A dark king

A Story Starting - 2026

Dear Reader,

The day job has reclaimed my time. I wanted to share a piece of what I developed over the summer. I'm not sure how this goes forward, but I know the dragon at the heart of the story. The thing I think is funny is that Death is the storyteller.

I hope you'll enjoy this snippet of a work in progress, and I'll talk to you next week.

Night Terror

Kharon Thanatos stood slowly, like an old man whose joints ached from the impending storm. No storm pressed the horizon and was an immortal god.

He put his weight on the staff of the scythe as his robes shifted. He always appeared in his skeletal form when he crossed realms into the Leaindeail. Not much had changed in that regard.

When he stepped in front of the fire ignited by a Valkyrie born touching the well of fire, an expectant hush fell over the immortals and gifted humans seated on the patio. The ripple of anticipation held an edge of fear.

Perhaps his reputation deserved that fright. He was the King of Death. Yet, they had gathered after the Run on a chilled Saturday evening in December to hear a story, and he had one they should hear.

Kharon was a masterful minstrel, and with Geraldine's help he could use the energy from the fire to weave enchanted tales as the ancient bards once told.

When the scythe's handle touched the stone as he shifted his cowl away from his skull, Kharon heard the banshee's voice in his mind.

Maybe you should have brought a staff instead.

And look like a goth wizard? No thank you. I am Death. Besides, if the magic fails…

The scythe's still sharp.

Geraldine finished his thought with a tinkling laugh floating lightly on the breeze. The lingering edge of fear eased with her light laughter infecting the atmosphere.

If he had lips, Kharon would have smiled. A man who wielded magic and skipped weapons practice often met the Ferryman in his youth. Still, there were worse things than a meeting with himself in the dream.

Kharon practiced both daily. He was the magic and the steel which offered a banshee safety. In return, she loved him. Nothing threatened Geraldine Windwraith because an old god needed her love.

He let his voice project ‌over the crowd with magic. No tongue meant no actual voice.

I hadn't anticipated so many of you tonight. I'm humbled that you came to the fire to hear an old god's musings. Thank you for choosing to share your evening with me.

He waited until the polite applause faded. When Geraldine came close, he grasped her hand in his as errant magic from the dream clothed the banshee in flesh and exotic cloth. The two of them took a slight bow.

May I introduce Geraldine Windwraith? My banshee queen has agreed to accompany me and influence the atmosphere for a more immersive experience.

More applause erupted as Geraldine let herself fade away into the breeze, and the magic deepened the darkness around the fire. Thanatos wove the ancient magic of the bards and began the tale.

Long ago, in an age before the present age, when mortal men still believed in the power of magic, a great battle in a war that never fully ceased took place at the foot of Mount Iolair. The decimation of an army at the hands of a man who preferred peace became the makings of a legend so powerful many prefer to dismiss the story as fiction. I played a part of that battle, and I offer the tale the way it really happened…

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Thank you for stepping into the dream once more. If you are listening on YouTube, don't forget to like and subscribe for more original stories and audio adventures! I'm neck-deep in bookish stuff, editing and posting chapters of Blood Dark. Leave your comments and questions. I'd love to hear from you. If you found this post worthy, please feel free to share it. I hope you have a lovely weekend and will discover a grand story. Please remember when you read, be kind and leave your reviews. Until my next post, welcome to the dream...

Be Careful!

Happy Reading,

Bye-Bye,

Ophelia Kee

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