MrDrex

The kings Ashes
Chapter 4: The Whispers of Treason

The Salt-Stained Docks of Eldrin

The night air hung thick with the stench of rotting fish, seaweed, and the acrid tang of tar. Waves slapped against the barnacle-crusted pylons beneath the docks, their rhythmic pulse the only constant in the chaos of Eldrin’s midnight port.

Ethan adjusted the stolen Veyne guard’s cloak around his shoulders, the serpent sigil itching against his skin. The disguise had held so far—no one looked twice at a lone soldier making his rounds. But tonight wasn’t about blending in. Tonight was about proof.

Kael’s words slithered through his mind:
"Cedric’s been smuggling more than spices. Follow the gold, and you’ll find the knife waiting for your back."

A cold drizzle began to fall as Ethan moved through the labyrinth of crates and cargo. The docks never slept—merchants, smugglers, and cutthroats thrived in the shadows. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting jagged shadows that twisted like hanged men.

Then he saw it.
The Valmari Ship

Black Siren.

The name was etched in flowing Valmari script along the hull. No merchant vessel—this was a warship disguised as a trader, its deck bristling with hidden ballistae beneath tarps.

Ethan’s blood turned to ice.

Valmari ships hadn’t docked in Eldrin in ten years. Not since the war began.

And yet here one stood, unloading under the protection of Cedric’s guards.

Ethan melted behind a stack of crates marked "Dried Figs—Southern Isles." A lie. The wood smelled of iron and oil.

Twenty paces away, a Valmari captain—face scarred, fingers glittering with stolen rings—spoke with a man in a merchant’s robes.

Cedric’s steward.

"—delayed the last shipment due to patrols," the steward hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

"The Warlord does not tolerate delays," the Valmari growled. He snapped his fingers. Two crewmen heaved open a crate.

Not figs.

Swords.
Dozens of them, their blades oiled and sharpened for war.

The steward palmed a pouch of gold. "Tell your master the next shipment will include the schematics he requested. The city’s gate weaknesses. The guard rotations."

Ethan’s stomach lurched.

Treason.

Not just smuggling.

Cedric was selling Eldrin’s secrets to the enemy.

As the men dispersed, Ethan slipped closer to the ship. A lone Valmari sailor guarded the gangplank, half-drunk on spiced rum.

A quick slash of Ethan’s dagger opened his throat.

The body slumped silently. Ethan dragged it into the shadows, then ascended to the ship’s deck.

The captain’s quarters were locked.

Ethan picked it in seconds.

Inside, a ledger lay open on the desk.

Page after page of shipments:
"50 blades—delivered to House Veyne warehouses."
"Payment: 200 gold crowns + gatehouse blueprints."
"Next: Assassins requested for ‘Draycott problem.’"

Ethan’s hands shook.

They weren’t just planning to rob him.

They were planning to murder him.

He took the ledger.

Then he lit the ship’s sails with a stolen lantern.

Flames roared to life, devouring the rigging.
By the time the alarm was raised, Ethan was gone—the proof of Cedric’s treason burning in his grip.

The kings Ashes : Part-3

The night was a living thing—a thick, suffocating shroud of mist and shadows that clung to the cobblestones like a second skin. The air reeked of rotting fish, spilled ale, and the metallic tang of old blood. Somewhere in the distance, a drunkard’s slurred song echoed before being cut short by a muffled curse.

Ethan Draycott pressed himself against the damp brick wall of a tannery, his breath slow and controlled. The rough stone scraped against his back through his stolen cloak, a constant reminder of how far he had fallen. Once, he had commanded armies. Now, he was reduced to this: a specter in the dark, waiting to butcher the men who had taken everything from him.

Kael’s words slithered through his mind:

"Cedric’s men patrol in threes. They check the taverns at midnight. The one at the rear always lags behind—his left leg drags from an old wound. Kill him first."

Ethan’s fingers flexed around the dagger’s hilt. The blade was cold, its edge honed to a killing sharpness.

Boots crunched on gravel.

Ethan didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Three figures emerged from the fog, their silhouettes distorted by the flickering torchlight. They wore the colors of House Veyne—deep crimson cloaks lined with gold, the serpent sigil glinting on their breastplates.

The lead guard—a barrel-chested brute with a nose broken one too many times—scanned the alley. "Nothing. Let’s move."

The second, a wiry man with a crossbow, nodded.

The third, just as Kael had said, limped slightly. His left leg.

Ethan’s teeth bared in a silent snarl.


The patrol moved past his hiding spot, their voices fading.

Ethan waited.

Five steps.

Ten.

Then—

The lagging guard paused, turning to relieve himself against the wall.

Now.

Ethan moved like a shadow given form.

One hand clamped over the man’s mouth, stifling any cry. The other drove the dagger up, beneath the ribs, angled to pierce lung and heart. The blade met resistance for a fraction of a second before sliding home with a wet snick.

