Chapter 31 - 51 (Combined Publication)

Chapter 31; An Arrow in The Back

/The Bremingade

And the charge began.

‘Archers! Lead on my side!’ Theren screamed out, as her siege-men began moving forward towards the great walls. The archers formed a line behind the soldiers, who were themselves behind the siege-men. Longswords, spears, knives—the Crocodiles bore all kinds of weapons but managed to form organised ranks. A determined war cry of different cultures echoed from both sides. Theren had only single bows today—her triple bows had been depleted and strained. She was going to call the archers’ firing times and positions. She was commanding this force from behind the lines while the rest of them began the invasion. 

From afar, a handsome young man on a charging stallion came through the mess towards her. 

‘Isolde! Oh goodness, it’s you. Take the slingers, start the invasion.’

‘Yes, my lady!’ He called out. From her side, Aldin Kora turned towards her and nodded, and moved ahead to command his own line of soldiers.

‘Don’t die Lothar,’ she said, turning towards her brother, ‘and you know what you have to do.’ 

A worried Lothar responded and moved ahead with the rest of the soldiers.

‘ARCHERS,’ she bellowed, ‘mark my call! Nock your bows on my first call!’ 

The tenseness was beginning to feed into her skin and bones. The harrowing cries of the Midnight vicers. Shrill, echoing cries that crawled into the very canals of her ears. Beads of sweat trickled down her entire being, tucked underneath her red dress reminding her that she’s nothing more than a woman. 

What business does a woman have on a war field? What the fekh am I doing? She thought, disturbing her inner conscience. 

The due covered grass enveloped her boots and prickled the top of her skin. Dusty industrious air blew over from the Bremingade as black streams of smoke arose into a hellish sky. The sour smell of dirt mixed with sweat entered her nostrils as her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened by the minute. The heat around her seemed to be growing at a pace faster than the adrenaline filling all these soldiers’ blood streams. From afar came the brutish voices of vicers calling out orders to organise their forces and nock their bows.

And so be it.

‘NOCK!’ She screamed, as the archers scrambled to ready their bows. A strange cry in a strange language made the vicers nock their bows with fire-kissed arrows. They were seemingly dipping their arrows into the two pots of fire standing guard behind the walls. 

‘Liners! File through here and here!’ Isolde commanded, ‘Slingers and Spike-men, on my mark!’
The tension was creeping into her entire being, as everyone around her began leaving her save for the archers behind her line. Men began unloading the massive spikes resting on the ramps, and with the help of tied ropes and lines of many siege-men, the spikes were turned tip first toward the wall. Men standing on top of the ramp held it up with strings as leverage. 

‘FIRST IMPACT! HIT FOR FIRST IMPACT’ 

A whooshing spike swung back and forth and began breaking into the walls with full force. More and more spikes were being unloaded and positioned to break into the walls, as men began to file into lines around the walls. 

‘LOOSE!’ Came a cry from the other side of the wall as flaming beams of falling death approached the soldiers on the other side of the wall. Her soldiers began falling and getting charred by fires brighter than wiola itself, whose concentrated spotlights grew into one large light emitting across all people. The harrowing screams of death began echoing across her side, as she too called for her arrows to be shot. Whooshing spikes flew across the sky and through their walls and into their walls. Vicers lighting their arrows on the ramps of the massive spike like towers began taking tumbles down into the very earth of the castle. 

Can you do it, Theren? A voice from within her called, can you not get crushed under the weight? Lead your men to victory under the pressures of hell alone? 

Sick thoughts enveloped her constantly, her stomach churned and migraines attacked her skull. And yet she bellowed cries for nock, draw, and loose with all her heart. 

This was her fight to loose.

***

Hvit was ready to slice and dice up some Midnight meat. 

The charging liners, soldiers who formed lines around the castle, rushed around the edges of the walls on both foot and horse, and the brigade behind was the one in which he was positioned. He looked ahead, hopeful, as the spikemen swung massive, sharp metal spikes back and forth against the base of the walls, forming cracks into the lower levels. The rampmen soon began wheeling their ramps towards the wall and found contact. Archers stood across the massive platforms, some falling by the burning abyss being fired from within the walls, others stood proud firing down Midnights one by one. Hvit’s commander Isolde began calling for the slingers.

‘GET THE SLINGS TO FRONT LINE, WE FIRE THE MEN IN.’ An urge that he’d been resisting was to load himself into one of the slings and into the line of soldiers that waited on the other side. 

Could he break line to do that? It would definitely be better than waiting behind the wall, letting the anticipation clutch his gut and wrench his heart while he waited. 

‘Hya!’ He called out as he charged forwards towards Isolde. 

‘Commander! I’m loading into the slingers.’ He screamed across the confusion, as all stayed alert for flaming arrows coming from the skies. 

‘THEN GET INTO ONE NOW!’ His furious cry came back as he pushed him away. Jarred, Hvit blinked for a few seconds and came to his senses quickly rushing to the slings. 

But he wasn’t going to go in alone. 

‘CONNOR! PIRES! COME ON IN WITH ME!’ He screamed to the backline. A few spies of Rean began breaking line, more than he asked for, and charged up front towards him.

‘Boys! We’re going into the slings and breaking line. Commander’s orders.’ 

‘Time to find out who fires the best shots, eh?’ Connor begged.

‘Time to find out.’ 

The three of them, as well as Evan and Woura loaded themselves into line to get slung across the wall. Getting slung would not be easy, as the impact on ground was going to hurt, regardless of the initial leather sack the slingers are given before the launch. A cry came from one of the men manning the sling station, and the five spies alongside other Crocs rushed towards the enormous sling machine. One by one, about twenty soldiers alongside the spies were fitted into the sling. Hvit’s heart raced and thumped against his chest as they were handed leather sacks to hold onto.

‘Land on it! Land on it! Land on it!’ The Croc manning the station repeated as he handed out the sacks to each soldier in the sling. He then rushed back and called for the sling to be loaded back. A sudden jolt pulled the sling back and to an angle, as levers left and right were being pulled and wheels turned. He could see the smoke covered sky clear as day from the inclined angle. The soldiers began to get squashed in together, bodies clashing and tightening competition for space within the sling. Hvit could feel a small, warm trickling stream of liquid flowing down his leg—

‘FIIIIREEEE!’ And with a whoosh, he felt freedom. Air burst across his face and body as he felt free from the choking grasp of the sling. But the sudden jolt had taken away the freedom of thought from his mind, and as he came back into his senses, he realised his position.

He was flying sky high. 

Luckily, he’d held onto his leather sack for dear life with his left hand. The feeling of flying was suddenly interrupted by a thrust downwards, as his stomach began churning at the large drop to come. A large number of soldiers began screaming “brace” as all on good Erhin flashed by Hvit’s eyes and fell straight into his stomach. He descended down into the chaotic madness of the fall into soldier lines. Metres above the ground, he opened his eyes, holding onto the leather bag for dear life, bracing for impact. 

Boom.

The thud of his arm against the bag was extremely hard, and an instant soreness overcame his entire being. He lay dazed on the battle floor, hearing from the distance the soft thuds of spikes against the walls, men climbing over the walls from on top of their ramps, an exchange of arrows from each corner, and the sound of burning inferno.

 Blinking slowly, Hvit took a deep breath as he collected himself and readied up. Throbbing pains overcame all of his limbs, but with good luck he was able to find his sword at his waist. He instantly unsheathed it, and walking half heartedly, he began gathering himself to look for the rest of the spies. 

***

Anxiously awaiting at the frontline behind the wall, dodging flame-ridden arrows was not what Lothar was going to do while his brother and father were caged up at the risk of death at any moment. 

He galloped backwards towards Theren. She was extremely distressed, shouting command after command for the archers to continue shooting. He grabbed her and pulled her aside for a minute, and said, ‘Theren! I need to head by the ramps. I need to get in and to brother and father! I can’t wait in the infantry ranks.’

‘Oh every bloody fekher is breaking rank and going and doing what they want. TO HELL WITH YOU, Q’REKHA! GET OUTTA HERE!’ She screamed with a storming tempest escaping from her throat. Disheartened, Lothar slowly backed out amid all the noise and chaos, going straight to the ramps. 

I need to do this, fekh Theren, I need to fekhing rescue my family. Whatever it takes.

Was it really about rescuing them?

He charged on, screamed “hya” at his horse over and over, nearing the ramps.

Did he really care about the risk of their death, or was it just for their approval that he was attempting so hard to rescue them.

He reached the ramp and, getting off his stallion, climbed straight onto it through the wooden ladder on the side. Archers stood on each end, dodging and firing their arrows. Soldiers fought at the head of the ramp which was held against the wall, dodging for cover and slashing at their opponents. Lothar carefully picked his way up the wooden ramp with precautious footing and picking his way through the bustle. 

And a vicer climbed through the walls. 

And then another. 

And more followed.

Suddenly, a flow of Midnights began erupting out of the blue and into the line of the soldiers on the ramps. They unsheathed their longswords and began cutting down soldiers in their path. Their stench filled every gap of Lothar’s nose, like a bowl of chicken stew gone rotten. 

‘REINFORCEMENTS! WE NEED REINFORCEMENTS!’ He screamed, turning back at the ranks. He unsheathed his snakesword and turned towards the Midnights.

‘Time to get cut up you little fekhing shits. Fuck you all! You’re not in your country! Go South!’ He screamed in a fit of fury and rage. Redness overcame his entire being as he gritted his teeth and raged like a madman. He directed the intention of a few vicers who slashed their way toward him and slid down the ramps to reach him.

Stupid slave boys. Slashed uglier than whores by a bad customer.

Four enormous beasts stood right in front of him. Archers stood facing the other side, fighting other battles en route the air, and other Crocodiles stood guard against the inflow of vicers. 

Lothar was all alone in this fight. Maybe he’d underestimated the vicers. Maybe he couldn’t take them on. But maybe he could. 

It was time to find out. 

A flurry of blows came his way from all four ends, as he parried one and dodged the other three with one duck. His heart rate began picking up as whooshing longswords began swinging his way wildly. Amidst the chaos, he noticed a small wooden plank protruding from the ramp floor. 

He ran faster than he could say his name. The vicers all followed, but he swiftly hid behind it, turning around and stabbing one straight in his leg. The vicer screeched as blood gushed out of his leg like the opening of a cask from the side. He then swiftly turned to face the other three but found himself cornered. 

‘GAHHHH!’ Cried a vicer as he swung his longsword towards a stunned Lothar, who could only find himself stumbling back. A wild swing slashed through his shin as he felt his bone get cut through and a streaming river of red layer the skin of his leg. Horror overcame Lothar as a pin pricking pain began stabbing his leg by the thousands. The screeches of the vicer was amplified by Lothar. But no avail was to be found. A longsword came swinging straight down at him, but at the last moment he ducked aside, found grip of his sword and swung it wild and fast at the shoulder of the vicer, who fell of the ramp screaming in native tongue. The other two chased Lothar, who himself crawled his way off the ramp. He fell with a solid thud onto the mud covered floor, as his blood mixed with dirt and he lay on the ground resting. So peaceful…if I could just sleep. 

No. Fuck no. Get your ass up. Get up! He thought, as he groaned his way up. 

He was not going to give up his fight so easily. He rushed back and called for more reinforcements, as five or six Crocs climbed the ladder with him. Throbbing pain haunted his leg, but it was not amputating pain—he was able to make his way down. He had just about avoided a lethal cut from the vicer’s sword by tumbling back down. 

Those fekhers are going to pay. Bloody Midnights. 

He sounded like his father. 

The six of them climbed up the ladder and back up onto the ramp. Raging fires flew in from all directions and the sky seemed to be decorated in the colour of hell. Lothar carefully avoided the paths of the arrows and found himself at the reach of the three vicers, one of whom was injured. 

‘Oye, Midnight fekhers! Come here.’ He screamed out, charging at full force with the reinforcement of six Crocs behind him. Their well paced, well timed run was a factor of years of training and discipline, and they slashed the two vicers down like machines, devoid of wild swinging of the sword. 

Lothar knelt down to the groaning vicer, shin killing him, and said, ‘Don’t fekh with the Rolans.’ 

***

Lots of feathers and a sack of leather.

Hvit had been saved by sheer will and a sack of leather that’d broken his fall. They wouldn’t have designed these things if they didn’t function right. He thought introspectively. A few minutes into his fall, he’d found his footing again, and with sore limbs he began swinging his falchion around once more. 

‘CONNOR! I’M HERE! PIRES! ALL OF YE LOT, HERE!’ He screamed, waiving his sword around like crazy. He was now on the other side of the wall. The caste was enormous. Big grey domes with two pots of hellish fires lighting the tips of the archers’ arrows. 

Hvit found himself surrounded by men in orange plates and vicers dressed in light green armour and silk robes. Hundreds of Crocodiles began invading the walls through the spikes breaking through the walls as well as rampmen and slingers. Wait till the scythes drop on all o’ye.

Within seconds, the company of spies gathered around Hvit and they all took off, tearing into the vicers. 

‘OFF WITH YE HEADS, FACE THE SLICE YE FUCKERS!’ He screamed with defiling anger as he began searching through for vicers. The forces had started clashing as more and more Crocs were landing through and making their way onto this side. 

‘The spikes’ve almost done it!’ Pires cried out. The company turned around to face the wall, as thud after thud sounded from the foundation of the wall. And the floor was washed down by a tumbling, never ending fall of bricks. The wall broke through, and like dominos, bricks fell down one after the other and into dust and bits of stone on the ground. All shielded their eyes as the wall collapsed, making way for the Crocs to invade. 

‘TO VICTORYYYY!!!’ Came a cry from behind, followed by the same chant from thousands of mouths.
‘AGHHH!’ Hvit screamed, leading the charge of it all. Vicers and Crabs of Sarrona readied themselves and clashed with the force of Crocs. He ran through the lines and began clanging swords with a vicer in front of him. His falchion rained hell through the skull of the Midnight as he cracked it open into two with ease. 

He then turned around and picked another duel, but this vicer was tougher. 

‘You Erhinians can’t fight! You lose!’ The vicer bawled at him as he parried left right and centre with Hvit. Their swords clanged and clashed as he ducked down to avoid a blow and scraped his falchion through the vicer’s knee. He bellowed in pain and fell to his legs.

‘Your race deserves no life.’ Hvit said with strict prejudice. He proceeded to hold his falchion and slash through the vicer’s head. Blood spurted all over him but his rage made him revel in it. The scent of gore and steel and dead soldiers shitting themselves. It fuelled him, made him feel alive. Connor walked on forward, slashing through soldiers in incredible style. He held Gem-stance as he fought, incredibly difficult to master, but this teenager was of a different level when it came to skill with the sword. He dashed his way through the Midnights, twisting and turning mid air as he swiftly fought his way through the lines. He was untouched by any vicer, effortlessly fitting into the war. 

A screaming vicer brought his sword down on Hvit, who parried the blow and continued fighting amid the noise.
Another approached from the near distance and began attacking him. He was fending off two of the beasts at once, until the behemoth Pires swung out his rapier and began piercing into the hearts of vicers. Something seemed to catch their attention as a few more approached the two of them and started setting brawls. Hvit’s falchion swung wildly, gashing into Midnight skin. 

Boom. 

A sudden sound came out of no where, like a large plank of wood falling with force on the ground—its echoes resonating through the entire castle. 

Boom.
A vicer just in front of him fell right back, with a small hole in his chest out of which blood was coming. It didn’t seem like an arrow at all. He turned around to examine the battlements, and was absolutely shocked to find what he did. 

It was Dek.
And he held a gun. 

Hvit rushed back upto the wall, where he stood, holding a small object seemingly made of metal, curved on the edge. He held it carefully, looking through the top of it, and pulling a small lever on the bottom of it. Every time he did, it seemed to kick life into the little object which thrust back towards his face with full force. But every time he did, a vicer in front flew into oblivion. 

Magnificant. This man is unreal. 

***

Casualty after casualty after casualty.

Lothar watched carefully on top of the ramp, as soldiers clashed and killed each other with full fury. Smoke of the fires filled the air with a suffocating smog which imprisoned every man on the field. The sweet scent of shit of dying soldiers accompanied it. His sight was hazy with the smoke and dust, and he had warm piss trickling down his pants as he ran across the top of the ramp to make his way above the wall and down into the battlements. 

‘Lothar!’ A cry from behind him came. 

‘Sister!’ 

‘Go immediately into the castle and no where else! Avoid combat!’

He nodded with fear and grabbed onto a leather sack and fell straight down the wall and into the Bremingade with a hard thud. Paying no heed to the pain, he picked himself up and began looking for the entrance into the castle. An odd vicer spotted him and charged his way. He caught him entirely off guard, while he limped across the field, dragging his injured leg. He quickly unsheathed his snakesword and parried a blow coming from on top, holding Mistac stance. He then brought his sword down, but before he could proceed he felt the hard boot of the monstrosity kick into his chest, sending him flying back a few metres. He could barely breath. He gasped and opened his eyes widely, crawling across the floor. The vicer walked over to him, dawning his longsword over him. And so be it, he was joining his lost brother once again, just like he did when he took a plunge down the cave. 

No, not today. 

He rolled over in the dirt, getting it all over his mouth. Tenaciously grabbing his sword, he slashed it straight through the unarmoured vicer’s leg, and luckily enough, an arrow from behind the wall came at that exact moment, stabbing through the Midnight’s pelvis. He yelped and fell straight to the floor, clutching his privates. Lothar got up as quickly as he could, feeling another thousand knives stabbing into his leg. He then made his way straight towards the fortification, parrying a few vicers on the way. 

