The wind howled through the jagged peaks of the mountains, carrying with it ash and embers from the distant volcano that rumbled ominously on the horizon. Queen Eris of the Arcanthium Highlands stood at the edge of a crumbling cliff, her dark blue gown billowing in the tempestuous wind as if it, too, were alive with a will of its own. Gold-threaded patterns swept across the fabric, shimmering briefly in the dying light of the blood-red sun that sank like a wounded beast behind the jagged skyline. Her white hair cascaded down her back, a ghostly river of light amid the gloom. In her hand was a jagged staff of obsidian and crystal that pulsed faintly, almost in time with her own heartbeat.
“They said I was a queen without a throne,” Eris murmured, her voice more steel than silk as she addressed the two figures standing behind her. “Yet, here I am, at the end of the world, and the world still kneels to me.”
The taller of the two, a broad-shouldered warrior clad in battered plate armor smeared with soot, scoffed but kept his eyes downcast in deference. His crimson cloak was torn, evidence of the battles that had raged all week. “With respect, Your Radiance, it’s not the world that kneels. It’s the fools that still follow you. And they’ll be ash by morning if we don’t—”
Eris raised her hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. The air itself seemed to shiver under her gesture. “Do you doubt my course, Sir Armick? After all you’ve seen? The secrets I’ve bled to uncover? The power I’ve claimed?” She turned to face him fully now, her golden eyes gleaming with an unearthly light. Her voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and deadly. “Do you truly think I set foot here to lose?”
The second figure, a young woman with fiery red hair and a weathered green tunic, stepped forward. A satchel of artifacts and ancient scrolls hung from her shoulder as if it weighed as much as the immense tension filling the air. Her emerald eyes darted nervously to the queen, then to the horizon where a column of dark figures—thousands strong—marched toward them beneath banners of deep, inky black. The sigil of a wyvern with shattered wings adorned their flags, a grim omen. “My queen,” the woman began, her voice soft but urgent, “what you seek lies within the Wailing Spire. The armies of The Ashen Court will reach us before we can breach its defenses. It is not too late to retreat and regroup.”
Eris let out a low, humorless laugh. “Retreat?” Her lips curled into a faint smirk, though her sharp features betrayed no joy. “Do you not see? If the Wailing Spire falls into their hands, there will be no sanctuary left to regroup to. No Arcanthium. No Highlands. No future.” She locked eyes with the red-haired woman. “Tell me what the scrolls say, Keira. What is the incantation that will awaken the Gate?”
Keira hesitated, clutching the satchel tighter. “The process is dangerous… unstable. Even if you succeed, the toll—”
“The toll will be mine to bear.” The queen’s words were final, spoken with the authority of one who brooked no argument. “Now tell me.”
Keira exhaled shakily, her fingers trembling as she pulled an ancient, weathered scroll from her satchel. She unrolled it carefully, revealing a string of arcane symbols written in a language older than memory. The queen stepped closer, her golden eyes scanning the writing with an intensity that made Keira take a reflexive step back.
“The words are clear,” Eris whispered, as if speaking more to herself than those around her. “The Gate requires blood… mine, and theirs.” She tilted her head toward the approaching army, a faint smile playing on her lips. The sky above them seemed to darken further, as if mirroring her resolve.
“This is madness!” Sir Armick spat, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. “You would sacrifice yourself? Us? For what? A chance at a broken power no mortal should wield?”
“It is that ‘broken power,’ Armick,” Eris said, spinning to face him with a fury that crackled like the raw energy in the staff she held, “that will tear the Ashen Court asunder. Do you truly think we can best them with swords and bravery alone? They have taken everything from us. And I will take everything from them in return.”
Her pronouncement echoed in the chaotic winds, like a vow spoken to gods who no longer listened. Before Armick could respond, the ground beneath their feet quaked violently, sending loose stones and ash tumbling into the abyss below. The Wailing Spire, a monolithic structure of obsidian and bone, loomed in the distance like some ancient sentinel. A strange light now flickered at its peak, as though it sensed the approach of its would-be master.
Eris strode forward, the golden hem of her gown dragging through the dirt but somehow remaining unsullied. With every step, the air seemed to thicken around her, bending in deference to the magnitude of her presence. Keira and Armick exchanged glances before rushing to follow, the warrior muttering curses under his breath.
As they approached the Spire’s gates, a low, otherworldly hum began to reverberate through the air. Eris paused, her eyes on the ancient doors. They were inscribed with the same arcane symbols as the scroll, glowing faintly as if responding to her proximity. She turned her gaze skyward, where the first of the Ashen Court’s wyverns had taken flight, their silhouettes blotting out the sun entirely.
“Keira,” Eris called, her voice unwavering as the cacophony of war drums and screeching wyverns grew louder. “Prepare the incantation. The Spire will open for no one else.”
Keira hesitated, then knelt, placing the scroll against the ground as she began to chant in halting syllables. The symbols on the gate flared brighter, pulsating like a heartbeat. Armick drew his sword, taking a defensive stance as the first ranks of the Ashen Court’s soldiers came into view, black-armored phantoms cloaked in smoke and flame.
Eris closed her eyes, gripping her staff tighter. The same words Keira chanted began to spill from her lips, only louder, more forceful, as if she were shaping the very fabric of reality through sheer will. The staff in her hand erupted with light, blinding and golden, as the gates of the Wailing Spire began to creak open. From within came a roar, deep and resonant, like the voice of the earth itself.
The Ashen Court’s forces surged forward, a tide of darkness ready to swallow them whole, but Eris did not falter. As the queen raised her staff high, the roar within the Spire grew louder, and a wave of brilliant, otherworldly energy burst forth, consuming everything in its path. It was power—raw, unyielding, and devastating—and at its center stood the queen, her gown alight with golden flames as her enemies screamed into oblivion.
As the world around them fell into chaos, one truth became clear: the queen of the Arcanthium Highlands was not merely human, and the cost of opposing her was higher than anyone could have imagined.
Genre: Dark Fantasy
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Channeling Queen Marika: Cosplay Ideas and Inspiration in Regal Dark Blue Gown
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
Post Comment