THE KINGDOM OF WOLVES - PART 5: The Beginning and the End

The Kingdom of Wolves — once ruled by the iron fist of Emperor Rehema Atef, and later by his heir Dakarai — was a land carved from fear. Its history was written in the scars of the enslaved, a time the beggarly still called “the dark ages.” Though that era had officially ended, its shadow lingered in the cruel laws still etched into the kingdom’s stones, and in the silent suffering of its people.

Aten, the new emperor, did not wish to rule as his ancestors had. His heart was kind, his mind open. Yet the palace walls had shielded him. He knew laws from scrolls, not from the hunger in the streets or the hollow eyes of those broken by them. His world was marble and murmured counsel; his only glimpse beyond it was the roar of the colosseum.

Even as a boy, Aten had been captivated not by the blood spilled there, but by the one who refused to spill it: a warrior despised by the Gewels and Fangs. They called him the God-fallen, a champion who had forsaken divine grace by refusing to kill. But Aten saw what they did not — the weight of a life taken, the horror of a cycle that ended only in graves. This warrior fought not for gold or glory, but for something deeper. To Aten, he was the kingdom’s true champion.

Now, at seventeen, Aten had ascended the throne as tradition demanded. Yet true power eluded him. The Round Table of elders held the reins, governing in his name while he learned the ways of rule. For three years, he listened, advised by his shrewd older sister and soothed by his gentle younger brother — an emperor in title, but not in authority.

On the eve of his twentieth birthday, the night of a full moon, a stranger came.

Cold air whispered through the open window of the emperor’s chambers, stirring Aten from uneasy sleep. His eyes opened to a figure standing in the moonlight — faceless, silhouette blurred as if woven from shadow. Aten tried to rise, to call out, but his body was stone, his voice stolen. Confusion chilled him deeper than the wind. How? Guards stood at his door. The palace was impenetrable.

The stranger spoke, voice low and inevitable. They spoke of five events that would soon unfold.

First, a letter would arrive. Aten must accept it without delay.

Second, after the coming Games of Champions, a stranger would end the lies surrounding him.

Three more prophecies followed, each more dire than the last, a crescendo of coming ruin.

“Heed this warning,” the voice urged. “Only preparation can save you all. For a force approaches this world — one that seeks not to conquer, but to destroy everything and everyone.”

Then, the figure vanished.

Aten surged upright, breath ragged. Had it been a dream? But the window gaped open. And on the floor beneath it, dusted across the marble like a fallen shadow, lay a thin scatter of ashes.

-

The next day, his twentieth birthday was celebrated as a festival of power. The kingdom buzzed with change — some hopeful, some fearful. With the three years of regency now ended, Aten’s first true act as emperor was to disband the Round Table.

And as the months unspooled, the prophecies began to breathe.

The letter arrived.