Chapter 119 RUMORS
When the attack came to the village near the capital, it did not begin with a scream.
It began with a memory.
A name—one long buried—rose again in hushed voices, carried from door to door like a curse remembered too late.
“Athalia’s… ghost.”
Because the signs were familiar.
Children were found pale and still, their bodies untouched by wounds—yet emptied, as though life itself had been drawn out of them. No struggle. No cries in the night.
Just silence.
And those who remembered…
remembered too well.
\---
In the last village, the first scream came only after it was already over.
“Someone—!”
A man stumbled into the street, his voice breaking. “My son—he’s gone!”
Doors flew open. Torches flared to life. Panic spread like fire through dry grass.
Then—
Someone pointed.
“There!” a woman cried, her hands trembling. “By the well!”
Every head turned.
And for a moment…
time itself seemed to falter.
Because the man standing there—
wore the face of the prince.
\---
“Kaelion…?”
The name slipped out, uncertain. Disbelieving.
He stood beneath the dim glow of torchlight, half his face swallowed by shadow. His expression was calm—too calm for a place drowning in fear.
At his feet—
a child lay motionless.
The air shifted.
Confusion curdled into fear.
Fear sharpened into something dangerous.
“No…” someone whispered.
Then louder—
“It’s him!”
“It’s the prince!”
The crowd drew together—not closer to him, but closer to each other.
Tighter.
Stronger.
Because fear demanded a shape.
And now—
it had one.
“You monster!” a man shouted, grief tearing through his voice. “What have you done?!”
Voices rose, clashing, feeding one another.
“You brought this upon us!”
“Ever since you came—!”
“This is your curse!”
The accusations became a storm.
But the man who wore Kaelion’s face did not react.
He only watched.
Still.
Unmoved.
And that stillness—
terrified them more than anything.
“Burn him!” someone screamed.
The word caught.
Spread.
“Burn him!”
“A monster deserves fire!”
Torches lifted. Hands clenched.
Fear became decision.
And decision became action.
\---
They rushed him.
Too many.
Too fast.
But still—
not fast enough.
Because the moment they crossed that unseen line—
he moved.
\---
It was not a battle.
It was a massacre.
He did not hesitate.
Did not falter.
Did not spare.
A man lunged—
and fell before his cry could form.
Another followed—
then another.
Each movement was clean.
Precise.
Effortless.
As though he had done this before.
Many times.
Torches dropped.
Shouts broke into screams.
Then into something worse.
Panic.
“Run!”
But there was nowhere left to run.
Because he was already among them.
And wherever he stepped—
life ended.
\---
When it was over, the village fell silent once more.
Not peaceful.
Never that.
Just… empty.
He stood alone among the stillness, his breathing even, his expression unchanged.
At his feet, the earth felt wrong.
Dry.
Drained.
Marked.
He glanced down once—
then turned away.
There was nothing left for him there.
\---
By the time he reached the kingdom gates, the rumors had already outrun him.
“They say it’s Athalia’s ghost—”
“No… worse—”
“They say it’s the prince himself—”
“He brought this curse with him!”
“Bad things started when he became crown prince!”
“He made us trust him first—then turned on us!”
Fear no longer needed truth.
It had stories.
And stories spread faster than truth ever could.
\---
In the nearby villages, no one waited for proof.
They fled.
Even within the capital, doors were barred. Children hidden. Prayers whispered into restless nights.
But fear does not listen.
\---
In the last village he reached, someone stood in his path.
“Stop!”
A man, trembling but resolute, raised a blade. “You will not take another child!”
Then he saw him clearly.
His voice faltered.
“You… you’re—”
He never finished.
Because in the next breath—
he was gone.
\---
Whispers turned into unrest.
Unrest into anger.
And at the center of it all—
one name.
Kaelion.
Some cursed the king for ever bringing him into the royal line.
“A stranger made crown prince—”
“Perhaps this is punishment—”
“Perhaps Athalia’s spirit rejects him—”
The kingdom began to turn.
\---
“They are blaming him.”
The words settled heavily in the council chamber.
“They say the attacks began after his crowning,” a minister said carefully. “Not immediately… but enough to raise suspicion.”
“Suspicion?” another scoffed. “They call him a curse.”
“A monster.”
“A bad omen.”
The king’s voice cut through them.
“That is enough.”
But it wasn’t.
Because beyond those walls—
the words were already alive.
\---
“They say it walks at night—”
“They say it drinks blood—”
“They say he is not human—”
“And now the children—”
“It must be Athalia’s ghost… awakened because of him.”
\---
Kaelion stood by his chamber window, listening as unrest echoed faintly through the city.
He had heard enough.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass.
Unchanged.
Familiar.
And yet—
not.
His jaw tightened.
“So this is how the kingdom turns against me…” he murmured.
\---
But then—
came the moment that shattered what little certainty remained.
Two survivors were brought into the capital under heavy guard, their bodies weak, their eyes haunted by what they had seen. The people gathered as they were led through the streets, whispers rising like a storm behind them.
“The prince… it was the prince…”
By the time they reached the council chamber, the air was already thick with expectation.
They spoke.
Voices shaking.
Words breaking.
But clear enough.
They had seen him.
Seen the crown prince standing among the dead. Seen him take the children. Seen him kill.
The chamber erupted.
Outrage. Fear. Denial.
And then—
before another question could be asked—
it happened.
One of the survivors choked.
Collapsed.
The other followed moments later.
Dead.
Just like that.
No wound.
No warning.
Only silence.
And somewhere within that silence—
Kaelion stirred.
Not in body—
but in something deeper.
A flicker of awareness.
A distant, fractured sense that something within him… had heard.
Had known.
The council descended into chaos.
If there had been doubt before—
it was gone now.
And across the kingdom, the cry began to rise:
Judgment.
Punishment.
Justice.
For the prince.
Whether he was guilty—
or not.