Azrodyl the Knight Coffee Mug – Limited Edition (2/5) | Available in 9 Colors | Detailed Illustration

Chapter 2,

The scent of candle wax and old parchment hung heavy in the throne room. The golden chalice in the king's hands caught the flickering light as Azrodyl knelt, his sword held upright before him. His breath was calm, but a vague feeling burned in his chest. 

The king raised the chalice, his voice deep and heavy. “Azrodyl, loyal knight of the crown, the night bears doom. The queen has vanished.” He paused, his fingers white on the golden chalice. “She was last seen in the underground chambers, where no light dares to enter. Guards who followed her returned with blank eyes, their words confused and without reason.” 

The court stared in silence. The king leaned forward. “You will find her. But listen well, knight. Once you descend, nothing will be the same. This is no battle against steel, no duel in the arena. The shadows themselves whisper there, and some say they breathe.” 

Azrodyl had bowed his head. No hesitation, no doubt. He had accepted the assignment and left without a word. 

Now he stood here, but no longer as the man who had knelt before his king. The castle corridors lay behind him, along with the warmth of the hearths and the whispers of courtiers wondering if he would ever return. Before him lay the depths. Not just any corridor, not just a passage into the unknown. This was something else. 

The air thinned, the temperature dropped. His breath curled in the cool darkness as his eyes focused on the door at the end of the tunnel. The stone door was old, worn by time and unknown hands. Weathered inscriptions crept across its surface like veins of forgotten power. As he drew closer, he finally noticed it: the smell. Not of damp stone or rotting wood. But of trees. Pines. A forest?

Azrodyl froze. There was no forest here. Then he heard it. First as a sigh through the cracks of the door, then as a whisper—voices, carried by a wind that shouldn't have been there. They weren't words, and yet he understood them; they whispered his name! 

His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword. This was no longer a corridor. No longer a castle. This was something else. Azrodyl pressed his hand to the rough stone and felt the cold gnashing into his skin. A shiver ran down his spine as he pushed the massive door open with a scraping sound. A cold breeze brushed his face, imbued with the scent of moss and damp earth. Before him lay not the chilly depths of a cellar, but a vast forest, shrouded in mist and darkness!