Fekhin finally. 

He found a door at the right edge of the castle. He desperately attempted to open it, but it was locked. 

‘Kill the prisoners! Run in and do it now!’ An eerily familiar voice cried. It was the short, bald man with the cringeworthy, croaking voice, who’d been his father’s first man since he’d become the Lord of Loazer. 

It was Lord Sarrona of the Bremingade. 

Lothar ran towards the men whom he’d ordered to enter the castle, and without second thought, followed their lead in through the door they entered. Inside, he found a lavishly decorated corridor, but paid no attention to his surroundings as he chased after the two men, who seemed oblivious to his presence. They ran across the corridor, turned left, climbed stairs, grabbed torchers and climbed some more. Finally, they got onto one level and began walking towards what seemed to be the prison complex. He swiftly followed them with soft but quick footsteps, sword at the ready. His heart was pounding hard against his chest, almost screaming to jump right out. 

‘Little boy…’ A soft voice called out.

‘We know you’re here, kid. Why’re you here, eh?’ Another voice said. Swords slowly unsheathed, as footsteps began coming closer and closer towards him. A soft voice sounded from the distance, ‘…take care of the boy, I’ll head to the prisoners.’ 

Fuck, no… fekh! I can’t let em die! 

He ran, uncaring about the consequences of his loud footsteps. A sword came swinging through straight at his neck; he quickly ducked down to dodge it and stabbed the man behind in his back. The other one ran to approach Lothar, who was not ready to get back up and into stance, and so in the pitch blackness he ran off into the distance. 

‘KERAN!!!! ROTHRIN! I’M HERE!’ He screamed, panting. He constantly changed position, charging from one end of the complex to another, looking for his father and brother. Suddenly, sharp, buzzing sounds from the distance began to appear. A strange blue light from the distance grew more and more intense, until the figure of a man holding a glowing blue mace with what seemed to be moving blue lines of…energy inside it. The man had frizzy blue hair like the Weemlanders. Was this…Altheas?
Shivering, Lothar readied his blade. 

‘Where’s my father? Give him back to me!’ He screamed—whimpered, actually. Altheas scoffed from the distance, walking upto him, slowly. He began swinging his glowing mace, and he approached nearer and nearer. ‘Don’t dig yourself into an early grave, boy.’ 

Eight words, and before the freight could leave Lothar, he’d vanished. Why did he just…leave him here to find his brother and father?

They’ve got to be playing at some sorta sick game.

‘Father!’ He screamed for a few minutes, until finally he found a man groaning from a dark corner in the complex. He ran towards it but rammed his head into a metal cage. 

‘Stand back!’ He called, as he readied his snake sword and cut through the metal with a hard strike. He then squeezed through and grabbed a torch on the wall, pointing it towards the man who’d groaned. 

It was Keran Rolan, ruler of Loazer, lying covered in mud and his own filth. Beside him was his oldest born son. 

‘Family, I’ve come to get you out. Come on now!’ 

The two of them rolled around in the dirt, completely helpless. 

‘GET THE FUCK UP!’ He screamed louder than the bangs that had sounded outside the castle not moments ago. 

The two, with great difficulty, brought themselves to their feet. Blinking like a drunk, Keran looked towards him and said, ‘Krilin sent you? Save me, his fool must’ve gotten him drunk beforehand.’ 

‘Head out, father!’ He said, ignoring his comment. The two of them limped across the cell, followed by Lothar. Was that a piece of paper on the far edge of the room? He pointed his torch toward it, and on the top was written ‘signed RR and KR’. He picked up for now and followed his brother and father. He’d acted valiantly today, and was surprised with himself. He didn’t think he had it in him to do any of the things that he did.

***

Were they really winning this fight?

Rendron and co had managed to surpress the Crocodilian threat, and they were doing a fantastic job at it. Slaves without education were beating the most feared army in their own homeland. And he was at the helm of it all.
Rendron was inside The Bremingade castle. He’d come in to recruit some more soldiers to go outside and join the fight. The archers had been raining down hellish fires on the other side of the wall, and while the walls had broken, the flood of Crocs could not withstand the force of the vicers and the Crabs together, within the fortification of The Bremingade. The battle was about to be won, so why did Koralisar want them to lose in the first place? 

He ran through the corridors and into the barrack where the backup soldiers—injured, too young, too old and so on—sat, waiting the fight out. 

‘Alright, boys! Vicers, men! We need you out on the battlefield. Come on now, ready up, it’s about to be won!’

‘Oh, fekh off.’ An old man said, hands at his knees. ‘Stupid fekhin vicers.’

Confused, Rendron walked into the barrack and screamed for all to get up and out into the battlefield.

‘You lot don’t wanna save your lord? Serve the council?’

‘You don’t know anything, mate, do ye?’ A young man said, walking up to him. ‘Ye come in, with ye fekhin armies, and ye don’t even know the plan. What kinda leader are ye, boy?’ He condescendingly stared at him. The shock of the words began getting to him. You don’t even know the plan. 

What plan was he talking about. The vicers had started to win. Why would they need an alternate plan. 

He rushed straight out of the castle to find out what was going on, only to find his heart sink into the ground.

***

She was failing her kingdom. 

The vicers attacked the Crocodiles with such tenacity, speed and discipline—with fire arrows raining down on them straight from the indented eyes of Chronisc. They were killing the Crocs by the thousands, and overcoming their forces with ease.

On their own home ground, Lord Keran Rolan’s kingdom was being turned into ash. In one fight. It was astounding. And Theren was at the helm of it all. 

‘My lady! What shall we do?’ Aldin Kora asked from atop his stallion, a face of worry accompanying it.

She stood there, stumped. Unable to respond. Unable to respond to the pressure. To the reality that was loss. 

‘We’re done for, lord Aldin. This is it. This is…’ She lost her stare into the battle field, where red blood of men squirted by the kilo-litres onto the battlegrounds. 

And it all came to a halt. 

The vicers, all of a sudden, stopped in their places and dropped their weapons. Theren blinked a few times to soak in the reality of the situation and realised what had just happened. They had just surrendered. 

‘YOU FUCKING VICERS! MADMEN! MADMEN! WHY HAVE YOU STOPPED!’ A voice cried from inside the castle—Sarrona. He charged out, looking like a senile old man, until he got stumped in his path at the sight of Theren. 

‘Take him away.’ She called out, as a rush of Crocodiles ran his way and held him. ‘WHAT’RE YE ALL DOING?! ATTACK THEM! NOW!’ He screamed like a madman. 

A random vicer rushed out of the castle, with a look of disbelief on his face. He suddenly charged across the static ranks and towards the Crocodiles. He began fighting them. The only one out of thousands, and he wouldn’t stop. He was defending himself against hundreds, and he seemed to be a teenager—the same teenager she’d seen outside of the Rolan manor. 

‘I won’t have it!’ He called out, defending himself against numerous Crocs. Theren sighed and walked towards him.

‘You’re fighting the wrong battle. Come here. We won’t kill you if you do. Take the rest of them away.’

‘My lady.’ One vicer from the behind ranks called out, walking between all the soldiers. 

‘A letter, from Koralisar Rathor. Ruler of Kaandor, Head of the Council. He has some…terms for you to consider.’ The Midnight skinned man stepped up to Theren, but was stopped in his tracks by some Crocs, who handed the letter to her shortly after.

It was unbelievable that all of them had surrendered, but some horrible misfortune must have overcome them for them to have done such a thing, and so she counted it as a stroke of the best luck possible. 

Who was that, walking away in the distance? A blue haired man? 

‘STOP THAT MAN!’ She screamed. The man was wearing blue robes and had a glowing mace in his hand. That man was Altheas Tansha, Weemlander and ruler of the East. Head of the Triad and former lover of Theren’s. He had betrayed her and was going to get the axe for it. 

‘ALL OF YE, GO FOR HIM!’ 

Hundreds of Crocs chased after him in a flurry. He began running to the opposite side of the castle, to the other walls. But the Crocs caught up well. He then turned around and started swinging his glowing mace, sending her men into glowing burials. He attacked three or four and then found himself running away once more.

‘Get me a bow!’ 

He was about to make his escape. Theren grabbed a bow from an archer. 

Bow arm tense. Keep the rest of the body relaxed. Let a breath out. Instant release. 

Her father’s lessons were coming back to her. She composed herself and tucked away her emotions. She loaded the arrow into the bow.

Altheas began climbing the wall on the other side of the Bremingade. 

She pulled her arrow back and released. 

He jumped over the wall, feet outside already. 

The arrow pierced straight through his back, and he fell right through to the forest canopy on the other side. Crocodiles started furiously climbing over the walls to catch him. A rush of guilt flew through her. Did she just do that? Had she just shot Altheas Tansha? 

‘Stop them. Stop the men! He’s dead. Let him be.’ She called out, overflowing with tears. The sense of victory was not really present with any one of her own soldiers. They all just wanted to head home now. And so did she. She’d just shot the love of her life. Her next task was to stop her from killing herself for it. 

***

Chapter 32; A Toast.

/Secret hideout in Jutei

Fucking Krilin’s own hell. The pain overwhelmed him. He had gotten his men to treat his wound, but they said he was going to need weeks of rest. Weeks he couldn’t afford. Besides the point, he couldn’t believe she’d done it. He’d been shot in the back by Theren. By her bow and arrow. He was astounded. They were fighting for opposite sides but he didn’t expect her to shoot him at all. The love of his life. The ailment assessors said that he was lucky that the shot hadn’t hit him in the spine. He wouldn’t have been able to move his limbs if that’d happened. 

The situation, otherwise, had panned out almost how it was supposed to. Nesse and Qar, his partners in The Triad, had completed the transaction at the Haimar bank in Jutei. They’d funded the entire movement of the Snakes—gem-boats and all accounted for. The vicers at the Bremingade had surrendered as planned, and everything was coming into fruition thanks to their partner in Loazer. He was the reason for it all. He was a blessing from Krilin’s own hands. And that very man walked into his hut. A modest hut, the same hut he’d been in, in Jutei the entire time. The small wooden door creaked open and the cloaked figure walked in.

‘Have a seat, m’ro.’ 

‘Ah, yes. With pleasure.’

‘You don’t have to wear that stupid thing on top of your head.’ 

‘But I insist. I must keep my identity hidden, hopefully you understand.’ The man said, cheekily smiling.

‘Keran is alive,’ Altheas said, with spite, ‘he’ll never send his men to us as long as he is.’

‘We’re…working on it.’

‘Get it done. Today. We need her at the helm of it all. She’ll understand. She’ll send the Crocs to Kaandor. That fat, stubborn bastard won’t, I’ll assure you, m’ro.’

The strange man looked around the room, and went straight to the bar and poured himself a goblet. of wine. 

‘He does love his wine.’ He said, smiling. He raised a toast to Altheas, who picked up a goblet beside him and drank a sip.

‘My my, Altheas. You’re injured bad. Your clothes are soaking in blood.’

‘I know,’ he whimpered, ‘I’ll get it Wielded back home. Show me to my gem-boat, now, will you? I’m sick of ye fekhing country.’

‘Why, of course!’ 

***

Chapter 33; The Real Toast

/The Rolan Manor.

She’d breathed a sigh of relief already. For whatever reason it was, the vicers had surrendered, and her side had emerged victorious. But she was incredibly melancholic for she’d shot Altheas in the back. She was simply praying that he hadn’t died, but was quite sure she’d shot him in the spine. 

The entire family, her mother as well, were sitting in The Lords’ Chamber at the Rolan Manor, with all her spies present, some important coverlords, Aldin and his family, and even Muriel, of all people. Her father and Rothrin had washed up nicely, and had come to meet all in suitable clothes. 

‘First, a toast. I haven’t had me bloody wine in more than a week. I don’t even know how I’m alive!’ Laughed Keran, as he turned towards his daughter. All the lords and ladies raised their glasses. 

‘To Theren. My wonderful daughter who saved the day.’ He said, casually ignoring Lothar’s bravery. 

‘…And, Lothar. For doing the actual saving.’ Said Rothrin, out of the blue. ‘We couldn’t be more thankful, brother.’ 

A round of ay’s followed across the entire chamber, as all went in for a second drink. Theren sat on a plush chair, absorbing it all. She felt grief and relief overweighing her—conflicting emotions tearing her apart. How would she ever be lady if she was so tormented from within? Now that Nathanial informed them that he was appointed as The Lord Chaimberlain to King Tristan in Gr’erhin, he was going to permanently stay there and become King after Tristan’s death, as he did not have any heirs. 

So it was all on her. Lothar would not rule, and neither would Rothrin. While respectable and a great war commander, he himself didn’t have the decisiveness to be a ruler. Theren knew that. She’d seen it in the past. He worked extraordinarily, was extremely disciplined, but he needed a superior commander to give him directions.

And so it would all fall on her. Yet was she any fitter for the job? If her decisions and mistakes weighed down on her and tormented her to the point of no going back, was she herself fit to rule?

Chatter sounded around the tables for a forty-eighth, until Lord Keran Rolan called for silence. 

‘Alright, ye buggas. Bring in the prisoners! And another goblet for me, my lads.’ 

Within a few minutes, Lord Sarrona was brought into the room by some Crocs, hands chained, and alongside him was Rendron. 

‘Ye fekhers were the ones who did it all, isn’t it?’ 

Theren immediately got off her seat and approached Keran, whispering into his ear, ‘Let the vicer free. He’s an extremely valuable asset. Don’t kill him.’ 

For a moment he contemplated, but then he let him go. And so there he was. The slimy fekher Sarrona, down on his knees.

Keran’s fat face was filled with rage and disgust, she could see it. 

‘I should have named ye my First man,’ he said, pointing at Aldin, ‘I could’e expected years—a lifetime—of loyalty from ye. And yet I got myself stuck with this slimy faggot Sarrona.’ 

‘Curse you, you old fat man! Curse you vicers too! Ye didn’t do ye fekhin job!’ He said, shouting at Rendron.

The server brought a goblet of wine for Keran to hold. 

‘I promised ye, Sarrona. I told ye at Haimar. I was gonna cut ye head off.’ He said, in his thick accent. ‘I warned you to let it by. But you will now suffer for your own decisions. Bring me my sword!’ He said to one of the servers. 

‘But they don’t know one thing, Sarrona. I have a sword of my own.’ He laughed hysterically, confusing every one. He then began to unlace his pants. 

Oh, disgusting. Theren thought.

He whipped out his cock in front of all and prepared to tinkle.

‘Let me know if the waterfalls at your Bremingade are bigger than this one!’ 

He sprayed Sarrona in a fuming shower of yellow. The old, bald man on his knees sputtered and moaned in disgust, even retching a tad, while Keran stood with his back arched backwards, liberally pissing all over his former ally. Had he already gotten drunk? He was acting insane. 

‘A real, hard toast to you, Sarrona!’ 

He laughed and laughed and laughed, as he downed his entire goblet in one go, while continuing to piss on his former ally. 

‘Ah…a relief of times. How do ye like that? Being soaked in piss before death. As if ye deserve anything else, great fekha!’ He said, with a wide smile across his lips. Sarrona retched and vomited all over the floor, unable to stand the smell. And taste, perhaps. A servant approached Keran, who began to blink furiously. He handed him his sword. The great longsword of Keran Rolan never fail to draw gasps from the crowd. That is, until he himself began gasping. 

‘Father, are you alright?’ Rothrin said, suddenly standing up to examine him.

‘I’m good, ye fekha,’ he said, coughing and gasping for breath. All watched intently. 

‘Get him water! Now!’ Theren screamed at the waiters, who rushed to do so. Her father began shaking on the ground and choking himself, spewing out vomit and a bit of blood too. Her heart was sinking. Had he been…poisoned? 

The wine… 

‘Take care of him, Rothrin! He’s been poisoned.’ 

‘How?’ He questioned frantically, holding his father in place, who was about to fall.

‘The wine. I’m going to find out. Isolde! With me.’ 

The two of them jogged out and straight towards the kitchen. 

A shadow at the end of the corridor of a fleeing man.

‘That’s him! Run!’ She screamed, as the man began to get away. She trailed Isolde, who sprinted to catch up with the murderer. 

He took a left down the corridor and into the kitchens. She chased soon after and found all standing still, staring at Isolde, who stood there in disbelief. Fifteen or twenty chefs stood dead in their tracks, scared out of their minds. There was an open window at the far end of the kitchen.

‘Why didn’t you follow?’ She asked Isolde.

‘I checked, my lady! No one outside at all.’ 

She turned to face all the chefs, who looked scared out of their minds.

‘Who was it? Who was the man who ran out?’ She bellowed across the rooms.

‘I—I don’t know his name my lady. He was new!’ 

She turned to face the rest, who seemed to be just as clueless. 

Fekhin fools. 

She rushed back across the corridor, Isolde trailing, and entered the Lords’ Chamber, hoping to see Keran upright or sitting on a chair. 

He lay on the floor, eyes wide open and mouth covered in spit, phlegm and vomit. His fingers were eerily curled up and his legs awkwardly bent. He lay completely still, and his stillness resonated into solemness on the faces of all the rest of the people. 

