Chapter 3: **The Arrival Of The Dark Shaman***

The dark shaman was no ordinary figure; he was a man cloaked in mystery, feared for his power and the chaos that followed him wherever he went. Some said he had been exiled years ago for crimes too heinous to name. Others believed he lived between the mortal world and the shadowy realms, neither fully alive nor fully dead.

It was three nights later when he arrived.

The moonlight barely touched the throne room, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. A chill hung in the air as though the very palace held its breath. The tension was suffocating.

King Alden and Queen Elara stood side by side, their expressions grim but determined. The royal guards flanked them, their swords drawn, though their hands trembled ever so slightly.

A low, guttural sound echoed through the night—a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Then, without warning, a swirling black mist began to form at the edge of the courtyard. It coiled and writhed like a living thing, growing denser with every passing moment.

From within the mist, a figure emerged.He was tall and gaunt, his face obscured by a hood made of tattered black fabric. His robes were adorned with strange, glowing runes.

In one hand, he carried a staff of twisted ebony wood, its top crowned with a shard of what looked like crystallized shadow.

The dark shaman had arrived.

The guards instinctively stepped back as he approached, the air around him growing colder with each step. When he stopped a few feet away from the king and queen, he tilted his head slightly, as if amused by their unease.

"So," he said, his voice low and rasping, like wind scraping across dry leaves. "The mighty King Alden of Eldoria calls upon me. How... unexpected."

Alden’s jaw tightened, but he did not let his resolve waver. "I did not call you here lightly," he said, his tone firm. "You know why you’re here. My son’s life is at stake."

The shaman chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "Ah, yes. The poor little prince, wasting away in his golden bed. Such a tragedy." His tone was mocking, but his eyes—sharp and unyielding beneath the hood—bore into the king’s with unsettling intensity. "And you, the king who would break his own sacred laws to save him. How noble. How desperate."

Elara stepped forward then, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "We do not need your commentary," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "Can you help him or not?"

The shaman turned his gaze to her, and for a moment, the queen felt as though he could see straight through her. He let the silence stretch before speaking. "That depends," he said finally. "What are you willing to give?"

The queen’s breath hitched. She turned to Alden, who nodded grimly before stepping forward. "Name your price," the king said.

The shaman smiled, though it was more of a grimace that revealed yellowed teeth. "Ah, I do love a man of action," he said.

Elara leaned forward, her hands clutching the edge of her gown. "You can save him?" she asked, her voice trembling with hope.

The shaman’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "But such magic requires a specific kind of power. One that I alone cannot provide."

Alden frowned. "What do you mean?"

The shaman turned his head slightly, his hood shifting as he stared at the queen. "There is a girl," he said. "A girl with silver hair who lives deep in the thick forest. She possesses a magic unlike any other—a magic tied to the gods themselves. With her power, I can forfeit the sickness that plagues your son. She is the key."

Elara’s eyes widened, her mind racing. "A girl with silver hair? You’re sure?"

The shaman nodded. "Yes. She is hidden away, but I know where to find her. Bring her and I will save your son."

Alden leaned forward, his tone sharp. "And what do you want in return?"

He leaned heavily on his staff as he began to pace in slow circles around the royal couple. "You see, healing a curse such as this is no simple matter. It requires power—power that comes at a cost."

"We will pay whatever it takes," Elara said quickly, desperation lacing her words.

"Careful, my queen," the shaman said, his tone almost teasing. "Such bold declarations often lead to regret."

He stopped pacing and turned to face them fully. "Here is my offer," he said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "I will save your son. I will pull him back from the brink of death and rid him of the curse that binds him. But in return, I will require... a life."

Elara’s eyes widened, and she stepped back involuntarily. "A life?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," the shaman said simply. "Magic of this magnitude does not come without sacrifice. You must give me a life in exchange for your son’s."

Alden’s fists clenched at his sides. "Whose life?"

The shaman tilted his head again, a mockery of thoughtfulness. "That," he said, "I leave to you. But I will need an answer before I begin. Choose wisely, Your Majesties."

Elara’s knees felt weak, and she reached out to steady herself against Alden’s arm. "We can’t do this," she whispered. "We can’t trade someone’s life for his."

"Then let the prince die," the shaman said coldly. "The choice is yours. But if you do nothing, he will not last another week. The curse will consume him, and there will be no bringing him back."

Alden looked at Elara, his heart breaking at the anguish in her eyes. He turned back to the shaman. "If we agree," he said, his voice hoarse, "how long will it take?"

The shaman’s lips curled into a sinister smile. "The ritual will take three days," he said. "On the third night, your son will be free of the curse. But remember, the price must be paid in full, or the magic will unravel, and the consequences will be... catastrophic."

Elara sank to the ground, her hands covering her face as silent sobs wracked her body. Alden placed a hand on her shoulder, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked back at the shaman, his voice barely audible as he spoke.

"We will give you an answer by dawn."

The shaman inclined his head slightly. "Very well," he said. "But do not keep me waiting. Time is a luxury your son does not have."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the same swirling black mist from which he had come, leavi

ng the royal couple alone in the cold, heavy silence of the courtyard.