The Red Kingdom Ch 1: The Time To Die!

Night came with teeth in Caldrith Vale. I sat hunched inside a cold iron cage in the middle of the city—yes, the city. The capital. Bright l

Night came with teeth in Caldrith Vale.

I sat hunched inside a cold iron cage in the middle of the city—yes, the city. The capital. Bright lights, towering spires, giant statues of dead kings, all that jazz. And yet, here I was, locked up like a stray dog with fleas.

The bars around me were thick. The floor was stone. I was shivering like hell, but that wasn't what made me feel small.

I looked up and counted them again—nine others, all stuck in their own cells just like me. Some sat with heads down. Some stared into the dark, dead-eyed. One guy was whispering to himself. Maybe a prayer, maybe a confession, maybe just bored. Either way, we all looked the same.

Helpless.

But not surprised.

We knew why we were here.

I hugged my knees and let my head fall back against the stone. "Throne," I muttered. "How'd you get yourself into this mess?"

I closed my eyes and tried to think of home.

Evermere.

A small, quiet town at the very edge of Lurea—my country. The kind of place where the air always smelled like pine, and the lake beside it, Lake Velewyn, sparkled like it was made of stars. It wasn't big. It wasn't rich. But it was mine. Ours.

Until it wasn't.

Bandits came. Burned it to the ground. Took everything. And I—well, I ran. I ran all the way to Caldrith Vale. I didn't come looking for vengeance. I came for a chance.

A new life. A reason to keep going.

Too bad I showed up at the wrong damn time.

"Why me?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it. I sighed. Closed my eyes again. Tried not to think about the city waking up just beyond the bars.

Then came a sharp tap-tap-tap on my shoulder.

My eyes snapped open. "Huh?"

A soldier stood over me—full steel armor, red cloth wrapped across his chest like some kind of sash. Couldn't see his face under the helmet, but I could hear the boredom in his voice.

"On your feet," he said. "Time to move."

I stood slowly. My bones popped like firewood. Apparently, I'd fallen asleep. The sun was rising now, bleeding light into the sky and spilling over the buildings. Morning had come.

"It's time," I thought.

Time for... what, exactly?

Time to die...

Not punished. But condemned.

We were chosen. Or drafted. Or volunteered. The line between those was a little blurry when you're desperate.

The others were already being herded out of the cells like sheep, flanked by more soldiers. Nobody fought it. Nobody asked why. We already knew. Even if we didn't understand all of it yet.

I fell in line. We marched through the cobbled streets, and people gathered to watch. Hundreds of them. Lining the sides like they were waiting for a parade. Only no one smiled. No one waved. Just somber eyes, clenched jaws. Pity. Regret.

A little fear, too.

I wanted to yell something at them. What? Too scared to go yourselves? But I didn't. What was the point?

I wasn't mad at them.

I was mad at myself—for hoping this might've gone differently.

And then I saw it.

The Wall.

The thing people told stories about, drew sketches of, wrote poems for—and still never got right.

It wasn't a wall. It was a horizon.

It climbed into the clouds and disappeared, like the world had been sliced clean in half. I couldn't see the top. Couldn't even see where it ended, left or right. Just this impossible monolith of ancient black stone, carved with symbols that pulsed faintly, like it was alive.

The Wall of Varkor.

First and last line of defense. The boundary between our world and the world of monsters, gods, and everything else we were too small to understand.

I'd seen it once before. From a distance.

This was different.

This was up close.

A guy behind me let out a low whistle. "Bigger than I thought."

"Yeah," I said. "Same."

"You think they're really gonna open it?"

"I think," I said, "if they don't, someone's gonna be real disappointed."

A few of the others chuckled, but quiet. The kind of laugh people do before a funeral.

Because we weren't just walking to a wall.

We were going through it.

To be sacrificed.

Whatever was on the other side would be the end of us.

This was how it had to be.

I felt it deep down. The fear. The curiosity.

But more than anything?

I felt ready.

Not because I was brave. Or strong.

But because I had nothing left to lose.

"It's time," I whispered again.

And this time, I meant it.