Lord Keran of house Rolan, ruler of Loazer, the West of Erhin, was now dead. Her heart sank far deeper than she could imagine. An overflow of tears covered her face, as Lothar walked over to comfort her. She could not believe it. The same man who’d taught her the art of the siege, the same man who’d taught her to use the bow. The same man who’d made her tough, and the same man who brought her into this world, was now dead. She mourned openly, screaming in horrifying cries. 

And yet deep within, she couldn’t help but think about the line of succession. It wouldn’t be her brothers, so who would it be? 

Her? Permanently the Lady of Loazer?

Oh, fekhing forget it! Your father’s died, you cruel woman. Forget about the fekhing line.

She walked over to his corpse and knelt down to see him. Dead, in every sense of the word. No breath, no heartbeat, eyes open. She reached out and closed them. 

‘You’ve seen enough of this world, father.’ She whimpered. ‘Rest now, Krilin waits for you.’

***

END OF PART 2

ALTERNATIVES

Firion • Nathanial • Koralisar • Altheas

FIRION

/Kaandor, Layonas

‘Jette! We’re here.’ Firion said, as he valiantly approached the capital of Kaandor. This is where the seat of power was. The Council of Kaandor—and at the helm of it, Layon’s own descendent—Koralisar. The eighteen year old boy was rumoured to be the only Dark Wielder across both worlds. Apparently the power had been materialised and put into his staff—he didn’t actually possess the power himself. His father’d put it into the staff because Koralisar had been born without it, the first in the entire family line to be so. But these were mere tales that Firion had heard over the grape wine. The capital was an industrial city, but not in an off putting way. Large buildings of stone and marble arose from the roots of the ground, but they didn’t interrupt the sprouting of trees. The lavishly orange plants and trees—trademark of the central regions of Kaandor—grew all across the landscapes. They were never obstructed to make way for excessive buildings—Koralisar’s ancestors had been graceful to the past and to nature, while also giving way to industriousness. Layon, in fact, was the root of it all and Firion’s own idol. If only I was born long enough ago to see the man breathe. 

He, and his dirtborn friend Jette, made their way across the wide stone path which cut across the entire city, connecting each ‘bracket’ of it. The city was structured well and divided into small squares, cutting across both horizontally and vertically. The entire city was built in increasing level of society—the poorest lived on the borders, and the richest lived in the heart of the city. It was almost a perfect progression—the buildings got taller in each bracket like a set of stairs viewed from the side. The two of them were in the far end of the town and were making their way up to the King’s Quarters—or where the Council had their seat of power. Layon Rathor had built the monstrosity in his time—he’d carved it out of a metal to this date un-mined, since then. The metal was unidentified and unkept in any of Layon’s records. But the tower was nearly indestructible, as legends and fairytales go. 

‘There it is, Jette. The King’s Quarters. Father used to tell me all about it.’

‘Boy, oh boy. Don’t mention your father again. You’ll spazz out.’ The rough, brown lad said, wiping sweat off his brow.

‘If you were anyone else but my best dirtborn friend, I’d have killed you by now.’

‘Woah, woah, woah. Best dirtborn friend? Fuck you, I’m your best friend,’ he stopped in his tracks and sniggered, ‘fekh that, I’m your only friend!’ 

He laughed at his friend’s joke and carried on walking across the bustling town, aided by his little wooden walking stick. Little relative to the height of his vicer-self: the stick was actually larger than his friend. 

‘What do you think he’s like?’ Jette asked, out of the blue. He knew he was asking about Koralisar. 

‘A spoilt brat, probably.’

‘Really? I always thought he was, y’know…like his father. Or his father before him.’

‘Yeah, well, he’s the runt of the litter. The only one born without the power of The Dark Wielder in the entire Rathor family.’ 

‘What?’ Jette begged, ‘I’ve heard he Wields…in a…dark manner.’

‘It’s his staff, you faggot.’ 

‘His staff?’

Firion sighed and turned to slap him across the cheek, painting a shade of red on the brown canvas of his friend’s face.

‘What staff, if Chronisc asks, you arse?!’ He repeated, in frustration, holding his cheek with his hand. Maybe he’d been a bit too unfair with his slap, but Jette’s question was infuriatingly stupid. Everyone knew about the Fangless Snake Head. Everyone. 

‘How the fekh do you not know, Jette? The little wooden staff he carries around? With the serpent on its head? It’s where his father immortalised the dark rays. He gets his powers from it.’

‘Ohhh.’ His friend said, seemingly remembering the truth. ‘How much time are we reaching in?’

‘North of a twenty-fourth.’

About half an hour later, the two of them made a stop outside the King’s Quarters. The famed tower shot high into the sky and seemingly unendingly. However it did finish high up into the clouds. The entire royalty of Kaandor functioned from within this building.

And to think I could shoot it down from the roots any time I wanted…

Well, turns out, it wouldn’t be that easy. There was a gargantuan wall going all the way around the tower, with what seemed to be a Snake—a soldier of the Rathors’ ren-call—at equal distance from another, surrounding the entire wall. Firion walked straight through the main road cutting across the town. The buildings had gotten increasingly elaborate. Less trees and orangery, as greenery here was called, were cut, but the lavishly large buildings, houses of marble and slick, slanted designs were finished and made almost to perfection. Seniors sat on their balconies looking at the incredibly wide main road, happily puffing their pipe-weed. Not unnoticeable, the scarred vicers—famous slaves of Kaandor—were tilling lands, serving people, and practicing swordplay at every corner of the town. There seemed to be more vicers than humans here. The sight of it made Firion feel deep resentment. There was no slavery in Grenoria, only peace and life. This sort of harsh, almost prejudiced villainy was something that he couldn’t stand for. It made him cringe in disgust, deep within. All the commoners looked on Firion and Jette as they bravely passed by on their stallions which they’d picked up along the way. The over-mountain pass had proved to be useful. They’d cut through a few peaks and found themselves in the capital sooner than expected. 

Few minutes later, they approached the walls of the King’s Quarters. 

A snake, dressed in light green plate, a serpent-shaped helm, and holding a sharp, but short, double edged sword, walked up to the pair.

‘What business do you have to affiliate yourself with the Council of Kaandor?’  

‘It’s Firion, lad. Let me through.’ 

The stumpy looking Snake grumpily eyed him head to toe. He looked like a goon, but he was the head of the soldier force here. He was surely educated at the least. 

‘Greeper, send a messenger up the tower. Tell ‘em there’s a Firion and a dirtborn friend of his here to meet them.’

‘No need. Let me through, without the messenger.’
The Snake was caught off guard, and he slowly turned towards Firion. A few of his fellow soldiers turned towards him and also began circling them up. They were probably being extra cautious these days because of the rising tensions in the Hothras war. 

‘Who the fekh are you?’ He said, raising his hand and pushing Firion back with a hard strike. He looked down at his shoulder and sniggered, then gave a death stare at the guard. 

He positioned himself in Gem Stance, raising his left hand upwards. Coalescent wisps of white light arose from his palm, soon forming into a solid block of light with defined boundaries. 

He sent a blinding white beam straight into the sky, defeating the height of even the King’s Quarters. He then brought his hand back down, to the disbelief of all the guards. A man on a stallion from the far edge of the patrol raced himself towards the head of the patrol and whispered something into his ear.

‘Oh…oh my! I am so so so sorry for the trouble, my lord! You must follow me, straight in here!’ 

He smiled and the pair of them followed. 

A massive latch was pulled free by numerous soldiers, followed by an incredibly complex mechanism holding the door to the rest of the wall being opened by, presumably, levers on the backside of the wall. To his surprise, as one door opened, another gigantic grey wall revealed itself, of the same size as well. A doubly protected structure. Soldiers pulled latch free and opened the door, giving them way to follow into the building. 

‘This is big, man! This is ridiculously big.’ Jette said, marvelling at the sight. It was quite a difference from the village barns in which he’d grown up, so Firion could understand why he was so excited at the sight of it. 

They were led into the entry point of the vessel like building. An upwards sliding door was pulled open by perfectly spaced metallic chains on either end. Some sort of monstrous vicers, nine feet tall easily, were operating the systems. He’d never seen vicers like those, and so naturally, he turned to the guards.

‘They started breeding em in Kaandor a couple decades ago, man,’ The head of patrol said, as he led them in, ‘lost their intelligence along the way. Now the only thing they good for is the bits of labour we can give em.’ 

So they were unfit for war. Great. They could have bred a few thousands of these beasts and easily won the Hothras war, considering the pace at which vicers grow up. But that was clearly not a viable option.

Minutes later, the lot found themselves climbing up a set of spiralling stairs. The entire entry hall was huge, with many doors and outlets to different work stations and lodges, it seemed. The Council quarters were probably higher up. On the first floor, the guards led them off the staircase and into a little metal box, underneath which their was no floor. On the side, dangling from the wall was a little trinket hanging from a thread. The Snake gave it a little tap, and out of no where, the box began moving upwards steadily. Jette’s eyes opened wide in horror, as the increasing height began making him more and more fearful.

‘What, by Chronisc and all is this?’ He whimpered, holding onto the corner of the ledge. He hadn’t even realised that the metal behind him were bars, not walls. And the moment he did, he turned around to get a full view of the ground below him, and he freaked out. He yelped like a little girl and jumped back, falling down in fear. The little box shook a little. 

‘Oye, dirtborn!’ One of the Snakes called out, ‘Watch ye’ step. We ain’t dying today.’ 

A few moments later, the little box came to a jolting stop, and the company were led out into what seemed to be a very high floor. Probably somewhere near the top end of the tower. 

‘Down this way, my lord.’ 

The building was in fact extravagant. The different elements of the building were strung together like perfect tapestry. The modern, industrious feel of the entire thing intertwined with the elegance of the structure was truly breathtaking. Paintings washed over the walls, depicting the various accomplishments of Layon and his sons and their grandsons. The line of the Rathor family had always been accomplishing in nature. None failed to live up to the reputation of the family name. And the end product of their exceptional rule was inculcated into this beautiful building. Black, almost strings of marbles ran across the floor and the walls, with bustling activity throughout the floor. Men and women actually lived here. Doors opened constantly, people moved in and out, cleaners ran through the floor, scrambling about here and there.

At the far end of the corridor was a gigantic door with domes of marble jutting out on the entire surface. An entire line of Snakes stood guard. 

‘That’s the Council’s Chambers. That’s where he’ll be!’ His still quivering friend excitedly said. 

The head of the patrol walked up the line of Snakes and whispered a word, allowing their entry. For some strange reason, Firion felt a bit nervous while entering the room. He was anticipating meeting a Rathor for the first time. The legends of old, even in the Kingdom of Grenoria, never failed to live down their family’s name. 

The big door opened to a rather majestic sight. A round table circling around a large space, made of marbled green and silvers, held the Council of Kaandor. There were various recognisable faces. The Triad—Altheas, who seemed terribly beat, Nesse, and Qar—the negotiator of worlds, Emran, and at the helm of it, a man with short, slick black hair, a decently strong build and a rather tall figure. He had a sharp, angular nose and wide, brown eyes. His beard grew full across his face, almost as if he grew it to prove his masculinity. And in his hand was a circular, wood and metal intertwined staff—lines of both curving around each other—with the head of an overlooking serpent, green and scaled, with its tongue out, facing the sky. Across its neck were two spiky ends protruding on either side, facing inwards into each other. That was where the Dark light of Layon Rathor came from. And so the legends were told right. 

‘You’re the first vicer in a long time to walk these halls. And the prettiest, to be honest.’ Koralisar said, raising his staff in his hand. For some reason, he blinked urgently. Frequently. A habit, perhaps? He also smiled a wide, unthreatening smile at him.

‘You can’t wield properly? You need a stick for it?’ Firion asked, with an unsparing attitude. Faces turned towards him in shock, across the entire Council. Emran stood in his place and opened his mouth to say a few words, but was shut off by Koralisar.

‘No, really, it’s all okay. A big vicer with a big mouth. You’re not the first one of those we’ve seen.’ 

He was more…humorous than expected. He didn’t particularly insight the laughter of the surrounding bodies, but he seemed to laugh on the inside. 

‘Lord Koralisar. I feel that we have got off on the wrong foot.’ 

‘Grenorian Vicer speaking Feberion? I just thought you all bark and neigh in your barns.’ 

At once Firion placed his footing into Gem stance, raised his palm, and shot a beam of bright light straight at Koralisar. He took not a moment to raise his staff and create what seemed to be a black hole—a wide area which submerged from the head of his staff and turned into a hole. It semed to almost absorb the energy of Firion’s Wielded light.

‘Is it a duel you pose? So you can do more than neigh, I see.’ He said back, cockily. The others didn’t even get alarmed at Firion’s attack, probably expecting Koralisar to dodge it. Was he really that good? 

‘Yeah, we neigh in our barns, I neigh,’ he said, opening his palms and letting beams of Wielding light escape them. Bright luminescent wisps were followed by small beams of solidified energy, ‘but at least I have what my fathers did. You’re just the runt of the litter.’ 

A look of shock overcame the aristocrat. But the emotion was soon wiped off his face. Was that a blinked away tear, welling in his eye? 

A disappointment to the Rathors… Firion thought, sighing. I’ll take this fekher down in a second.

‘A duel then.’ He said blankly, readying his staff. Firion steadily held Gem stance. 

‘I’d hate to be your father.’ He wisecracked. Koralisar responded by raising his staff and shooting an enveloping, distracting beam of nothingness—eternal black—out of his staff. It hit him straight in the chest and overcame his entire body. It enveloped him in a shade even darker than the skin of vicers. 

Your hands, Firion. Your hands! 

He slowly powered his hands and broke through the deadlock of the black light. He then placed his footing carefully and gathered his energy, shooting a beam of light straight out of his palms. His eyes glowed white as well, his entire skin permeated the radiation. He shot the light straight at him, walking closer and closer. Koralisar opened his staff’s black hole to absorb all the energy. Firion pulled it back, holding for a moment.

‘Your fathers gave that to you?’ 

And to think this was Firion’s shot at getting on the Council.

He then raised his staff, seemingly readying all the power Firion’d given him with his Wielded light, and he shot it all back, straight at him. His own White light surfaced right back onto him, who fell tumbling back at the hands of Koralisar’s staff. 

Not today, you spoilt degenerate. 

Acting fallen, he quickly raised his hand from underneath himself and shot a beam of light to a back-turned Koralisar, who went flying across the room and fell with a thud to the floor. Firion raced to get up before him and shot another beam, and then another. His staff had been separated from his hand, and so he had gotten the better of him. He held him by the neck, which got the attention of many, who began surrounding him, and he opened his palm to knock the life out of him. But of course, he didn’t. He wasn’t going to start a war between Grenoria and Kaandor. Kaandor would trump the country of Wielders. 

‘The duel is won, boy.’ He said, with outright disrespect.

‘Fair play…’ He whimpered back, trembling to reach for his staff. The boy king had shown great intimidation upon entry, but’d failed to live up to his expectations. 

‘I beat you in a fair duel. Your own law systems grant me a want. Give me a place on the Council.’ 

Gasps sounded dramatically across the room. Who the fekh are these cringeworthy assholes? He thought in his head, rolling his eyes. 

Trembling, Koralisar got up from his seat, hand around his throat. He let out a few coughs and sat back down on his chair, immediately tended to by ailment assessors. He pushed them away out of ego, clearly so. 

‘You have it, Firion of Grenoria. You have your seat.’ He whimpered, wiping sweat off his brow. 

***

Koralisar Rathor

The young vicer of Grenoria, Firion, had proved to be a better Wielder than Koralisar had expected. In fact, he’d managed to better him at his own game. He’d beaten him in the duel. This was not going to be good for his image in front of the Council. Their own leader wasn’t able to fend himself, the only Dark Wielder, against an ordinary Grenorian Wielding vicer? Or maybe he wasn’t as ordinary as he thought. Maybe he was in fact that one of a kind. A one in a thousand. 

The council’s meetings had convened for the day, and Koralisar had descended a few floors down to his floor of the King’s Quarters building. An entire floor—humongous in size—all as living space for him. It was late in the night, and he stayed up for the night, unable to grab the throat of sleep and wrestle with it. He sat on a laid back chair on a balcony, overlooking the entire Capital. All his subjects. Everyone depending on him to win them this war. Up until now, with Loazer’s funding, the rebelling Linteres’ kingdom, with Sorman’s direct descendent Eswan Lintere at the helm of it, was winning the fight. But with the fight at the Bremingade, that was all going to change. A brilliant political move by Altheas. He’d have to commend him ten times over for that. It would improve Koralisar’s name ten fold, and the new living space in Erhin wasn’t exactly going to be overlooked by the Kaandorians. 

He sat laid back with his legs extended on a leg rest. He puffed on his pipe weed as he looked over the kingdom contemplatively. A timely knock came on the door. 

‘Ah, yes. My favourite one. Come on in.’ He said, toying around with his staff. The blue haired Weemlander walked in, steady footsteps and a humble two hands behind his back. 

‘My lord and king.’ 

‘Welcome, friend. Fuck the formalities.’ 

‘Right then.’ Altheas said, raising his eyebrows and taking a seat. Steady as his footsteps were, he was blood covered, still, across his entire back and had the slightest limp to his step. He seemed to be in pure pain. 

‘You look like trash, friend.’ Koralisar said, examining him.

‘Yeah,’ he said in his croaky, old sounding voice, ‘caught in the web of love.’ 

‘Show it to me.’ 

