The mist cleared from the outskirts of the kingdom of Leonis—once called the "Northern Garden" for its lavish beauty. Its walls were built of white marble veined with threads of pure gold, gleaming under the morning sun as if they looked down on the misery of the outside world with contempt. But the moment the vanguard of Alaric's army drew near, that sun began to hide behind thick violet clouds, and the gentle winds turned into storms of dust, lead, and ash, as if nature itself had decided to shed its mantle of beauty to flee from the footsteps of the Ash King.
Alaric stood atop the Hill of Regret overlooking the capital, astride his smoke‑gray steed that spat sparks from its nostrils with every breath. He no longer wore his old steel armor; his tattooed body had become the armor itself, volcanic stone covering his chest and neck until every trace of his humanity had vanished. His violet eyes stared with deadly stillness at the central citadel, where King Leonard was hiding—the man who, in cold blood and with an ostrich‑feather quill, had signed the warrant for the betrayal of Alaric's knights in the Valley of Bones in exchange for a handful of diamond mines and a promise of false safety.
Merlock rubbed his palms with nauseating relish, his voice like the death‑rattle of a serpent in a dry well:
"Look… gold is trying to shield their terrified eyes. Last night King Leonard sent a raven bearing an offer of peace—he offers you half his treasury and the hand of his daughter Claire in return for you turning west and leaving Leonis unharmed. The fool still does not realize that you seek no hoarded gold… you seek screams that will be etched into the memory of stone."
Alaric's voice rumbled like the splitting of the deepest mountains, a sound that shook the marrow before it reached the ears:
"Let him keep his gold to cover the faces of his slain, and let him keep his daughter to mourn at his grave. The only offer I will accept is that he come barefoot, dragging the tails of failure, to beg forgiveness from the souls he left to rot under the rain in that valley. And since his false pride will prevent him, I shall turn Leonis into ruins inhabited only by crows and scorched memories. Merlock… begin the Hymn of Annihilation. I want their spirits to break before their stones."
Merlock raised his staff, studded with the skulls of stillborn jinn, and began murmuring in a dead tongue that had not been uttered since the dawn of creation. Suddenly the ground beneath the walls of Leonis began to shake, and from its depths rose muffled human screams and a wailing that tore at the hearts. This was no geological tremor; it was the souls of those slain in the Valley of Bones—souls whose graves Merlock had magically exhumed at Alaric's command—trying to claw their way up to tear apart the foundations of a palace built from their blood and their silence.
Amid this horror, a knight of Leonis emerged from behind the gates carrying a white flag of parley. His gilded armor trembled so violently that it gave off a monotonous metallic clatter, betraying his buckling knees. In a faltering voice, barely audible from sheer terror, he spoke:
"King Alaric… my lord King Leonard reminds you of the ancient covenants… he reminds you that we are men, that we have children, and that the common folk bear no blame for the reckless decisions of kings. Take the gold, take the land, and have mercy on these innocent souls."
Alaric moved with murderous slowness, guiding his horse toward the terrified knight. He stared directly into his eyes with a coldness that killed hope at its very birth. In a low voice that caused the knight to fall senseless from his saddle, he murmured:
"The ancient covenants were buried with the corpses of my comrades, you there. And the mercy you plead for is what Leonis killed in my heart on the night of the great betrayal. Go and tell your master that I see no men in his city… I see only targets for my blade, and souls for my tattoos. Tell him that I will come to take his crown—not to place it upon my head, but to melt it down and pour it into his treacherous mouth so he may taste the gold he sold us for."
Alaric gave the signal to attack. This was not a battle; it was a terrifying harvest of souls. The Army of Ash surged forward as a single liminal mass, feeling neither the arrows nor the fire of the catapults that rained down upon them. Arrows that pierced their chests did not halt a single step, and swords that struck their shields shattered as though made of cheap glass. Alaric led the charge, his sword Soulgloom slicing the air and leaving behind a trail of accursed violet fire, cutting down knights and their horses with a single stroke as if they were paper.
When the great gate fell and its golden fragments scattered, Alaric entered the city to find the streets filled only with the smell of death and panic. The people cowered in the dark crypts of churches, trembling at the hissing of the spirits that now filled every alley and lane. At last Alaric reached the throne hall of Leonis and found King Leonard sitting there, trembling in his crimson velvet robes, surrounded by his personal guard—whose blood had frozen in their veins and whose swords had dropped from their hands the moment they saw Alaric's face, from which every trace of light had vanished.
Leonard spoke with pitiful pleading: "Alaric… I beg you… I was compelled… the pressure from the other kingdoms… and the gold was the only way to save my people from ruin…"
With absolute coldness Alaric seized the king by the throat and lifted him into the air with one hand, as though he were a light wooden puppet:
"Pressure? I will show you the meaning of true pressure now. I will not kill you with my sword's edge—that is an honor your neck does not deserve. I will make you live a hundred years within the dark abyss of your own mind, watching every soldier you abandoned die in the valley, staring at you and asking you every second: Why did you sell us?"
Alaric placed his tattooed hand upon the king's forehead and began to pour the terrifying memories of pain and death into his consciousness. King Leonard collapsed to the floor screaming screams that shook the castle walls and brought down the chandeliers—screams that continued until his black hair turned completely snow‑white and the skin of his face withered in mere seconds, transforming him into a living mummy that screamed soundlessly at the horrors she saw within herself.
Alaric turned toward the city as smoke began to swallow the peaks of its ivory towers, and ash fell like thick black snow, covering the false grandeur. Merlock said with demonic delight as he watched the destruction:
"Another kingdom has had its sun extinguished… another king has become a lesson for history. Who is next on the list of wrath?"
Alaric gazed toward the distant horizon, where the Forbidden Forest lay that sheltered Elinor. He felt one last, faint stab in his heart, which had turned to solid stone, but he dismissed it at once and answered with terrifying severity:
"Next is the entire world. I will not stop until ash becomes the only language that humans know in silence. So that there may be no place left for betrayal, we must erase life as they knew it and begin the sacred age of ash—an age that does not betray."
Alaric strode out of the palace, leaving Leonis behind as ruins where cold winds would mourn, and began his march toward the next kingdom. The black tattoos grew ever brighter and deeper with every soul they devoured, transforming the former knight into a nightmare that walked on two legs.