The Prophecy: Chapter 1

A beat. Steady. Rhythmic.
One-two. One-two. A heartbeat.
A flow. In and out. Breath.
Around and around. A circuit. Blood flowing through veins.
Life returning to the body.

The Dark Lord’s eyes shot open, though at first they saw nothing. A dense fog permeated his very being – a side effect of the stasis. His mind was groggy and clouded, as if his brain was trying to remember how to think. It took a moment of concentration to disperse the fog, and the revelation swept in shortly after.
It worked! He had survived the sleep and awoken at some later time. But how much time had passed? And what happened with the Chosen One and the Prophecy?
The stasis was supposed to last half a century – long enough for the Hero to grow old and complacent, but something inside the Dark Lord told him something hadn't gone quite as planned. The chamber hadn’t been found, that much was clear, but was it because of how well hidden it was or because not enough time had passed for it to be found yet? For all he knew the Hero was still wandering the tunnels searching for him.
He struggled to sit up, feeling every molecule of his mortal form ache in protest. Either the passage of time – however long that was – or the stasis spell had not been kind to him. Mortal bodies were so fragile, despite the supernatural qualities he was able to bestow upon his own. He pined for his true, incorporeal form.
With his vision now returning to him, he took the opportunity to examine his surroundings in detail. The chamber was exactly how it was before his sleep: four rough, barren walls, though now with a significant layer of dust clinging to them. A musty smell struck his nose. The design had to be airtight, or else it risked an errant bit of magic interfering with the stasis spell, but it appeared that hadn't been accomplished. That alone could have been the cause of his spell going awry, or it could have been a dozen other minute details improperly worked – he had no way of knowing.
He stood up and attempted to wipe the dust off himself, instead tearing streaks through the magical armor as if it was paper. The flakes of his once-impenetrable protection fluttered lazily down through the air and collected into a dark pile on the floor.
How long had he been asleep?
Shaking off the rest of the rotted armor, he found that his gambeson and trousers underneath had fared far better. And tucked away inside a pocket was a pouch filled with coins that appeared to be perfectly preserved. His body, however, was not in quite as good of a condition. His muscles were sluggish and weak, even by regular mortal standards. Still, it was less severe than it could have been had his spell failed completely. As long as his magic was still potent he would be fine. And speaking of magic…
The Dark Lord closed his eyes and moved his concentration inward. Magic flowed through his veins like a small stream, nourishing both body and mind. That only caused him distress; it wasn’t enough. It should have been a mighty river, a flood, brushing away any weakness in its way. As disturbing as it all was, he didn’t have time to waste rebuilding his strength, so it would have to suffice for the time being.
He raised his hand, felt a crackle of electricity between his fingertips, and smiled. Letting the magic flow through him helped reduce the fatigue, regardless of its pathetic magnitude. With a surge of as much energy as he could muster, he flew upward past the ramp he had slid down and crashed through the floor into the tunnels. Once again, the area seemed completely unchanged. There was no sign of the Hero's influence, no sign that he had been there at all.
Ignoring the growing disquiet in his gut the Dark Lord followed the tunnels all the way back to the secret entrance, only to find it gone. No doubt it had been broken by the Hero.
The first piece of evidence that things had changed came in the form of sunlight pouring in from outside, scattering the sepulchral atmosphere he'd spent so much time achieving within his domicile. Though his castle had been windowless, he wasn't surprised that there would be enough holes to let some light in after the siege. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to see nothing left but ruins.
The sunlight assaulted his eyes. Despite being the Dark Lord sunlight had never bothered him beyond how it affected any mortal body. So the fact that the light burned as fiercely as it did added more time to how long he must have been hidden away in the shadow of the stasis chamber. In addition to that, as his vision cleared he could make out a steel grate spanning the opening. That would have taken some time to set up. Any presumptions about the length of his nap were gradually increasing, as were the chances that his plan had succeeded.
He gripped the metal bar and gave it a tug. Solid. Meant to last. He questioned why the passage hadn't simply been blocked off completely. Not that it mattered, since he was going to open it one way or another. Already, he had begun channeling the fire in his blood and sending it to his fingertips. It took only a matter of seconds for the metal to begin glowing and sending out a cascade of acrid smoke, and a few seconds more for the bars to completely disintegrate, dripping into pools of molten metal on the ground.
He stepped over the slag and into the castle proper. At first glance, nothing seemed different from how he’d left it, with the exception of some new holes. Unlike the smoldering ruin he expected to find from the Chosen One’s assault, the halls seemed perfectly intact and preserved. And the holes, he discovered to his dismay, were windows.
What had happened in his absence that the castle had been left intact? And not just intact, but renovated! Who would go through the effort to disrespect him in such a way by cleaning up his castle?
As if in response to his question a voice rose up from somewhere to his left. He quickly ducked back inside the tunnels and out of sight, hoping to overhear something that could help him begin to piece together what was going on before any killing started. The voice gradually grew louder as it moved down the hall, accompanied by other murmuring voices and a multitude of footsteps.
Guards? Enemy soldiers? He scooped up a stone and prepared for whatever was approaching. Daring to peek his head around the corner, he glimpsed something far worse than being defeated by the Hero. For the first time in his immortal existence he was genuinely shocked beyond words.