He turned around and opened his shirt from the back. Black ended nerves extended across the stab sight of the arrow, trickled streams of dried blood—only recent—covered his entire back. A massive hole, only halfway stitched, just right of the spine cut its way through into his back. This was truly one of the worst injuries he’d ever seen.

‘You sure you don’t want me to Wield it for you?’

‘Not with Dark light, m’ro.’ He said, adding the Erhinian touch of “m’ro”. 

‘I’m not going to kill you, faggot. It works just the same.’ 

‘I’ll sit this one out.’ 

‘You’ll die, that’s what you’ll fekhing do.’ Koralisar replied, calmly but grudgingly. He couldn’t take it when people didn’t accept a generous gesture. But this was Altheas, and so he simply put it aside and moved on.

‘How’s the plan coming along, soldier?’ He asked him.

‘Nesse and Qar funded it. I’ve been overlooking the rest. The landscape looks sharp, my lord. Their soldiers are perfectly trained. They’ll win us the war here. Better than the Snakes by miles.’ 

Disappointing to hear, but it was true. The Rathors paid far more attention to the development of Wielding than on their soldiers, but Keran Rolan and his armies were infamously known for being the toughest warriors out there. That is, until Keran died.

‘Then how were our vicers winning, Altheas?’

‘We held the fort, and were numerically superior. There was bare little that she could even do with her force of men.’ 

‘Except put an arrow in your back, you weak shit.’ 

He laughed alongside Koralisar, faintly readjusting his positioning. 

‘They got Rendron, though.’ Altheas said, out of the blue. His heart sank at the news. Koralisar felt a special connection to the teenage vicer. A sort of relation—he wanted to find the same sense of belonging and approval that the teenager sought. 

‘Is he dead?’ He calmly asked, hoping for the best.

‘No, it seemed like she’d recruited him.’

‘So, what you’re telling me, Altheas,’ he said, taking a breath of patience, ‘is that the enemy has recruited our best man?’

‘Turns out no one informed Rendron of our plan to surrender and—’

Koralisar smashed the table next to him, in a sudden jolt, gripping his staff tightly in his other hand. ‘Oh for fekh’s sake, Altheas!’ He screamed, quieting down, ‘You’ve got to take care of this shit. We can’t lose our best man like that.’ 

The Weemlander, who was like a brother to him, came closer to him with a look of stress on his face, ‘We did our best,’ he said, spitefully, and trying to control his temper, ‘it’s not easy to try and invade another planet, granted. We missed a small detail, Koralisar. But the rest is going according to plan. We will win this war. We’re going to win this war.’

He looked away and took a puff of his weed. ‘I’m not going to let my father and his fathers before him down, Altheas. Born the runt of the litter, sure. Doesn’t mean I have to behave like one either. Doesn’t mean I have to be the degenerate king of our nation.’ It hurt to admit, but he was, in fact, the least impressive specimen of the Rathor family. And yet he was cursed to be the only child. How simple it would have been to simply have had a brother. A brother who would have surely inherited the power of The Dark Wielder, unlike him. He was a shame to his ancestors’ name.

‘You, my king, will outrun them all.’ The croaky sounding Weemlander said. ‘You don’t know it, Koralisar, but deep down, you’re made of stuff harder than your ancestors. You just don’t know it.’ 

‘Yeah, maybe I am, Altheas. Maybe I am,’ he shifted across his seat, taking another puff, ‘One thing I do know. I haven’t found that within me. I’ve searched for years, and I’ve turned up with nothing.’

***

Altheas Tansha

The pain hadn’t left him since the injury. Not just the pain in his back, the pain of betrayel. The pain of love overlooked. She’d gone and almost killed him. Abused him with a swift arrow of death, and made him tumble down into the spiky greens outside the Bremingade. The wound seemed to be getting worse, but there was no way that Altheas would subject it to the Dark light of Koralisar’s staff—that Wielded light was known to be volatile. And he certainly wasn’t going to let the vicer Firion touch him. So it was a plain old recovery process, then. That is, if he would recover.
He’d left the King’s Quarters a while after sunset, and was carried by carriage back to his own part of town. As the carriage stopped, aids came to help him up and walk towards his house. It was a beautiful bungalow—mansion, almost. The entire thing was painted intricately with blue and green tiles of marbles—emblems of both the Tanshas and the Snake of the Rathors engraved across the front of the house. But he didn’t care for all of that. He just wanted to see the bundle of his entire life. The only thing he cared for. The only thing he lived for.

His daughter. 

A servant walked up to him, an elderly gentlemen who’d aided him for the last twenty years that he’d been in Kaandor, to help him up the porch.

‘My daughter,’ he said, wheezing, ‘did you take care of her.’

‘Fed, cleaned, and all, my lord. Not a worry rest on you.’ 

‘Take me to her, kind sir.’

The servant led him up the stairs, slowly and one at a time, and to his daughter’s room. And there she was. The beautiful little thing, cradled comfortably. She jabbed at the little pieces of wood that dangled from on top. Her blue hair was starting to curl around her head nicely, and her lovely tanned skin truly shone. She was growing by the day.

‘Geanna? How are you my love.’ He said, playfully. His servant quickly fetched her as Altheas limped across the room to her. He let go of his walking stick, taking support of the wall behind him, and used his two hands to hold onto his daughter.

‘Oh, you poor thing, how are you, eh? How’ve you been?’ He said joyfully, playing around. He held her in front of him and stared straight into her beautiful brown eyes. She’d gotten that from her mother, a woman Altheas had bedded a few times in the past. A beauty local to Kaandor, but one who didn’t have his love. 

A tear seeped through his own eye, as he held her close to himself.

‘Know this, my love,’ he whispered, trying to get his croaky old voice to sound properly, ‘through death and life, I am with you. I live for you, baby girl. I will do anything for you.’ The tears streamed through his face as the screws of a hundred heartbreaks bolted themselves into him as if he were a plank of wood.

‘I’ll die for you, Geanna, when the time comes. No harm will ever come your way.’ He cried, letting the sadness envelop him. He was broken.He coudn’t believe all that had happened over the past few days. All of it reminded him of the only truth that he’d ever considered. He’d do it all for his daughter’s life and safety. Even if it meant drawing the curtains on the kingdom of his former lover. 

***

Nathanial Rolan

It was incredibly shocking to hear the news of his father’s death. Keran Rolan had created the one and only successful rebellion against the lordship of Loazer. He was not the rightful heir to the Lordship—his cousin, the son of Georgon Rolan—was. That is, until Keran managed to create the rebellion. He had gathered forces from Etathes, Eaginys, and even Wriceomel, with promises to pay the debts back in due course. He led these forces against the crown and won the seat of power back. Not even ten or fifteen years after his uncle had invaded Arlonar and killed every citizen of it. 

But all that was in the past. And now, so was his father. The same man who’d broken the line of succession to name him, Nathanial, the heir to Loazer, ahead of his elder brother Rothrin. But it was all in the past now. All of it. He was gone. And how did his heir pay him back? By abandoning his position in his homeland to pursue his ambitions elsewhere. He left his father to death, without even properly saying good bye. A cruel reality for him to live with. 

‘Daren. Come here.’ He said. Dried tears left their mark on his under eye lids. He was sitting in the common place of his floor in the King’s Guesthouse, or the Lord Chamberlain’s palace now. 

‘King Tristan has promised the kingdom of Gr’Erhin to me after he passes, correct?’

‘That is correct, my lord.’ He said, reaching over to the table to fetch himself a cup of tea. The well built commander was dressed in dark green colours, a native vest made of silk interwoven with cotton. It was a sturdy enough vest, yet it retained the fine quality of the silk it was made of. 

‘And is this worth it, Daren? Is it worth leaving my father in the ditch to pursue my own ambitions?’

‘I…uh…’ The coverlord was flustered. He’d fetched his tea but was frozen midway.

‘Oh go on, drink ye fekhin tea.’

He even spoke like his father, and he knew that. Oh, and his poor old mother. What was she going to do now? As far as he knew, her husband was the only human she’d talk to. And now he was gone. She barely even knew her own sons. And to think of what was to happen to her now. 

Daren nervously picked up his cup and loudly sipped his tea.

Nathanial frowned at him, which only made him more nervous, and asked, ‘Where are you from, Daren?’ 

‘Uh…my lord, my family was born in a little town just outside Nithron. They shipped me into Northern Loazer when I was young.’

‘And where were you raised?’ 

‘Well…Kais, for the most part.’

‘By the shores or inside the town?’

‘Inside, my lord.’

‘Then why the fekh are you sipping your tea like those who clean the gutters of D’Wani?’ 

‘Oh…oh, I’m truly sorry, my lo-lord.’ He put the cup down and excused himself from the table, moving back. 

Total fekhin idiot, this one is. Who appointed him at the head of my security here? And then he remembered who did. His father. 

‘Daren, wait. Come back here a minute.’ He called out, stretching his legs forward and placing them on the table in front. It seemed to be a terribly gloomy day in King. The grey clouds rained heavy snows down on the already deeply snowy paths of the city. The Fang Peaks’ hue seemed to be a solemn grey today, the greenery hidden. 

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘Should I go back to Kenneth? Be there for my family, maybe.’ 

‘Well…you have your duties here now, my lord, you can’t go back.’ 

‘No, idiot. Not permanently. Just until all is well. Father is dead and war has breached the lands.’

‘You mean a visitation? For you to oversee all the coverlords until all is back to normal?’ 

‘Precisely, Daren.’ A sick feeling entered his stomach. He realised the reality of it all. There had been a battle at The Bremingade, and his father was dead. His father was dead. All the responsibility was on his shoulder and on his sister’s, now. He couldn’t seem to digest it. Was it really happening? Was this the truth or just some sick, twisted dream he was stuck in?

It’s not a dream. These are not the lands of fantasy. He thought to himself. 

‘Go to Loazer, sir. Smooth things out and return here to perform your duties and become the king when time comes.’ 

The idiot spoke sense. For the first time in the five months he’d been here, the idiot spoke some words of truth. 

And so, it was decided. Nathanial Rolan, rightful heir of Loazer, was headed home.

***

Part 3:

The Ages of Wood

Chapter 34; A Voice in The Dark

/King, Gr’Erhin // In a dream

After long, Adi had finally returned home.

An endless mist covered the entire floor, and blank canvas that was the sky here extended all the from the horizon up till the reach of god himself. Piles of ash rose up and down around him—by now he’d understood these were people who had died or were going to die. He still couldn’t get the horrifying image of three loved ones—being ash spots—out of his head. The piles embodied their spirit, and Adi could somehow…tell it was them. But every time he’d wake up, he’d forget them. He’d forget the faces, and he wouldn’t even be able to remember where he saw the three piles of ash. 

He walked across the platform slowly, not that he wanted to go slow, but it was just because when he was in the dream world, he didn’t feel like he had entire control of himself—like he wasn’t at the drivers seat—when he was in this realm. A part of him felt like…it was being guided by another force. Perhaps another person.

Soon, he reached the little stone table. It had gotten a few lines of black marble mixed into it over the past few weeks, like stratta. He put his hand on the table, backpack slung over his shoulder, and ran his hand across its surface. His sensory inputs were maximised in this world, and so when he did so, he felt tingling run up his entire body. He closed his eyes, opening it moments later to see a mature woman in the stead of Olivia, who was always in the form of a young girl.

‘So this is what you look like, isn’t it?’ He asked, out of the blue.

‘Yes, Adi. The little girl was only a form to make myself unthreatening to you. I am, in fact, a pretty…old woman.’

Huh, interesting. He’d seen her morph into this woman in a past dream, when the intruders had come and disrupted the peace of the land. He’d learned from her that those intruders, who’d attacked them over the last few dreams, were other people using The Fibre to get into his mind. They couldn’t reach him unless he was asleep. 

‘Are you taking to it well?’ She asked, looking over the lands. Adi’d already reached into his backpack and got his notebook at the ready. 

‘It’s better than my life back on Earth, far better, Olivia. You know that. You suffered with me just the same.’

‘I did, Adi. You know my life isn’t anything precious either. I’ve been stuck in the same state as you for a long time. Until you came along.’ She reached her hand over and held his. He had true love for Olivia, in the sense that she was almost an extension of himself. The closest thing to family that he ever got. 

‘Am I going to live here all my life? Or is it just until their task is done.’ He asked nervously. This was something he’d wanted to know for a while now. It’d been a month or so since his arrival, and he was relishing it. He couldn’t imagine leaving Erhin to go back. He’d lost his belongings, but he’d got plenty more than he could ask for, here. 

‘It’s up to you. Entirely. It’s your decision.’ The look of concern on her face was almost…comforting for Adi to see. For him to know that he was in fact, loved.

‘But you’re staying here.’ She said, surprisingly. He laughed alongside her. 

‘I assumed. Can’t even imagine going back. Not for a second.’ 

‘Oh, you’ll return to Earth one day, you will. Not permanently, but there’ll be things that’ll bring you back. Do you not see it?’ 

He shook his head, frowning.

‘Here.’ She said, waving her hand in front. A cloud of mist from in front of here cleared up, as Adi looked straight at the horizon. In the distance, seemingly solidly defined light began forming. Lines of light, shaking rapidly to and fro, were almost…strung together. They radiated energy, together forming a colossal mass of light. In the distance, smoke slowly enveloped its entirety, until he saw faint images forming in the background. It was…him. He could see the Big Ben in London, and he was running through the streets, perhaps searching for something. But that was all she showed.

‘So I’ll be back?’ 

‘You’ll be back. One day, Adi. We don’t know what for, but your missions will take you there. One day.’ 

He didn’t know how to feel about that, save for confusion. Did he want to ever go back? Perhaps a last look to decide his future? No, no, he was decided. His life was here, at Erhin. Not on Earth. He knew that already. 

‘It doesn’t matter where you go,’ she said, taking a breath, ‘wherever you are, you’re going to do great things, Adi Walkman.’ 

She caught his attention. He turned towards her. Her wrinkled face looked deeply contemplative.

‘Great things, and nothing short of it. You are meant to be here now, even though you may not be here all your life. You won’t return to live in Earth, but your travels will take you far. That, I can assure you.’

Great things. He replayed her words in his mind. The last person he’d ever expect to do great things was… him. 

‘And you’ll be by my side?’ He asked.

‘By your side and no one else’s.’

Pain, was it? A jolt coming from the back pushed Adi forwards, and he felt something pierce through his chest. A look of horror overcame Olivia as she screamed, running in the opposite direction. She screamed some words which he couldn’t understand. Confused, he looked down at his chest, and found a gross log of wood protruding out of his chest. Blood dripped across the edges of his body. He felt sick, almost as if he wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t. Pain overflew his entire mid section, as within seconds, he fell to his knees. But the weight of the log made the fall much harder. He felt his knees shatter on the cement, and he fell right down on his back, driving the log of wood far above his chest. 

Far away, black beams of light shot up into the sky and reigned down across the ash and mist covered world. Did Adi find a certain…peace of it all? A peace in the situation. At dying, at the chaos? He would have chosen to panic, if only he had the choice. But oddly enough, he felt calm. Even the monumental, throbbing pain wasn’t enough to stop him from laying completely still. In the distance, Olivia screamed words in a foreign language. Soon, Biv came rushing into the dream world. He scanned the threat, readying his stance, and shot streams of Wielded light. At the same time, Adi’s vision slowly faded and he felt himself drift into unconsciousness. 

Screams bellowed around him, but he found only peace. 

A whispering sage-like voice began to sound in his ears, Adi Walkan…you know the truth. You know what you want. 

Gasping for air, Adi found himself jump out of his bed. Eyes widely opened, sweat trickling down his face, he swiftly turned his head down to check for a log of word bursting out of his stomach.

Nothing. 

Tears streamed across his cheeks as he recalled his dream, not out of sadness, but out of pure shock. What the fekh was that voice? He thought to his head. It didn’t sound menacing, but it resonated with his dying self. And that was what scared him the most. 

***

Chapter 35; Tears and Smiles

/Kenneth

The autumn winds breezed through the entire land. Twisted trees shed their red and orange leaves on the floor. Large, uncut grass of the open fields of Kenneth seemed to shake off their roots. Wiola clustered its light into one big spotlight upon all the people attending Lord Keran Rolan’s funeral. A number of connected tents had been set up, all foiled in leather green colours, depicting a crocodile peaking out of the water. The signs used for mourning by the Rolans. 

The tents segregated the coverlords, higher lords, and other workers of the kingdom from each other. At the centre was a large funeral pyre, where the dead body of Keran lay rest. Theren had cried herself to sleep over the last few nights, but a nudging thought of rulership did not leave her. Her father’s death meant that she would now be the most powerful person in all of Loazer. The Lady at the head of it all. 

At the heart of the funeral pyre was the body, supported by massive logs of wood crossing each other. Thatch-roof straws were laid underneath his body, to make the effect of a royal, but flammable, bedding. In Northern Loazer, burials weren’t customary for Lords. But of course, it was a question of choice. Theren requested a pyre, for she did not want the ghost of her father to haunt her for the rest of her life. Dealing with all the ghosts in the world already was enough for her. 

Rothrin, dressed in sharp red colours and a war-fitted suit, did the honours of lighting the pyre. He stepped up to the platform, a servicer handed him the lit torch, and he walked up to the bedding, turning around to face the crowd. 

‘For the fiercest man I ever knew.’ 

‘The fiercest man.’ The crowd said back, in unison. 

He turned back around and lit the pyre, tears not enough to extinguish it. 

