upward just in time to see the canvas of his tent rending apart, seams splitting as if by an unseen force. And then, like a shadow falling from the heavens, a figure plunged through the opening.Ivar.The king’s breath hitched, his body tensing. His mind reeled—how? He had been bound, secured in iron chains. He shouldn’t have been able to escape. He could never break iron chains. How was this even possible?Yet here he stood, the flickering lamplight casting sharp shadows across his face. His pale blue eyes burned with quiet fury, his presence a storm barely contained."Impossible," the king's thoughts screamed.Before he could gather himself, before his lips could form the command to summon his guards, Ivar moved. In the span of a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them, silent as a phantom. The king stiffened as the air around him thickened, laced with something unearthly, something cold.Before he could call for his guards, before he could even move, Ivar’s sword was already in motion.A flash of steel. A whisper of wind.The king barely had time to gasp before Ivar sliced his throat with his sword.A wet gurgle escaped the king’s lips as his hands shot up, fingers trembling, grasping at the wound as if he could hold his life in place. Warm blood spilled down his chest, soaking into the rich fabrics of his robe. His wide, disbelieving eyes locked onto Ivar’s, searching for mercy—but there was none.The world around him blurred, the golden glow of the lanterns dimming, the weight of his body growing heavier. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the silken cushions that had once cradled him in comfort, now stained crimson with his own blood. His mouth opened as if to speak, but only a rasping breath came out—a final, futile struggle against the inevitable.Ivar stood over him, his eyes emotionless, his grip firm on the hilt of his sword. The king’s body trembled, his vision swimming, and then—darkness swallowed him whole. The deed was done.Ivar stood over the king’s lifeless body for a brief moment, then he turned and leaped upward, vanishing through the torn opening in the tent’s ceiling, just as swiftly as he had arrived. The canvas rippled in his wake, swaying gently as if nothing more than a breeze had passed through.Outside, the night remained eerily undisturbed. The campfires burned low, the guards stood at their posts, unaware that the man they served lay dead just beyond the tent’s heavy drapes. Not a single soul had heard the struggle. Not a single whisper of alarm rose into the still night air.The king was gone. And yet, no one had the slightest clue of the horror that had just unfolded in the heart of their camp.Ivar spread his wings, their dark, ethereal feathers shimmering under the pale moonlight. With a powerful beat, he lifted himself into the night sky, soaring above the camp. The fires below flickered, casting restless shadows, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded within their heart.He flew until he reached the tallest tree at the edge of the forest, where he landed silently on a thick, sturdy branch. His body ached, every muscle screaming in protest. Blood—some his, some the king’s—streaked his torn clothes. His pale blue eyes, heavy with exhaustion, half-lidded as he gazed down at the camp.A sigh escaped his lips.He hadn't wanted this. He had spent his entire life trying to stay away from human conflicts, watching from the fringes but never interfering. And yet, despite his efforts, he had been pulled into their war, their greed, their endless thirst for power."This was necessary," he muttered, his voice barely louder than the rustling leaves. "I had to do it... or many more would have died."He clenched his fists, as if trying to hold onto that justification. But deep inside, something twisted. A quiet, aching sadness.His mother had once told him that the burden of power was not in the strength it gave but in the choices it demanded. And tonight, he had made a choice. One that could not be undone.The wind howled through the treetops, as if whispering its own judgment.Shaking off the weight of his thoughts, Ivar pushed himself up, his wings stretching once more. He couldn’t linger here. He needed to return.With one last glance at the camp, his form vanishing into the dark horizon. He soared through the vast expanse of the night, his wings cutting through the cold air like silent blades. The distant roar of the waterfall grew louder with each beat of his wings, a familiar sound that called him home.Mist swirled in the moonlight, rising like a silver veil between realms. As he neared, the cascading water trembled, then parted—splitting cleanly in half as if obeying an unspoken command.And then, like a shadow slipping into the void, he disappeared into his realm. The waterfall closed behind him, sealing the passage as if it had never existed.