They came in a straight line—knights in black plate, shining in the morning sun, each one moving like they were carved out of steel and fed only war stories for breakfast. Not a sound from them. Just the steady clank of boots against stone as they walked with purpose, forming a wall of their own before us.

Then, I saw him.

Walking slow behind the knights came a man draped in royal purple and gold, the kind of fabric that practically whispered I'm important every time it caught the wind. He was older, with black and grey hair swept back and a short beard neatly trimmed to match. His shoulders were squared, his chin lifted. He moved like someone who didn't fear anything—not because he was brave, but because the whole world had been built to keep him comfortable.

That was the king.

King Vaeron.

I'd never seen him this close. Usually he was just a name on people's lips, or a blurry figure on a balcony you weren't allowed near. Now he stood atop a small stone pedestal, hands behind his back, looking down at us—ten nobodies lined up like offerings.

He raised his voice. It was deep and clear, the kind of voice that didn't need to shout to be heard.

"To the brave souls before me... I offer my deepest thanks.

With your sacrifice today, the people of this nation shall continue to live.

Your courage is the shield behind which humanity survives.

The Kingdom of Lurea is forever in your debt.

May the gods watch over you as you step into the dark."

I stared at him.

Really stared.

And for a second, I hated him.

Not for the words—those were fine, rehearsed. Not even for the way he stood above us like he wasn't sending people to die with a smile.

No—I hated him because I remembered that damn line.

The Day of Choice.

All of Caldrith Vale was there, packed tighter than a starving wolf's ribs. I remembered standing in that miserable line for hours—sun burning my neck, sweat trickling down my back. Millions of us, waiting to walk up to one of those plain brown boxes and stick our hand in, like we were picking raffle tickets.

Pull a white stone? You walk away. Life goes on.

Pull a black stone?

Well.

You're standing right here, like me.

I didn't even hesitate when it was my turn. I'd waited so long, I was too numb to care. Reached in, fingers brushing against a dozen stones, all smooth, all the same weight.

Pulled mine out.

Black. Of course. My luck's been garbage since birth. If there was a pile of gold and a single turd in a barrel, I'd come out with the turd and a rash.

I shook my head and blinked, snapping back to the present as the king raised his arm. "Open the gate," he said.

Ten soldiers—five on each side—rushed toward the massive set of stone doors built into the Wall itself. I hadn't even noticed them until now. They blended right in, except for the thick ropes coiled around iron pulleys that jutted out of the stone like veins.

The soldiers grabbed the ropes and pulled.

Muscles strained. Armor groaned. One guy's face turned red like he was trying to give birth to a mountain.

Slowly... the doors began to part.

The sound was like a dying whale—low and grating, echoing across the plaza as dust and ancient air hissed out from the seam. The crowd went completely silent.

And then—open.

Beyond the gates was no battlefield. No green field. No cheering.

Just a massive dark tunnel. A cave.

It stretched into the Wall, deeper than I could see. Like the mouth of something that had been waiting a long time for a meal.

King Vaeron stepped forward. "Go with the gods."

The knights beside him slammed their spears into the stone twice—BOOM. BOOM.

The sound hit my chest like thunder.

Next to me, one of the other poor bastards let out a breath. "That's it, then," he muttered.

"Time to go," someone else said, and we all started moving like we'd rehearsed it—which, let's be honest, we hadn't.

Our feet dragged at first. None of us sprinted. None of us tried to be brave. We just... walked.

I kept my head forward, eyes locked on the tunnel ahead, even though my brain was screaming to stop, to run, to do anything except walk into the unknown.

Still, my legs moved.

One step. Another.

As we crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped. The sunlight vanished behind us like someone had flipped a switch. The smell changed too—damp, old, thick with something that didn't quite belong to this world.

And that's when it really hit me.

This really wasn't a punishment.

This was simply a death sentence.

The beginning of something we couldn't take back.

Whatever was waiting on the other side?

It wasn't going to care that the king said thanks.

It wasn't going to care that we pulled black stones.

It wasn't going to test us, it would simply take our lives.

I clenched my fists, shoved my nerves down, and muttered to myself under my breath:

"...Should've just pulled a damn white one."