‘Keran Rolan,’ he began, stepping off the platform, ‘was a man of experience. He was born devoid of the rulership line, but he was the one who ousted madness from the kingdom. He was the one who brought peace and democracy back to the kingdom, and he was the one who strengthened the ties between the Linteres’ Kingdom and ourselves, to end the rule of Kaandor once and for all.’ 

Rothrin’s words came to Theren as a grain of salt in a fresh wound. She hadn’t yet read Koralisar’s letter, but she already knew what he was going to ask for. Ten thousand men to supply his army. 

‘I shall recite a famous work by Retroy Mavilek in dedication to my father. An Ode to Age.’

Silence ensued through all.

‘ “Broken fingers streamed a likening fire,

Breaking a face of knowledge.

An emblem extending from the empty unto the ink’s cast.

A lost rhythm, searching for what is ours.

An uncontrolled desire, brewing from within the chasms of sleep.

Nigh the places we knew.

Nigh the night time lanterns that flickered or flew.

Was it something that we could behold?

Something new?

A range of country, lost to us, in the evergreen beddings of  soft scales, trampling our feet. 

Falling on our souls, breaking our step,

Losing our reason, perhaps already lost,

From the fires where we were born,

turns to frost.’ ”  

The haunting words brought tears to many eyes. They seemed to speak such depth about the life and spiralling down of Keran Rolan. It seemed to have been written almost perfectly for his case. 

After further pleasantries and ceremonies were followed, Theren called for a family meet outside the crowds. Rothrin, Lothar, and her mother Arabella came along. She was going to tell them of her ambitions. 

‘You called for us, sister?’ Rothrin asked, hands inside his trouser pockets. 

‘Yeah. I wanted to discuss the future of the Lordship of Loazer.’

‘Not at father’s funeral, please. Be respectful.’ Lothar said. Surprisingly hypocritical words, coming from him. She thought. Teaching me about respect, are you, brother?

‘I’m afraid time isn’t particularly on our side now, brother. We have to act fast.’ 

She turned towards her mother, who stared off into the distance. That’s how she’d been over the last seven or eight years. Lost in her own world. All of them had come to accept her as the way she was now. 

‘Who rules? Now that father’s gone, and Nathanial is the Lord Chaimberlain of Gr’Erhin?’ She asked, blatantly.

‘Well, I feel morally encompassed to be a candidate,’ Rothrin said, not too frankly. He nervously said so, holding his words back a bit.

‘Brother, with all my respects and love,’ she said, holding his arm, ‘we need you to command our forces. No fiercer or bolder strategist has the kingdom ever seen. We need you vested in green, leading our forces in the times to come.’
Was that a look of resignation on his face? Perhaps he knew that he may not be the most decisive man in all the kingdoms. He certainly wasn’t, but he functioned exceptionally under orders. 

I think he’s realised that. She thought. With a look of regret, he nodded and looked at the ground. 

‘Perhaps me?’ Lothar said. All frowned and stared at him. He blinked a couple of times and continued, ‘well, by legality, I am next in line. I could make do, perhaps?’ 

‘Shut up, Lothar.’ Theren said, dismissing him entirely. He seemed to be readying an argument, but Rothrin gestured for him to stay calm. He, too, resigned. 

‘Mother, I wish not to trouble you with such responsibilities. Heavy things weigh on your heart already. Things that we do not know. And so I wouldn’t think to burden you with our problems.’ Theren said, hoping for no retaliation.

Arabella looked up with a pleasant, but troubled, smile and said, ‘O-of course, my love.’ 

Theren breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So it is decided? I am to be the Lady of Loazer?’

‘It is decided.’ Her older brother said, nodding and walking off into the distance. Theren turned towards Lothar, who seemed ashamed. She patted him on the shoulder, having no words to say. He too walked off. 

‘Oh daughter. Don’t alienate yourself from them.’ Her mother said to her, turning her way. She moved in closer. ‘There’s a weight on your shoulders now. Don’t leave them out.’ 

‘Of course not, dear mother. I’d never do that.’
Would she not? If they came in her way, she wouldn’t care for their inclusion. After all, it was the kingdom that was to be maintained, not who were the people behind it. Whatever it took for the good of Northern Loazer, she’d do. 

A few minutes later, she approached the tents again, where refreshments were served to all. From nearby, she could hear the familiar sound of long, dragged out cloth against ground. She turned downwards to find two hands tucked into tightly fitted sleeves, and a figure seemingly glide across the floor, with large, unbundled cloth attached to the rest of the wardrobe worn by this man. It was one of the many outstanding robes worn by the great knight Muriel of Wriceomel, the traveller and agent of the Lordship of Loazer, the coverlord of her father, and the one who’d been passing off her information off as royal secrets. 

And yet she felt grave sympathy for him. Kicked out ruthlessly by Rean, even after having done so much with the team. And it seemed that he was finally ready to talk to her again. He approached her, drink in hand, and offered her a sip. 

‘My gracious lady, and ruler of Loazer. I congratulate you.’ 

What the hell…in Krilin’s grave only. How does he know? She thought.

Theren grabbed his arm and pulled him aside, giving him a stare from the depths of Chronisc’s own torture chambers.

‘How do you know, fat knight?’ She blatantly asked. 

‘Ah, well…you suspect of me far too much, my fare lady. Why, I just put two and two together.’
He looked down at his arm distressfully, and then at her pleadingly. 

She let go of him and scanned the environment, hoping no one else heard his remarks. No official announcements had been made yet, and this was not the type of information she’d want to have leaked into the entire kingdom. 

‘I am sorry…Sir Muriel.’ 

‘And some…other apologies,’ he said, taking a breath, ‘are in order? Perhaps on behalf of your spies.’

‘We have missed you sorely.’ She said, almost breaking into a smile. How could she smile? She was at her father’s funeral. This was no place to smile. Behave yourself, foolish woman. She thought, mentally punching herself.

‘You were our greatest asset, sir. Please…if there’s anything I can do to get you back with us. On kingdom scale now, I promise.’ 

She’d need him by her side if she was to rule, no doubts about it.

‘I’m afraid I must show apprehensiveness, my lady. After the treatment I received—’

‘Oh for Krilin’s own son, Muriel! I’m offering you the highest coverlord position you could ask for.’ 

He eyed her for a few seconds. Was he, too, on the brink of a smile?

‘Inter-dimensional affairs, at the least.’ 

‘Done.’
She didn’t even hesitate. Of capabilities he did not lack. There was no doubt that he was the man for the job. 

She walked alongside him, and turned to find him grinning in joy. 

‘You’ve got your power you’ve always craved, Muriel.’ She said playfully. 

‘What do you mean, Lady Theren? I was already a coverlord.’ 

‘Real power, m’ro. You are at the head of things now. And now is the time we need inter-dimensional cooperation the most, with all that is happening.’ 

‘Expect me to be at the forefront of it all, my lady.’ 

She smiled and nodded, as he bowed and headed off into the distance. 

‘Oh, and…uh, Muriel?’ She called delicately. 

‘Yes, my lady?’

‘You’re still a spy.’

The two of them shared a menacing smile.

***

Chapter 36; The Truth of The Past

/King, Gr’Erhin

The climb up the Fang Peaks were never easy. No, not even once. 

His snow climbing boots which King Tristan’s staff had provided him had proven to be an aid, but they weren’t much. The only thing he looked forward to most were Biv’s Wielded portals. Except for the few times where he’d been spliced in half and subsequently pieced back together.
The upwards climb was interrupted by blizzard-like snow and feet deep snow. Tree branches almost blended in with the background, being so bizarre as they already were, twisted across each other and whatnot. Adi and Biv reached the checkpoint, where he signalled Biv to open a portal.
A ray of light, or infinite strings of light stuck together, formed a solid block which opened into a small portal into the upper camp of the mountain. Adi dove through it and landed stomach first on the snowy ground just below the camp gate. Groaning, he helped himself up and walked on in. As usual, the bustling of the people, the large campfires, and the general warmth of the entire town, almost, radiated through him. He walked towards the glass building, greeting a few people he’d been regularly meeting on his way there. 

Moments later, he found himself in Rys’ room. The delicate red strings of cloth strung all across his room still wowed Adi. 

‘Ah, the Earthian is here.’ The little boy turned around excitedly and greeted him. 

‘Please, my friend. Take a seat.’ 

‘Rys Unember.’ He greeted him back, ‘Master of the prophesiers.’ 

‘You shower me with your kind words, m’ro.’ He said, as always unusually sage-like. 

‘How was the climb up?’

‘Well…’ He looked towards the steep hills from the window, ‘it was quite a climb.’

‘And your stutter?’ 

‘Almost gone! It’s…it’s crazy.’

The little boy frowned, ‘Crazy? Why is it crazy? Is it not good?’

‘No! No, please,’ Adi laughed, ‘i-it’s a way of tongue in my hometown. Back on Earth.’ 

‘Ah…’ Rys said, pondering, ‘crazy. It’s a nice word to use there!’ 

‘Yeah man! Biv said from the background, ‘you teach me too!’ 

The few men in the room shared a laugh, before goodbyes were said to Biv as he made his way back down. He had almost become like a professional babysitter, or guide, rather, for Adi. 

The curious boy stared Adi down with his wide eyes. 

‘Been enjoying your alcohol, haven’t you?’ 

‘Yeah…I-I mean the occasional beer or a glass of wine or—’

‘Walkman, you poor thing,’ he sniggered, ‘I am the one who is helping you master your mind. You think I can’t tell if you lie?’

Those adult-like words suited the child-like voice like a child’s shirt over a giant.  

Rys signalled for him to walk to him. 

‘Adi, I want to show you something new… I want to show you your mind.’ 

‘Show m-me my mind?’ He sniggered, ‘Like how?’ 

‘Lie over there.’ He said to Adi, pointing to a carpeted spot on the floor. 

He then put his hands over Adi’s head and closed his eyes. 

‘This won’t sting, m’ro.’ 

The child’s soft hands enveloped his entire head. 

Tingles ran through his skull, and he began to feel a nudging pull from beneath his feet. And within moments, he was launched ahead, almost slingshot, at a furious pace. He felt his stomach sink as he screamed. Flashing red and blue lights surrounded him, pulled, stretched lights. 

A ground seemed to be approaching, as he arced the sky and fell face first on the floor, feeling no pain. The floor, too, seemed to be made of a strange, luminescence of light. 

‘Huh? Wha..’ He breathed heavily. He looked around and saw a million different things happening around him. Shapeless objects, morphing and transforming constantly. Shifting colours and vistas surrounded his environment. He felt like he was tripping entirely. 

‘You’re a prophesier, Adi.’ The voice of Rys, amplified through the entire place, boomed. ‘If you want to be able to see the future, you need to see your mind.’ 

Lagging footsteps dragged him across the realm he didn’t understand. 

‘It’s not mist…it’s not white, it’s…it’s…’ 

‘I know, m’ro. You haven’t seen it before. This is The Fibre, my friend.’ 

Awe overtook his entire being. The landscape of his dreams was definitely jaw opening, but this…this was surreal. 

‘Tap into it, Adi. Reach out. See what it has to tell you.’ 

He opened his arms out and grabbed into the sky. A distant flutter of luminescent wisps flocked his way in a smooth manner. It reached his hand and began showing him something he couldn’t make out entirely. 

‘I can’t tell, Rys. What is that?’

‘Oh, ha!’ Rys laughed, ‘You won’t recognise anything yet. You have to keep practicing.’ 

And so he continued to do as his mentor asked him to. This was an entirely new world, a world of lights and ever-changing skylines. Words, images, paintings flashing by him, all strung together by the light of the entire realm. He was going to explore much over here. 

***

After an hour or so, or a twelfth, as they called it in slang speech, Adi’d come out of that mental state in complete disbelief. It had taken him some moments to get back to his senses, after which he exchanged formalities and left the camp to go back down and meet Nathanial for his sword-training. 

He waved his byes to the men and women around the camp and set out the door. He found footing on a steep hill, and with the help of his spiked boots, slowly climbed down the near vertical drop. 

Oh, fekhin hell. He looked ahead to find an overextended pile of snow had entirely swallowed his usual path down, and so he’d have to find a different way. He turned right and found a small, snow covered track leading across the other face of the mountain, and he followed it. Strange markings and dialects of a different language were inscribed onto the path, as he found by clearing some of the snow. He ignored it and moved on. At the end of the path, there was an extension of it down the mountain. He turned and followed it. 

Was that a…

He turned back and found a strange doorway. The centre of the door was punched out, revealing pitch blackness behind it. The door, too, had some strange inscriptions on it.
He frowned at the sight, curious to see what was inside. But looking through the hole, he felt…afraid. He didn’t want to take the risk. Besides, it seemed entirely abandoned.

Better not meddle in places I shouldn’t.

He didn’t particularly shrug it off, but turned around and decided to try and forget it, walking back down the mountain. 

An hour or so later, after he’d managed to find some rest after the climb, he made his journey on horseback to Nathanial’s training grounds. Often, when he himself was practicing, he’d call Adi in as well to train with him.

Crocodiles lined the surrounding lands, spear heads towards the floor. Christ, how valiant they all looked. Not a single one of them out of formation. Each and every one of them seemingly young, fit, and ready for war. And at the head of the formation was the “coverlord” or the head of Nathanial’s security, Sir Daren. Adi’d managed to acquaint himself with him. 

‘Good day, Daren Sir!’ He said in jest, smiling towards him.

‘It’s Sir Daren, stupid boy.’ He laughed, shaking his head. 

‘I’ll keep it in mind.’ 

He reached the Colosseum like training grounds, and found “The Hunter” Nathanial Rolan, swinging the practice sword gloriously at his fellow soldiers. There seemed to be a tinge of fury in his swings. He was going wilder than usual, hitting harder at the shields and legs of his men, and practically knocking a few of them back. He was also…grunting as he swung, something unusual from the usual elegance of his normal style. The nuance with which this man swung the sword was unparalleled by most that Adi’d seen in his few weeks in Erhin. 

‘M’ro! Come on in.’ 

Adi walked into the stadium, watching The Hunter furiously reign down on his opponents. He was the best swordsman of the entire kingdom, or so he was reputed. 

‘How was your trip down?’ He asked, panting. He grabbed a water skin and a seat, taking a drink. His eyes showed worry to Adi. Looking at him, a flashback began to come to him, but he consciously resisted it for now, as Rys’d taught him. He focused his thoughts and sat down besides Nathanial.

‘Well…strange actually.’

‘Strange? Strange how.’ 

‘I found a…a sort of…’ Should I tell him? ‘I found a really large avalanche on my path down, so I had to find another way down the mountain.’ 

‘Ah.’ He laughed, ‘Tough travels, then, I take it.’ 

‘Y-yeah. Tough travels.’ My god…my stutter’s almost gone! One session with Rys and he’s taught me to…Fekhin hell, I can’t believe it.

Nathanial took another drink, and looked ahead with keen, worried eyes. Something was definitely wrong.

‘What’s wrong, Lord Rolan?’ Adi asked, staring at him. 

‘What…nothing.’
‘Don’t play the fool with me! I’m a mind reader, after all.’

A smile crept onto his face, but not a genuine one. It was one that masked his real emotions underneath. 

‘Times are not good, m’ro.’ 

Were those…tears welling in his eyes?

Oh…the war at his hometown.

‘I…father, he…he was poisoned.’ His voice whimpered as he said this. The trembling tone of pain overtook his speak. ‘Poisoned in his own roof!’ He belted out. Soldiers around turned to give him a second’s stare, and quickly turned back around. 

‘I—I’m so sorry, my lord.’ Adi said to Nathanial, trying to find words to comfort him.

‘No…no, you don’t need to—’

‘I killed my sister when I was fourteen.’ 

Nathanial’s eyes widened, as he turned in shock towards him.

‘Yeah…you heard me,’ Adi said, facing the ground, ‘I killed my sister. I…I pushed her out the window of my room.’ 

‘Why in fekhin Krilin’s own grave would you do such a terrible thing?’

He honestly didn’t even know. He had no words to retaliate. All he remembered from that time was not knowing what he was doing. He only remembered all that came after. 

‘My parents pushed me away from everything I ever loved.’ He, too, teared up at his own words. ‘They didn’t call any authorities or anything. Too much trouble knowing that one child was dead and the other in prison. And so… th-they removed me from their lives. I heard from them not once more, save for the money they sent.’ 

He couldn’t even believe the words he was saying. He couldn’t believe that his past was truly what it was. He’d wanted to kill himself a thousand times over for what he had done. And yet he was never able to understand why he did it. 

‘You and I live in our woes for now, Walkman.’ 

He…sympathised with him? That was entirely unexpected—Adi thought that Nathanial would have denounced him after he’d hear about his past. And yet…he showed sympathy. The only one who showed sympathy. 

‘I’m going home, Adi.’ 

He turned to look at Nathanial, blinking. 

‘At least…until I fix everything. My sister will rule in my stead, and I will be back here, as Lord Chaimberlain.’

‘Why do you return, Nathanial? You know you cannot be Enlightened—you can’t become a Wielder. Wasn’t that the-the only thing you sought out here?’ 

Nathanial took a deep breath as he raised himself off the bench.

‘You see, I…I realised something, Adi of Earth. I am here to serve a greater purpose. To carry a mantle onwards. To finish something ten times more important than my own wants.’ 

‘And what is that?’ 

