Written for a writing prompt on reddit.
Prompt: Dark Lord received a prophecy that a young orphan from the nearby village will end his reign. Instead of attempting to get her killed, he adopted her.
The ritual was completed, and the brilliant light that had shown from the markings on the floor receded. The girl laying in the center of the ring of runes and sigils stirred, then sat up groggily and looked around in confusion. “Father? Are you there? what happened?” she asked as she blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the crumpled form laying in the smaller rune circle to the side.
Her eyes flashed open wide as understanding sunk in. She leapt to her feet and ran over to his side. “Oh, Daddy, no. No! Why!?” she shouted, her eyes brimming with tears. She knelt beside the black robed figure and gently cradled his head in her arms. Her tears dripped freely down onto his face. “Why?”
The Dark Lord smiled up at her. It was a kind, gentle smile, the smile that was only for her, though this time it was tinged with sadness. His eyes that before had always practically glowed with arcane power and sheer force of will were now dull and exhausted. For the first time in the girl’s life, he looked old, weak. The man raised a trembling hand out of the pool of his robes and gently cupped her cheek. A hand that for so long had wielded spell and sword with powerful ease, now barely had the strength for the small movement.
“Because I love you, child.” the man rasped out in a wavering voice. A voice that before had boomed forth, bending men and magic alike to his commands. “Because it was the only way to save you.” His hand dropped back down, his strength exhausted. “I… was the only sacrifice strong enough to... restore you. I.. am sorry…” His eyes drooped shut. His last breath was barely a whisper. “My destiny…” His lips settled into a contented smile.
The girl choked back a sob as she watched the last of the life draining out of the man who had raised her. The man who had taken her in, and loved her as his own. She couldn’t remember the day he had taken her in, so long ago as a child sees. But she knew of that day in the rain when he had come to take her. The family that had taken her in and treated her so cruelly, all fleeing in abject terror as the Dark Lord himself strode up to the home. She had just sat there, a toddler, watching him approach. She was the first person in over a century not to cower in terror at his overwhelming presence. She didn’t remember, but he had told her the story of it many times, a note of pride in his voice, and she knew it to be true.
There was also the part of the story he had never told her. But he had taught her well how to see the truth behind things, how to uncover what was hidden. She had learned on her own of the prophecy. The Prophet had foretold of her birth, and of her parent’s deaths. He had listed the signs and portents that had led her father to her that day. He had also foretold that she would be the bringer of the Dark Lord’s demise. That was the reason he had sought her out. Not to destroy her, but to take her in, raise her as his own. An attempt to twist the prophecy to his own ends.
Now she wept over her father’s body. She had never told him that she knew the true reason he had taken her. She suspected that he had known that she knew, but they had both left it unsaid. Neither could bear to speak it aloud, because the deeper truth was that they truly loved each other, the strange father and daughter. She was the only person in the world that he hadn’t seen as a tool to be used. She had never needed or wanted proof of his love, but now she knelt with that proof cradled in her arms.
She gently laid his head back down now, and stood. Looking down at his withered corpse, she swallowed back her sobs and her eyes hardened. His empire meant nothing to her. She had never really understood his lust for control, one of the few points of contention between them. The luxuries of the palace would bring her no comfort in her grief. She wanted none of it. He had taught her many things, deep things, and there was some small comfort there. She breathed deeply, feeling the power inside her not only restored, but vastly increased. She steeled herself, only one thought in her mind now. The magical malady she had just been cured of, that had almost killed her, was not natural. Someone had done this to her, to them. If it wasn’t the Prophet, then perhaps he would know who. She would find him, and he would tell her, willingly or not. One way or another she would hunt them down, and they would pay for what they had done to her father.
They would all pay.