The guard stiffened, eyes bulging. A hot, coppery stench filled the air as his bladder let go.

Ethan held him as the life fled his body, lowering the co**se soundlessly to the ground.


Blood pooled beneath the body, black in the moonlight.

Ethan worked quickly.

He stripped the dead man of his armor, his cloak, his weapons. The breastplate was still warm from the co**se’s fading heat. The stench of sweat and garlic clung to the gambeson beneath.

A small leather pouch held three silver coins and a folded letter. Ethan didn’t bother reading it—he stuffed it into his own cloak.

Then, with methodical precision, he arranged the body. Arms crossed. A copper coin pressed over each eyelid.
Payment for the ferryman.
The armor fit poorly—the dead man had been broader in the shoulder—but it would suffice. Ethan pulled the hood low, letting shadows hide his face.

Then he stepped into the open.

The other two guards were twenty paces ahead, arguing over which brothel to visit next.

Ethan limped, mimicking the dead man’s gait.

"Took you long enough," the crossbowman sneered as Ethan fell in step behind them.

Ethan grunted, keeping his head down.

The brute laughed. "Leave him be. You know his leg pains him."

They never looked back.

Never saw the wolf in their midst.

An hour later, the patrol disbanded.

Ethan slipped away into the night, his hands steady, his soul ice.

One down.

Dozens more to go.

The kings Ashes : Part-2
Ethan Draycott’s Past
Ethan Draycott was the second son of Lord Aldric Draycott, a respected but minor nobleman from the northern territories of Vaelis. Unlike his elder brother, who was groomed for lordship, Ethan was trained as a warrior—skilled with blade and strategy.

At the Grand Tourney of Eldrin, held in honor of the king’s coronation, Ethan competed in the melee. Though he was not the favorite, his relentless fighting style earned him victories against knights far more decorated.

It was there he first saw Liora Veyne, a noblewoman from a wealthier but politically weaker house. She watched him from the stands, her piercing green eyes locked onto him even as blood dripped from his brow.

After his final victory, she approached him, offering a silk handkerchief to wipe his wounds.

"A brute who fights like a wolf should at least look presentable," she teased.

Ethan, unused to noble courtship, was immediately ensnared.

Liora was beautiful, yes—but she was also calculating. The Veyne family had wealth but little influence, and the Draycotts had a strong military reputation. A union between them would benefit both houses.

Ethan, however, saw only her wit and charm. He wrote her letters during his campaigns, sent her gifts of captured enemy daggers and foreign silks. She responded with carefully worded missives, each one stoking his devotion.

When he finally proposed, kneeling in the gardens of her family’s estate, she smiled and said:

"A man like you should never kneel… but I’ll allow it this once."

Their wedding was a grand affair—Ethan in his finest armor, Liora in a gown of silver and emerald. The king himself blessed their union.

But behind her radiant smile, Liora was already plotting.

A year into their marriage, the Valmari Empire invaded Vaelis’ eastern borders. The king called for his best commanders—Ethan was among them.

Liora kissed him farewell, her lips cold. "Come back a hero," she said.

Ethan fought for five brutal years, leading desperate battles against the Valmari hordes. He earned the name "The Iron Wolf" for his relentless tactics.

But while he bled on the frontlines, Liora was weaving her own schemes.


During the war, Ethan led a su***de mission behind enemy lines to sabotage a Valmari supply route. His unit was ambushed—only he and two others survived, fleeing into the wilderness.

That was when Kael the Ghost found them.

A former assassin exiled from Valmari, Kael had been living as a bandit, preying on both sides of the war. He could have killed Ethan—but instead, he saved him.

"I know what you are," Kael had said, stitching Ethan’s wounds in a hidden cave. "A man who fights for a kingdom that will discard him."

Ethan dismissed his words at the time. But when he returned home to betrayal, he remembered Kael’s warning.

And so, when the world turned its back on him, Ethan sought out the one man who had seen the truth from the beginning.

The kings Ashes : Part-1
The King’s Ashes

*Ethan Draycott*, a once-revered war hero, returns home after years of battle to find his wife, *Liora*, has betrayed him—declaring him dead, stealing his wealth, and marrying his treacherous steward, *Cedric Veyne*. Beaten and left for dead, Ethan is consumed by vengeance. With the help of *Kael the Ghost*, a shadowy underworld figure, he uncovers Cedric’s treasonous dealings with their kingdom’s enemies.

One by one, Ethan hunts down those who wronged him. He confronts Liora, forcing her to admit she never loved him before killing her. He then murders Cedric, exposing his crimes to the kingdom. With the people’s support, Ethan overthrows the corrupt king, seizing the throne for himself.

Years later, *King Ethan* rules with ruthless justice, shaped by betrayal. He trusts no one—because the wolf does not forgive.