‘If I told you, Adi, it would ruin the mystery.’ He smiled at him, as if nothing in the world was wrong, and went back to train.
‘Well come on then, Adi! You’re not seriously planning on sitting all day, now are ye?’ 

***

Grace, Nathanial’s secretary, was an entity out of this world.
Or, out of the three worlds Adi’d learned about. That precious smile, those twinkling eyes, her incredible, indescribable beauty and endearment was far too much for him to handle. Over the past few weeks, he’d gotten to…know her better.

‘Oh! Adi Walkman! You’re not serious, now are you?’ She said, giggling away, with an end to end smile across her face. 

The two of them were sitting in a field overlooking the entire city. Stone lined the corners of the park-like area. It was unserviced, and so the two of them had total privacy. 

‘No, I am serious, o-of course!’ He said, too, laughing. ‘I thought you loved Nathanial!’

‘Well, most likely not!’ 

‘Then what were the looks about?’

Grace widened her eyes in shock, somewhat sarcastically, ‘What looks?’ She was trying to hide a smile.

‘Oh…don’t play the fool!’

‘Ah!’ She giggled.

‘Come on, mate. You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?’

‘I…may or may not have…once.’

‘Twice.’

‘Twice! Alright, my love, you caught me.’ 

Do I even know how to flirt with a girl? Fuck that, do I even know what flirting means? What am I doing, I can’t—

‘Regardless, you’re working for him now, you cannot be committed to your employer.’ 

‘True words from a wise man.’ She said, emphasising on her joking tone. 

‘I’m just saying, Grace!’ He said, reaching his hand out. What in the hell am I doing, ‘You can find other company if you like.’ 

He held onto her hand. Tingles went up his entire body, as the pace of emotions overtook his legs on the running track, accelerating him to a pace faster than he’d ever run before. This was a new sensation for him. 

‘Oh, Adi Walkman,’ she said, intently staring into his eyes, ‘you are a wonderful man.’ 

Could he do it? I don’t know… He thought apprehensively. He did feel her emotion, but his nervousness overpowered it. 

He let go of her clutch and looked forward at wiola. It was setting on the beautiful landscape, the cluster of its weakening spotlights slowly fading into dusk.
She reached her arm out, wrapping it around his farther shoulder and resting her head on his nearer.

‘I never get tired of this view.’ She said contemplatively.

‘I can’t imagine I ever would.’ 

‘One day, when our jobs here are over, I want you take me to earth.’ 

Boy, this girl really does like to move fast, doesn’t she? He thought, laughing in his mind. 

‘Earth? Ha ha, why do you want to go there? It’s terrible.’ 

‘I just want to see new places, Adi! I want to explore. Be where I haven’t. Our lords never let us come to earth, but we can sneak there, right? You know the way.’

‘How am I going to get a gem to earth, ever, love?’ He said, looking into her eyes and smiling.

‘Oh…you leave that to me.’ 

‘Ah, so we’re assuming you’re resourceful now, are we?’

‘Adi Walkman! That audacity exceeds what you can afford!’ She said, playfully slapping his shoulder. He smiled, extending his arm out and grabbing her arm, covered in a soft, silk robe. She must have had the softest touch. If only she’d let me. 

He was still confused whether she’d do this with every man, or if she felt a genuine attraction towards him. He couldn’t tell, as this was his—

A sudden pain crept from his forehead all the way to his back, as he quickly removed her hand and curled up.

‘What’s wrong, Adi? jf fimpf wufhweuwm?’ Her muffled voice said. Her words soon turned into mumbling as his entire vision faded to give way to blackness. Pitch blackness. 

Adi Walkman… A deep voice said, as a figure cut from the darkness extended from the horizon. A…massive figure with a spearhead. 

I know what your mind seeks. 

A flash ran through his eyes, as he felt his body being shook by hands, yet he moved not. He stood still, facing the pitch blackness.
Flashing images appeared in front of him, showing the vague images of a distorted white mountain, and a gateway, leading to the same kind of darkness. 

Adi Walkman…I know what you want, the voice repeated. You just have to walk through. 

‘Through where?’ He said, not feeling any sound leave his lips. 

Go through it, Adi. Don’t think. Don’t blink. The Wielders of Old yearn for help. The Wielders yearn. The Wielders of old call on The Fibre. 

Gasping for breath, his vision suddenly returned as he felt himself clutching onto Grace, whose worried eyes looked down on him.

‘Adi…Adi, are you alright? Adi!’ She screamed.

‘Yep, yeah…I—I’m here.’ 

Was he going to tell Rys about this vision? 

Who am I kidding, of course I am. The first thing I’ll do.

‘Oh, I got so worried about you, love! What happened?’

‘Just felt a trip, is all. I’ll be fine, Grace. I’ve always felt it. I-it’s got to do with my dreams.’ 

Frowning, she nodded and turned back around, helping him up off the ground. 

I’ll go to Rys, I’ll tell him the truth. I’ll tell him what I saw. I’ll tell him what I heard. 

And yet that doorway at the mountain path was always open. 

I could, perhaps, take a look first. 

***

Chapter 37; The Lost Child is With Us

/Outside Kenneth

‘Keep your bow arm relaxed. Release quickly. There’s nothing else in this world but you and your bow,’ Rothrin said as Lothar watched over his bow with a keen eye. A target head made of cloth lay meters away, and with one eye closed, Lothar eyed it.
‘Nock your arrow.’ 

He took his arrow out as he kept a keen, affixed eye on the target. He loaded the arrow into the bow.

‘Draw.’
He pulled it back. 

‘And…fire.’ 

Within seconds the bow was airborne, arching over the skies and back down. It missed the target by a few centimetres at most.

‘Ohh…’ Rothrin groaned out, cheekily smiling over the sight. The breezy autumn winds outside on the green, sloped field didn’t particularly aid the arrow’s flight.

‘Alright, here, let me try.’ 

Rothrin took the bow from a smiling younger brother. He loaded the arrow and aimed into the sky, not waiting long to release. It flew majestically through the air, the “wind nettings”, small threads of fabric woven together and attached to the arrowhead to give it smooth flight, making sure that the arrow didn’t loose its path.
It hit straight on the front of the target. Smiling, Rothrin turned around to find Lothar frowning at the sight.

‘Oh, come on! You can be happy I succeed sometimes too, you know.’ 

‘Oh, brother silence, please. The sometimes applies to me. You’re father’s golden boy.’ 

The look of happiness left his eyes, as the both of them looked down.

‘I—I’m sorry, I didn’t realise—’

‘It’s okay, Lothar. Memory gets the best of us sometimes.’ 

‘He’s really gone?’ He asked his older brother, turning up in some false hope.

‘He really is.’
Rothrin was clearly trying to hide his emotions, blinking away some welling tears. 

‘Well, you were his golden boy.’ 

Rothrin swallowed and said, ‘Hardly. He only made me a war commander even though by age I was next in line. Nathanial was his golden one. You know that.’ 

He frowned at Rothrin’s words. ‘But don’t you ever feel that you deserve the lordship by right? Do not you sense the unfairness?’ 

‘What unfairness, Lothar? Father’s power was only his to give. It was his duty to perform. At the end of the day, I can only do as I am called to, and to the best of abilities.’

I don’t know…If I was in your position, elder brother, I’d tear him up and claim what is mine. He thought, unable to comprehend Rothrin’s willingness to give up his future position.

Rothrin looked towards the breezy winds blowing over twisted trees contemplatively. Something was playing on his mind.

‘Oh, what is it, brother?’ Lothar asked, ‘I’ve bothered you enough in my life to know when something’s truly wrong.’

‘No, no, nothing’s wrong, m’ro. It is only the matter of…well…’ he took a deep breath, ‘I think, brother, you have finally outdone yourself.’

Approval?

‘You saved us from the cell. You showed valiance, you showed spirit. You managed to escape the vicers in the cave. You did it all, brother. And you were the last one father would have ever expected.’ 

He was…shocked, to be honest. He couldn’t even comprehend the words his brother was saying. Ever since the breakout and murder of his uncle Hal in Galathground, Lothar felt like an outcast in the Rolan family. But could these be words of truth? His elder brother was…proud of him?

‘I…’ 

‘It’s okay, brother. Father was always too harsh on you. You were irritable, and radical,’ he stepped upto Lothar, putting a hand on his shoulder, ‘but it is only because you are the most emotional man I know. You are a man of all heart. And never change that about yourself, brother. No matter what anyone ever tells you. Never change your spirits.’ 

Those words were going to resonate with him for a thousand lifespans, through thick and thin. Today was the first time he’d felt acceptance in as long as he could remember. 

‘Thank you brother. The lost child is with us.’ Lothar said, giving meek stares that drifted into the sunset.

‘The lost child is with us.’ 

***

\

Chapter 38; The Letters

/Unith, Isolde’s House

The welcoming smell of the D’Wani leagues greeted Theren as she walked up the spiralling staircases to the fourth floor of Isolde’s crammed home. The gutters passed through underneath his house and all of Kenneth’s leakage made passage through these sewages, giving a characteristic stink to the entire D’Wani leagues. Most of the poorer of the Captial of Northern Loazer lived here, making do with lives spent in the smell. Isolde stayed solely for the incognito aspect. 

‘Right, in this way, you lot!’ He said, guiding them through the rooms and into a relatively larger sitting area. Theren winced at the smell, but she slowly got used to it. Her two brothers definitely weren’t. Lothar had even retched once on the way up. 

‘Alright, then. Read it out.’ Lothar said, as everyone took a seat around in a circle. All of Theren’s spies, including Muriel, were here, alongside Rothrin and Lothar. In her hand she held a letter stamped by Koralisar Rathor himself. These were going to be his terms of negotiation. She’d chosen to open and say them out in front of her most trusted allies and family before making any open decisions. The nerves climbed across her skin, pulsing with freight. Her forehead was covered with beads of sweat, partly due to the heat of Unith. 

Looking down, she eyed the light green stamp with the slithering upward facing snake, tongue out and all. It was truly a gruesome ren-call, but the Rathors were not the worst of families. Slavers, yes, but fair ones. Rendron seemed particularly upset at having been broken from his battalion and captured. 

She broke the stamp and unfolded the paper, only to be greeted by calligraphed writing. 

She took a deep breath, eyeing everyone in the room. The commander Isolde had wide eyes and a nervous look. He really cared.

‘ “Lady Theren of House Rolan,” ’ she read out, clearing her throat,    ‘ “it has come to my attention that a lord of yours, Sarrona, betrayed you to support my cause. You see, our kingdom has more than it seems to be able to offer. A lot of—” ’ She stopped and eyed the men with a frown. 

‘Well, continue then!’ Hvit said, unbearably. 

‘Watch it, spy faggot.’ Lothar said.

‘Yes, my lord.’ 

Theren continued, ‘ “A lot of women with big tits do in fact love our country.” ’

‘For Krilin’s sake! This is a ruler?’ 

‘ “And it’s the watermelons, not the mangoes that reside on our kingdom. Watermelons only.” ’ She closed her eyes, sighing in frustration.

‘The level of disrespect is shameful!’ The middle-aged Woura said, shaking his head.

‘ “You see, what I am trying to say is that we work on larger scales than you previously imagined of us. Now, you and your filthy allies, stupid Westerners, have been funding our rival kingdom since your fat dad came to power. That fat oaf, oh, good riddance, is it not? Well, I’m presuming he’s dead by now, considering that that was my order.’ ”

Hvit kicked his seat and shouted, getting up and storming out of the room. 

‘Come back at once.’ Isolde said.

He stormed right back in and took a seat.

‘ “Our armies toyed with yours. Embarrassed the legendary Crocs. We fought our way into your system and bought out your ally at The Bremingade. So you see? Our influence extends beyond what you may have considered, upon looking at our state in the Hothras war.
Which brings me to my proposition. Hand over ten thousand fit Crocodilian soldiers, alongside whatever of my vicers you left to remain. Pull all your fundings from the Linteres’ and break ties with them. And if you do not? We will leave our homelands and wage all out war on you.’ ”

Theren took a nervous breath.

‘ “It may not have been a peaceful way to ask, but it was the only way. After all, I must ensure the survival of my kingdom. I ask no more of you but help to win this war that you have made us lose. If not, then it is the Snake’s Fangs who will decide our course in the future. And…and the Snake bites.’ ”

Stunned silence ran throughout the room. Wide eyes, open jaws, sweating temples. The men couldn’t believe what a massive ask had been made by the Kaandorian Council. This could be Kingdom finishing if it wasn’t handled properly, and Theren and her men knew that.
‘We can’t.’ Hvit said. ‘We can’t give it to them. It’s impossible. We don’t have ten thousand men to send. Your father’s debts must be payed.’ 

‘We have to send them.’ She said, solemn eyes staring at the creaky floorboard.

‘My lady! With all due respect, it’s impossible! We must keep secure—’

‘Hvit, silence!’ Muriel said, raising his hand. 

‘We have to do it. They can revert course and crush us in war. Besides, at times like these, with the losses we’ve suffered, we can’t afford war. We must secede to their demands. There is no choice.’

‘She’s right,’ Rothrin said, raising himself off his chair, ‘They showed us mercy at The Bremingade. We would have lost five thousand odd men were it not for their display of kindness.’ 

‘They invaded us in the first place!’ Hvit screamed.

‘And we have been funding the rebelling kingdom to wage war against them for the last six years.’ Rothrin said, snapping back at the  spy.

‘However good my father Lord Keran Rolan was, Krilin save him, he was indeed, in part, responsible for our current situation. Out of compulsiveness he began trade deals with the minority kingdom of Layonas. He funded Eswan’s fight against Kaandor, and he gave them the edge. One can only understand their frustration.’ 

‘So we must turn sides?’ Lothar asked, turning around. 

‘We must.’ 

‘Yeah, we aren’t left with many alternatives.’ She said, buried in sadness. A few weeks and she was already off to the rockiest tenure any Lord or Lady of Loazer had ever suffered. 

‘And the debts?’ Hvit asked, looking away in irritation.

‘Can we not negotiate and pay it in resources?’ 

‘Of that we have plenty.’ Lothar said, laughing. All in the room turned to face him, or rather tell him what an idiot he was. He quietened and sat upright in his chair.

‘This is no time to laugh, but he is right.’ She said, walking around the room. ‘Resources—gold, cloth, grain—we have plenty. And in this we can request to pay debts.’ 

‘The Southern kingdoms’ men laid their lives down for your father’s cause. Do you think some mere grain or gold can repay that?’ Hvit said angrily.

‘Alright Etathisian. Out. Out, NOW!’ She said, bellowing at him. His audacity and ungratefulness—Krilin save me, that fekher!

‘I’ll leave, my lady, but know this. My father died falling over your city’s walls. Shot while he was flying in the air from a sling. Food won’t cut it. Gold won’t cut it. Even men won’t. But they deserve what they are to rightfully get.’
She frowned at him as he walked off. She had…no words to say. He was right, for the most part. The incredible supply of men the Southern kingdoms had offered Keran was unparalleled. To this date she didn’t know how he rallied them to do it.

‘No, my men, he is right. To an extent he speaks sense. They laid their lives for a noble cause, and we deserve to give them as much as they gave us. But we cannot, not now, at least. Our entire kingdom may be under grave threat. Hvit, come back in. Please, listen to me. We need to deal with what is at hand. Once the Kaandorian threat is dealt with, you have my word the Southern debts will be payed the steadiest.’ 

He nodded and sat back down. 

‘Men, and lady,’ Muriel said, with almost a hint of a smile, ‘we all must understand our position. We are not to trifle in the past, debts and all. Those, important, yes, but we are under threat. Lady Theren puts it expertly—our kingdom may be in “grave” danger. We must protect it. After which, all can be looked after. I seem to share her…point of view on this. You all should too.’ His soothing tone almost sent out a message of…sarcasm alongside what seemed to be heartfelt words. 

‘And so it is decided. We will write an official letter with my stamp and have it sent via gem-boat to Kaandor. We will also prepare our men and have them shipped within the next few weeks.’

As horrible as this felt to do, she felt like she was narrowed down entirely. She had no choice. She’d been pushed into a corner, bullied into submission, stabbed to death. Was this going to be definitive of her entire rule? A disappointment to everything her father had set up?

Drunk and irresponsible as he was, everything felt lonesome without him to overpower his enemies. She felt her kingdom was exposed.

***

It’d been a tiring day for Theren, she’d signed a lot of papers of legality, went over various ceremonies for her appointment, rehearsals and so on, to the point where she was drained of her energy. She was in a carriage, on her way back from the Lords’ room in Haimar. Once she reached the Rolan Manor, she took tired footsteps off the carriage and was escorted by her security to the inside of the manor. She took the flight of stairs up and into the massive hallway, finding her own chamber. She entered to the lovely comfort of her bed, and took her shoes off and dove straight into the plush fortress. The sweet scent of lavender candles perfumed the entire room.

The staff put a rose scent before I left, not lavender… 

At once she arose, eyes wide open and alert. No one had ever replaced her candles for no reason, so she had good reason to believe not all was right. She went to her desk and inspected it—nothing. Her private chambers—nothing. Finally, she went back to her bed, unfolding the sheets, the quilt, and the pillow—there it was. 

A brownish white envelope, made of old, wood-like paper. It had a brown seal on the front with log of wood on it. 

Who in Krilin’s mind put this here?

She broke the seal, frightened, and opened it to find a letter with the face of a smiling man drawn across the top right corner. It read: 

‘ “The Ages of Wood are everywhere. Our men everywhere, our eyes everywhere. 

