In the cold, dark corner of the stone prison, Omri sat with his hands chained together in front of him and his ankles chained to the floor. He had been stripped of the power to do anything. Except think. Plan his revenge. Contemplate his future.
He would escape this prison. He would remain in Varzack long enough to regain his physical strength and ensure his brother rotted in a prison of Omri’s choosing. And he would become King of the Land of Zandador.
When he became king, he would make the world bend to his will. He would have complete control of everyone and everything. Dragons would obey him. People would fear him. Even the land would produce the food and plants he demanded.
When he became king, he would dictate what the people learned, where they lived, what jobs they worked, who they married and how many kids they could have.
When he became king, no one would dare defy him. If they did, he would have them killed or banned to the Land of No Return.
When he became king, he would show no mercy. Have no compassion. Show no sympathy. He would treat people the way he was being treated in this prison. He wanted every person in his kingdom to feel like they had shackles on their hands and feet, to know the hopelessness of being a prisoner, to have no say in the day to day activities of their lives.
When he became king, he would gain total domination over the Land of Zandador. Varzack. The entire Great Rift. And eventually the dimension on the other side of the portal known as earth. ffffffffff