‘ “We have watched you, your royalty Theren Rolan. We have viewed you. Evaluated you. You must know this—once the Innkeeper extends his hand, offering a glass of beer on the house, no one denies it. Come…seek one with a golden trinket around their neck, and follow them wherever they may lead you. And if you do not? Well, we will find you in time, like we found our way into your chamber. 

With regards,

The Innkeeper from The Ages.” ’

She felt a creeping feeling tingle through her spine. Someone found their way into her chamber to plant this? Someone was watching her? As it was, she was struggling to keep her nerves together, and now she was being spied on?
She turned the letter around, to find small, calligraphed words on the bottom that read: ‘ “Don’t tell anyone, or other things of ours will find our way inside here.” ’

She started panicking, breathing heavily and losing her cool. She dropped the letter on the floor and feel back to her bed, almost feeling tears streaming out of her eyes. She had to get out, she couldn’t stay in her room. But she didn’t want anyone with her. She ran to her private chambers, picking up a knife and holstering it on her belt. She turned around towards the window, raised the sill, and climbed out, finding her footing on a jutting piece of stone. She carefully climbed all the way down and made her escape.

***

Chapter 39; The Tenebrous Man

/Peaks of Folhom

Adi had a training session scheduled with Rys for the morning. 

He’d began his ascent of the cliff a few hours ago. Having gained the stamina to make these climbs everyday over the last few weeks, it was beginning to feel like a breeze more and more everyday. He’d felt himself become far stronger, more agile, and able-bodied than he’d ever been before. He felt entirely focused on his mission, whatever it may be, and realised that there was genuinely no going back home, save for a visit or two some day to show his parents what he’d become.
While he was indeed focused, he couldn’t get that voice out of his head. That nudging thought—that deep voice that sought after him. And especially that cave that called out to him in the mountain. He knew just where to find it. But he wouldn’t. He had more important things to do.

Once he reached the crossroads, he turned to his left and glanced at the strangely magnifying, creepy pathway that led to that small, wooden door at the inside of the mountain. He then turned up to find the peak of Rys’ castle glancing over the snow. 

You’re fekhing stupid, Adi Walkman. 

He took the left. Once he reached the end of the pathway, a seeming silence seemed to consume him. The heavy, snow-laden winds became bereft of their sound. The rustling of the covered, twisted trees seemed to come to a stand still. He turned towards the cave, and the wooden door to the entry was already open. Stone jutting out from the corners in strange shapes shaped it in a truly creepy fashion. But most haunting of all was that silence. That silence which didn’t seem to stop. That silence of dark.

This is probably nothing, anyway. The voice didn’t tell me where to go…did it? Yeah, it didn’t. He thought. 

His footsteps into the cave were the only sound. Slow, booming footsteps.

Thud. A rock fell on his edge, startling him.

Thud. His footstep sounded louder than a boulder dropped from a mountain. 

Thud. He extended his arms to feel everything around him. He couldn’t see a thing.

From the distance, he could hear a bleak voice. It was groaning. In the most twisted way. A voice that sounded like it hadn’t said a thing for a thousand years.
‘Ahhhhhh’ It cried, in the softest, yet most tormented voice. 

‘AAAiiiii….I seeeee youuuu, Adi Walkmannnn.’ It whispered, straining his voice.
What the…what the hell. He turned around and began fleeing the cave, screaming for his life.

‘Nooooo.’ It whispered, while screaming, somehow. 

Suddenly, boulders fell in front of him, blocking his entire path.

‘Cooooome hereee.’ The bleak, alien voice called. It killed to hear that voice. Adi didn’t know what lay behind. But he had no options. He swallowed and continued walking forward.

The thuds of his footstep killed the silence. Complete silence. Finally, reaching his arms out, he felt the end of the cave. He turned to his left. Nothing. He looked straight ahead. Nothing. 

He turned to his right. A massive, deformed face with eyes bigger than brow stared at him, glowing the deepest shade of green he’d ever seen. Its jaw hung from its face, and its rough, torn skin crackled with every step it took. 

‘Theeee book. Hold it!’ It cried, its jaw falling as he fell to his knees.

‘Wha…I…I…I….’ The panic overcame him. He couldn’t say a word.

‘Juuust take it—AHHHHH!’ It screamed, its bones crackling and its skin sounding like tearing fabric. Adi turned to his left and found a platform, on top of which was a dusty old book.

‘I…I…I…’ He couldn’t stop breathing heavily. He turned to the creature. Those seemed to crawl straight from hell. Its skin and bones falling apart. Its entire being covered by…a wisp—a layer of a dark cloud. Floating across its being. 

‘Theee Wielders of Old call upon you. The Wielders of Old…call upon you.’ 

He turned away from the demonic thing and opened the book. 

‘Wha…I…I…’

A sudden rush of light overcame him as he got knocked back off his feet. Like the vision before, he felt thousands of streams of light overcoming his peripheral vision. He picked himself back up, still in the vision, and turned to see a man sitting at the end of the multicoloured landscape. The sound of the speeding streams of light sounded like a thousand passing trains. 

The man wore all black, had a tinge of green in his hair and was fairly white skinned. Adi walked upto him, and nudged his shoulder.

His head turned slowly to face him, and all Adi found was an eyeless man—deprived of emotion. The man’s socket-holes stared directly into him, facing him with an emotionless visage.

‘My own son wasn’t given what I give you.’ The eyeless man said, mouth barely moving. He reached his arm out and touched Adi’s chest. He felt a tingle flow through him and something envelop his entire being.

‘My forefathers forfeited my son. They deviated our line. So be it. Service me well, Adi Walkman.’

‘Why me?’ He screamed back, over the sound of a thousand trains.

‘You should know your name, one of home. You will guide us out, El—’

The lights suddenly crossed his path, splitting the strange man into millions of pieces. They suddenly began racing across the entire land, and with an extreme rush of energy, Adi awoke and found himself jump off of the cave ground. Panting, he looked around for the demonic presence, but found it nowhere.

‘What the hell? What was that?’ He said, not stuttering.

He turned around and ran straight out of the caves—the boulders had cleared somehow. He took a left and ran back right where he came from, tears dropping uncontrollably from his face, and fear taking over his entire being. He ran straight up into Rys’ town, not letting tiredness near him. He entered the barn door to the town, and walked through the camp with a face of stress and worry. Everyone turned to stare at him and look at him in shock, but he didn’t have the time to process any of it and went straight to Rys’ castle.

He went to the second floor by stairs and entered his room.

‘Rys…you won’t believe what I saw. I…’

This was the first time he saw the boy in shock. A few of his associates stood there, staring at him with their jaws dropped. Rys looked at him with wide eyes, near awe, almost. Uncharacteristically so.

‘What the fekh is it…why is everyone…’ he panted.

‘There is a mirror. Look at it.’ Rys responded, taking a few moments to process it himself. 

Adi turned to walk towards the small mirror in the room.

‘I don’t even know what you’re…’

He turned to face the mirror. He was glowing. Radiant. Wisps of light energy floated around his entire being. His palms were radiant, seemingly ready to fire. But the light—the light wasn’t bright white like Biv’s.

It was pitch black. 

His eyes pitch black. His palms pitch black. 

The light around him was dark as night, and yet it still glowed. This was no simple Wielder’s light.

‘The…what? What the hell is this?’ 

Rys walked up to him and faced him in the mirror.

‘You’re The Dark Wielder, Adi Walkman.’ 

***

Chapter 40; The Innkeeper

/The Fields outside Kenneth

Theren always loved the various landscapes scaling across her home town throughout the rest of Northern Loazer. The slopes of these landscapes slanted up and down, were covered in long blades of grass, and twisted trees dropped orange autumn leaves, bathing the ground in a wash of juxtaposing colours. The greens of Loazer were truly a sight not to miss.

She was gathered with her ten spies—the entire company was banded together since her father’s death. Muriel was back, Shen recovered from his illness, and the rest survived the fight at the Bremingade.

‘Lady Theren, might I add?’ Muriel asked straight off the bat, not even giving a second to Theren to say what she wished. She rolled her eyes and gave him the floor.

‘Two meetings in three days? Oh but you tax us, m’lady! We spies need our rest and—’

‘Fuck off, Muriel. Shut your face if you want to be here, or fekh off.’

He cleared his throat, ‘Why of course, my lady, I shall pick the latter in silence.’ 

She shuffled her feet and stared nervously at the ground. This was one thing she didn’t wish to talk about, but she knew that she must.

‘My father was poisoned, as you all know. Poisoned in his own home.  His own manor.’ She trembled. ‘Someone poisoned his wine. We don’t know who it was, but I caught a chef running from the scene. Isolde, Muriel, Investigate this. Take Dek with you, he’s got the keen eye.’ 

‘Yes, my lady.’ Dek responded.

‘Your heroics did not go unnoticed, Dek. You were a saving grace on the battlefield,’

‘Thank you, m’l—’

‘However, I do hope you got the cursed object sent back to whence it came.’ 

‘Hand delivered it me’self through gem-boat!’ 

She nodded. 

‘The evening that my father met that cow Sarrona in Haimar, on his return he made a stopover at the Folhom Peaks. He called for Lothar and Rothrin to join him. They were caught out by vicers and taken captive there. Someone, I don’t know if it was the carriage driver, but someone informed the infiltrators of where they were. Hvit, Evan; spearhead this job. Take the rest with you.

‘And men? I want answers. Nothing, but answers. I expect no less from the lot of you.’

‘And you won’t get nothing less, my lady,’ Pires proclaimed proudly. ‘We’re the subtlest of spies!’ He belted out like a proud, old grandfather, ‘The swiftest of the lot. Seemingly invisible when the hour calls upon us. The service we shall do for you, my lady, will be nothing short of excellence. Your father was a great man. I will avenge him, find his killers, and put them to the grave.’ 

From the side, Hvit slapped Pires on his hand and pulled him back. Silence ensued. 

‘Get on with your jobs, all.’

‘Uh…my lady?’ Connor said, the shy boy stepping up and smiling meekly at her.

‘Yes, recruit?’ 

‘I suggest you, uhh…keep me as your guard. I’m twice the fighter you’ll find anywhere.’ 

‘He’s right.’ Hvit said, turning around, ‘The boy knows how to play.’ 

‘Kicked his ass at the grounds, m’lady. Etathesian couldn’t stand for a good minute.’ 

She sniggered and said, ‘Alright. I’ll consider it.’ 

Isolde walked up to her and subtly held her hand, ‘My lady, you really shouldn’t be walking alone, it’s—’

She parted her red dress from the side to show a dagger holsted at her belt. 

‘I know my lady, it’s just—the letter. You can’t take a chance.’

‘Don’t be foolish. I can fend for myself.’ 

She knew she couldn’t. She knew it was unsafe. And yet the letter had asked her to walk all alone. Her curiosity had dampened her fear. She needed to know what this was.

‘My lady, I simply cannot allow—’

‘It is my command, Isolde. I walk alone.’ She stared at him with a fierce look until he resigned.

‘See you in a twelfth.’ She said, signalling him to head on out. 

She turned around and began walking through the lands. Once again, she’d locked her chamber door and escaped through the window. It was late evening, and wiola was beginning to set. She began finding her way home, eyes scanning her environment for some lead on what she’d seen in the letter. She looked around but found nothing but a few commoners roaming around here and there. The breezy autumn winds were becoming frequent around the city. It gave a rather bleak feel to the entire place. Her footsteps trampled the grass in her path as she took in the beauty of the world around her. The twisted trees shook and shedded their leaves beautifully. Wiola’s light gleamed down on all living beings, having a life of its own. 

She turned to see the fruitful reaps of the culmination of her late father’s work—Krilin save her she didn’t expect to miss him so dearly. All the peace he’d brought, the funding and incredible work in building the kingdom—it was breathtaking. 

In the distance, commoners bustled by, but among them stood a man. He was rather far off, but he seemed to be dressed in loose, black clothes. He looked right at Theren. He raised his hand and in it he held a shining trinket.

That’s it. 

The man turned around, forcing Theren to chase after him. He began walking through the evening commoners bustling about the place. She chased after, her red dress not being an issue as she’d had it cut a bit shorter and more fitted for this sort of thing. Once she reached the crowds, she searched around, but couldn’t find the man.

She turned to her right and found the man dressed in black staring into her eyes. Startled, she turned back quickly and saw the locker in his hand.

‘Follow.’ 

He began running through the crowds once more, but this time she kept a keen eye on him. 

About a forty-eighth passed by the time he’d led her into a dark enough ally. She was beginning to feel vulnerable and stupid for having followed this man to wherever he was leading her, but she couldn’t let that letter go unnoticed. She had to know what this was. 

He stopped at the edge of the ally, in front of what seemed to be a door. She followed through and joined him.

‘Hold my hand.’ He said. His face was scarred, presumably; he kept half of it hidden by some strange black tape.

She reached out her sleeved hand and held onto his. 

He then took the little trinket—locket—off his neck and cracked it open. Inside, there was a glowing gem. The door in front seemed to be relatively normal, save for a small hole at the top right corner. He took his locket and fit the glowing gem into the hole. All of a sudden, clicking noises began sounding, and what seemed to be an extremely secure mechanism opened up from the inside. 

‘Why did you have to hold my hand for that?’ 

He looked at her with a strange, eerie stare and opened the door.

He made his way down a dark staircase, grabbing a torch that hung from the edge of the wall. the stairs were steep, and the smell damp—this place seemed to be untouched in ages. 

Why the fekh am I entering? I shouldn’t be entering, I shouldn’t be entering! 

She stopped in her path. 

He turned towards her, ‘What’s the problem?’ 

‘Who are you? What do you think—I…I’m your lady, and I command you to get me out of here! I am not to be…defiled by vile specimens of your sort—’

‘Oh but you do mistake us, my lady,’ he said in his croaky voice, stepping up a few steps. He smiled, ever so subtly,  ‘for The Innkeeper offers only his warmest gratitude for your service thus far. The Ages are with you.’ 

She swallowed, frowning, and continued following him down the stairs. At the bottom, they reached a small basement, through which she was led by this mysterious man. 

‘Right this way.’ He said, turning left. He then changed directions, strapping his boots and turning the other way. All of a sudden, he dropped his torch. Footsteps walked away from her, leaving her in a ditch of utter silence. She began to panic—heartbeat racing, sweat on her brow—she didn’t know what to do. She had no torch and couldn’t tell the way out.

‘Uh…uh…’ She breathed, tumbling around trying to find an escape. A torch lit right in front of her face as she stumbled back at the sight of large, old eyes staring at her face. The man had wrinkles across his eyelids and a trimmed grey beard worn across his face. His long, grey hair extended down to his ears.

‘Are you frightened, girl?’

She frowned, controlling her urge to scream, and unsheathed her knife instantly. She swung her hand forward, only to feel another hand grab her from the side. Shocked, she couldn’t tell where the arm came from; everything was too dark to tell. The hand withdrew and disappeared back into the darkness.

‘I wouldn’t…try that again, child.’ The man’s deep, old sounding voice said. 

‘The Ages of Wood.’ She said, keeping a calm voice even though she was trembling with fear on the inside. ‘How did you get into my home?’ 

‘You see…that is a matter for the future,’ he said, withdrawing his torch, ‘but you must know. The Ages of Wood have travelled a long time. We have never once involved a ruler in our work. But we felt it is the time.’

‘I don’t…I don’t understand. What is your group? Are you spies, or?’ 

A man at the edge of the room began laughing, arms folded and all. 

‘Heh, my lady…uh…alright. We are spies. We have eyes everywhere. We know of Rean. You’ve done good work—better than the rulers of Northern Loazer manage to do usually.’ 

‘And is this your lair?’ 

‘No, my lady. We had this built yesterday, to meet you.’ 

They couldn’t have picked a better spot.

‘A waste of space.’ She said, unimpressed.

‘Hold onto your feelings just yet, Theren. A lot is to come which you could never have seen.’

‘The Ages of Wood are with you.’ The man at the corner said. He put his arm across and on his shoulder. 

‘The Ages of Wood are with you.’ The rest of the men resonated, alongside the “Innkeeper”, who backed off into the shadow and threw his torch on the floor. 

She stood there, frowning in fear. 

‘The…’ She walked forward, picking up the torch and searching for the Innkeeper. He was no where to be seen.

‘Hello?’ She called out, hearing the call of no one. 

She turned right around and made her leave, astonished by what she’d seen and heard. But another question arose. 

Who was she going to tell about this? 

If only Altheas was here…

***

Chapter 41; The Cruelest Joke

/The Rolan Manor

Zuruli had been Lothar’s sword master since he could even remember how to hold a sword. Not the best of the best, Zuruli was once a second-tier Croc who served under the revolt started by his father against Lothar’s grand-uncle Georgon Rolan, the once ruler of Loazer. 

Through the years, Zuruli had managed to teach various techniques, two or three stances, and many ways to cut down his opponents. He’d been trained in battlefield combat as well as stage-duel combat. Lothar had always underestimated his own ability to fight, as he’d discovered at the battle in The Bremingade. 

Lothar and Zuruli were training in the battlegrounds of Kenneth—The Crossover, as it was called. The dueling system in Northern Loazer was strange; Tunnels intersected each other in all directions to create a sort of maze, and fighters ran and found their way in these—looking for their opponents or possibly hiding from them. 

‘Careful now, I can hear your footsteps.’ Zuruli called out to Lothar as the two of them were running around the tunnels, looking for the other one. The tunnels were damp—the upper half was left open so that spectators could view the entire chase and fight, and the walls were made of a muddy clay, always wet or dripping with moisture. Brown in colour, the mud walls forced the fighters to wear beige coloured clothes or armour to blend in and hide from their opponents. One needed not only skills to fight in a duel in Northern Loazer, but also a trained eye, a focused eye. 

Sneaking through the tunnels with silent footsteps, Lothar kept a keen eye for his short trainer, who had a knack for blending into the walls. 

He took a step into the tunnel to his right: nothing. To his left: nothing. He turned straight: nothing. He couldn’t find Master Zuruli anywhere—where in Krilin’s grave was he hiding? 

The moment he blinked his eyes for a second, he saw the sudden flash of silver speeding through his right. He immediately stopped in his footsteps, shook, and shut his eyes, dropping his sword as a reflex. In a second, he opened them, only to find the short Zuruli staring at him, smirking without fail, sword at his neck.

‘I told you. Careful with your footsteps.’ 

‘I was silent! You’re just too fekhing good.’ 

‘Don’t give me bullshit excuses, boy,’ he said, grinding his teeth together, ‘your father gave me one task, when he was alive—make you a valid fighter. You’re not even halfway there.’ 

‘But you saw how I fought at the Bremingade!’

‘I didn’t.’ 

‘You certainly heard!’ 

‘I did not. Perhaps you were that forgettable.’ 

‘Master, no! I truly did fight well.’ 

‘I’m starting to doubt whether that Snakesword should be yours. Your father went to tremendous lengths to get that sword.’ 

‘And yet I happen to be the one sibling without a family sword by my waist.’ 

Zuruli rolled his eyes and walked in the other direction, sharpening his sword. 

‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll ever learn.’ 

Lothar stood there, staring with a blank, but irritated, expression at his master who walked the other way.

‘Can I go now?’ He asked.

‘Yes. Go.’ 

What a terrible session. 

Perhaps Zuruli was like this upon hearing of the death of Keran Lothar. It could not be anything else—his trainer was one of the most joyous people he’d ever met. His father had trained him in his army himself—inspired these people to be something more. And so it was probably understandable that they were all disheartened at the hearing of his father’s death. 

And yet Lothar himself didn’t feel the same degree of shock or devastation as the rest of the kingdom seemed to. He almost thought of it as good riddance. 

Curse my mind for thinking so, Krilin, but all the men above and below cannot change my thoughts on it.

A huge burden had been lifted off of his shoulder with his father’s death—no more insults. No more harsh treatment. No more insecurities. Since the incident at Galathground, his father had treated him like an ill omen. Like a swine. Of course, Lothar was sad that he would never see him again, but at the same time glad that he wouldn’t have to suffer that constant pressure of needing to improve, of needing to change who he is. 

He wiped the sweat off his brow with a small cloth and opened his waterskin to have a drink. 

He looked around for some company but found everyone leaving the ground. Great. Alone as always. 

He took a sip and examined the grounds. They were truly beautiful—designed like a work of art. Although he loved the way the Crossover looked, the running inside of it was not nearly as pleasant as the spectating from outside. His father used to take the four of them for duels in here when they were younger. Soon, he left the ground on horseback, alongside a guard of four or five Crocs in front and behind. He felt like a true king with his security, his outfit, and his Snakesword. He rode valiantly across Kenneth and back to the Rolan Manor. By the time he was home, dusk began sweeping across the land, filling the views with starry night skies in the place of autumn grey visage glooming over the lands. Commoners gathered around outside their homes to salute him as passed by. He smiled and nodded to almost all of the passersby, feeling valiant on his horse. 

Soon, he got off his horse, petting it on his way down. The dew-covered long grass wet his boots and almost up to his trousers. He felt strangely dour after that training session. He was learning to become a true warrior, but even his own master took him as a joke. How was he to ever take himself seriously if all those around him were fit for making no more than a mockery of him. 

‘Okay, Lord, good night then!’ The head of his guards called out, turning around to leave him. He waved from the distance. 

He sighed as he walked into the manor and through his large corridor and into his chamber. He’d done it up extremely well—Lothar had always had an eye for interior fashion. His bed was made of rosewood and ebony, and had the grilled jaw of a crocodile across its headrest, inscribed on it diamonds with golden rims. He was a man for the flashiness, no doubt. His walls were bordered with diamonds, and the cloths in his cupboard were lined with fine diamond cuffs and buttons. Extravagance was a policy in life he never failed to follow. 

Tired, he sunk down into his plush bed, staring upwards at the ceiling. All he could think about was his sword and his training. How could he learn to be better? 

Perhaps they’d have taken me more seriously if I was made Lord of Loazer… He thought, feeling rather salty. If his brother Rothrin did not want it, why would Theren, of all people, get the post? Nathanial was now Lord Chaimberlain of Gr’Erhin, and probable successor to the throne there, and so that left the next male heir, Lothar, to be the ruler of Loazer.

And yet everyone opted his sister instead. 

Shifting times, I say… 

Or perhaps it wasn’t a dilemma of shifting times.

Perhaps it was solely because she was the more capable ruler; she had the trust of the people and the Rolan family while he did not. 

Father always said one must earn trust and respect…not when you’re a Rolan, I think. I have everything I need. Fuck respect. He thought, feeling rather snarky. 

Was he forgetting something?

He stared around his room, lifting himself up. He felt like he was forgetting something he’d promised to do before setting out for training. 

Oh…yes. The letter. 

The day he’d rescued Rothrin and his father, he’d found a letter on the floor of their stinking jail cell. He hadn’t read it since but instead stowed it away in one of his drawers.

Maybe I should just return it to him before reading it myself.

Oh, what could be the harm. He went over to his drawer and opened it to find the damp, sticky letter, stained in dried brown fluids, of which the nature he did not want to know. 

A small seal of mud covered green with a crocodile across it held the envelope together. He broke it, recognising it as his father’s and opened the letter. He frowned in confusion at the first few words he read. 

‘ “I write this letter to the Lords and Ladies of Haimar and the table of Lords of Northern and Southern Loazer to inform you all of the banishment and sending away of a member of the royalty of Loazer—the youngest of the Rolans’ ”

Lothar’s heart sank at the words. He felt deep, thunderous beats speeding and banging against his frame like a violent, vicious ripples of water. 

‘ “We, on the behalf of the royalty of the Rolans, wish to send Lothar Rolan permanently to The Banished Lands where he will live the rest of his life out in exile.’ ”

He felt a thousand lights within him switch off. A pulse leave his veins. A hue of blue leave his eyes. He felt himself sink into the deepest pit of rejection he’d ever reached. 

‘ “Our reason for exiling Lothar of House Rolan is for the indirect cause of the death of Hal Rolan, the brother and supporter of the old cause of the rebellion of Keran Rolan. Lothar was the one who freed the Wielding vicer brought in our custody, Firion, who went on to kill Hal.

‘ “Since the day, we have found in no hearts forgiveness, he has found in no places allegiance, and therefore we believe it best for him to exit the company of our family and serve the rest of his life in solitude and peace. My own son Rothrin has personally requested this, as for the betterment of our family and our kingdom. We hope this message is received fast and fair.” ’

Signed R.R and K.R. 

A stream of tears erupted from his eyes as he dropped the letter and to his knees. His own brother! His own brother wanted him out of the family. His own brother, the one he loved and looked up to so much, wanted him to live the rest of his life in jail alongside exiled, murderous vicers. Alongside rapers and thieves.
Lothar knew that the love of his father would be something hard to earn back after his mistake as a child, but this…this was truly unimaginable. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t fathom it. He felt so blatantly rejected—so close to death and eternal sadness—he had no direction. But the directionless sadness soon turned into a fuelled anger. 

He rose from his knees and screamed at the top of his lungs, turning red in every sense of the word. He tore the paper apart and threw it on the ground. He ran furiously to his desk, eyes open wider than an owl’s, and he took the flaming torch off it and smashed it against the wall, wax sticking to the painted stone, fire dripping down. He grabbed pieces of glass and ornaments and stormed them around his room, all the while screaming with an eternal, endless haunt. He screamed and screamed until he lost his voice, finally sitting back down on the floor, erupting once again into tears. 

Was he this bad? 

Just a child, who didn’t know what he was doing, did he deserve to be banished alongside the terrors of the world to The Banished Lands for one, simple mistake?

Did he truly deserve the hate his father always gave him?

Oh you fat fekhing pig. I hope you burn in the hands of Chronisc’s mantle.

He cried for some minutes, until a moment of silence entered his mind. He sat there—ears open—soaking in the silence. A smile crept up onto his visage.

‘Oh, I know.’ He said out aloud. Soft as a feather, but out loud,

‘Oh, I’m not heartless—I have passion. Great Passion! But the fekhing hate I have suffered all my life, at the hands of the men and women I’ve pretended to call family all my life.’  

He got up, facing the mirror, only to see blood red eyes and red, almost bloody skin. He must’ve broken too many glasses. 

He pretended to be giving a speech to a grand audience. 

‘Oh these people, they think they’re family? Oh, I must be no better than the servants of Chronisc themselves for what I wish upon them.’ He banged his fist on the table, infuriated from within, saturated with rage, Gritting his teeth, biting his own tongue bloody. He felt raw, like a dog. 

‘Sending me away for life, they are. Throwing me in the dungeons. Fuck them. Fuck them all!’ 

There was something deep within him—some hatred—which he had always kept tucked away. Which he didn’t want to show ever since the incident. But now? Now he felt free. 

‘Oh these self satisfied people, claiming their royalties, drinking their wine—they know nothing, nothing of real suffering. Of WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH!’ He screamed, facing the mirror.

‘Oh, but they call me crazy. “It’s all in your head! He’s born wrong!” They say,’ he began laughing in a sick, twisted manner, holding the jade edges of the sapphire mirror, ‘Well maybe I am!’ He laughed hysterically, leaning his head back. 

‘Born wrong. Born wrong, they say. Born in the wrong family, I say. Born without a face. A face to be torn by them, by their insults, by their hatred.’ 

He stared at himself and laughed. 

‘Maybe you are a joke, Lothar Rolan. A joke that should never have been made.’ 

***

Chapter 42; The Dark Wielder

/The King’s Palace, King.

It felt like a cloud was constantly around him. Like a source of energy was suddenly born inside him that he couldn’t control. 

Adi Walkman was The Dark Wielder. 

He never quite thought about becoming a Wielder or wanting to be one ever since he came here, but because of the extremely limited number of Wielders in Gr’Erhin, he knew the value of being one. 

Running down the mountain had felt a whole lot easier. He felt energetic and almost as if he could jump a few steps. Once he’d reached the bottom, he’d immediately started running through King, until he found a stallion at a stable and took it from the stable-keeper and raced to the palace of the king.

I need to tell him…I need to tell Nathanial and King Tristan. They must know! He thought, almost worried in his head. 

For a second, he looked back down at himself, almost surprised to find the strange, leaking black light. As far as he could remember, the Wielded light from Biv was geometric in a way; all the light energy he created had defined boundaries—he never leaked light or anything—he just shot it out of his palms when he needed to. There was a sequential progression and rhythm to the way he did it. But this was not Adi’s case. He just felt wild and cut loose. He felt he’d lost his boundaries more than gain any.
His horse galloped through the snowy city—Adi barely feeling the cold—until he finally arrived outside the King’s Palace. The Crocs and Peacock soldiers—the soldiers of King Tristan Bren’s house—looked at him in awe as he got off his horse. 

‘My…my lord.’ Daren, the head Crocodile of Nathanial’s guard called out. 

‘What?’ Adi asked, forgetting for a moment. Daren, eyes wider than chasms, examined his entire body. 

‘Y-you might want to take a look at yourself, my lord.’ He said to Adi, lifting his spear off the ground in hesitation.

‘I know, fekha. Let me through.’ 

That was rather aggressive of him. 

Daren called for the door operators who used the levers’ mechanism to open the grand door. He ran straight through and into the King’s corridor. The walls were painted blue, and delicate ornaments decorated the entire palace—King Tristan was a man who fashioned the fancy. Peacock feathers illustrated the entire home and added a tinge of both blue and peacefulness. Water fountains were set up at various points of the palace, and the ceiling was so high off the ground that wiola’s light made it difficult to spot as it shone straight through the glass of the ceiling. 

‘King Tristan!’ He called out. Two or three secretaries approached him, and their jaws dropped. They, too, examined him head to toe. 

‘Where’s the king?’ 

‘H-Here.’ One of the men called out, also shocked, and pointed to a chamber down the hall. 

He raced through the hall and burst the door open, only to find Tristan and Nathanial talking across desks in a rather serious manner. 

‘Why Adi, what an unexpected surp…’ Tristan began saying as he looked at him. Adi turned towards Nathanial to find him absolutely stunned. 

‘What have you done?’ He asked, shocked. 

‘I entered a cave beneath Rys’ town. It came in one of my flashes. It called for me so…so I went in.’ No stuttering at all, ‘I met this…I met this creature who called for me and…and it asked me to hold a book. I did that and…and now I’m here.’ 

‘Did you meet Rys?’ Tristan asked.

‘Yeah. He said I’m The Dark Wielder.’ 

Tristan sat back in his chair, with a sort of sighing, but understanding expression on his face. Like he’d just comprehended something he’d been trying to for years. 

‘The book you read. Did it have a name?’ Nathanial asked. 

‘No…not as far as I—’

‘The Tenebrous Man.’ Tristan said, staring off into the distance. 

‘How do you…’ 

‘It was the book of the Rathor family, written by their founder Layon. He created the energy of The Dark Wielder—derived from the original Riders of Nithron.

‘He put his accounts in this book, and some of his power as well. The creature you met must have been a descendant of his who guarded the book until they found the right Wielder. And that is you.

‘Now for what reason you have been chosen, I know not. An Earthian, not closely related to us—far from a Rathor; I understand not. But I know this, Adi Walkman. You are the first Dark Wielder since the olden ages of our planet.’ 

He looked down at himself, raising his hands. 

‘How do I get this…this light to stop leaking out of me?’ He asked, looking back up. 

‘You have to learn to control it. Learn to get peace in your mind. You will understand, I shall make sure.’

‘I can’t believe it.’ Nathanial said, jaw dropped. ‘The Dark Wielder?’ He breathed.

‘I know…I don’t quite know what to think.’ 

He couldn’t believe he himself felt so apprehensive or drawn back about it. It was everyone’s dream to be some kind of superhuman—here he was, leaking with energy, feeling stronger, faster, more able, he knew he could now shoot light out of his palms. And yet he felt scared, if anything. Worried about how his life was going to pan out. 

‘Don’t let it consume you.’ The King said, out of the blue, ‘Be wary of what you are now. Careful. Precise.’ He got up and put his hand on Adi’s shoulder. 

‘You mustn’t forget from whence you came, Walkman. This power, as I know, suits only the sure.’ 

He took a deep, nervous breath, ‘Teach me. Teach me how to control it. I want to know.’ 

‘Oh, you will. Don’t you worry, you will. Like I said, I’ll make sure of it.’

He thought he’d feel more surprised—more amazed by something like this, but all he felt was a nudge in the back of his head, as if he had something imperative to do, but he didn’t quite know what it was.

‘You’ll find your way, Adi Walkman.’ The king said, taking a seat. 

Chapter 43; Stabbing Dagger

/On the fields outside Kenneth

Ah…

The cold autumn winds of the night time soothed Lothar as he sat by the edge of the cliff, overlooking the shore of the Sea of Kais, Seagulls cried, Gerens called out for mates—the bird life was settling into dusk. Since reading the letter, he’d avoided all contact with his family and come out to look for some solitude instead.

That is, alongside his large cask of wine. 

He opened the tap and filled a seventh goblet for himself, downing it in a single sip. 

The twisted trees blew towards him, shedding their leaves nearby. His short hair stood at the speed of the wind passing by. He raised himself and tiptoed through the long grass, truly giving himself a minute to contemplate his mindset. He felt a lot calmer, but the level of depression and rejection had only increased in his head. He felt like he was an outsider to his family—a castaway. Worse than he did when he was breaking everything in his chamber the night before. He’d called a few pages and maids to have his chamber cleaned up and renewed the next morning and he’d kept away from his family, drinking the entire day. 

He lost his balance walking across the grass, tripping on a rock he didn’t see. He fell face first on the cushioned ground, smiling as he felt his senses dull—his pain less. He turned to lie on his back, smiling at the starry night sky. 

Oh why did I save them from the dungeons? Shouldn’t have done that at all! Should have let them die alongside Hal… He thought, entirely satisfied lying down on the grass, letting insects and bugs jump across and on him, feeling nothing.

Feeling like nothing. Entirely helpless. 

He did have one particular thing in mind to help himself.
He had to talk to Rothrin. He had to figure out why he’d decided to send him away—he couldn’t fathom a justified reason for what he’d read in the letter.

‘Daaaark days…’ He sang, weeping at the sound of his own voice. The stars above lit his sadness, and the bottle in his hand fuelled it. 

‘Daaaark nights…in a world of dreams…’ He sang poetically, ‘defeeended dreams…

lost in the echo of a timeless seam…’

He got back up, off his back, feeling the chilling daze and tingling of drunkenness overcome him.

‘Now that I’ve found it…

it’s past…’

Was he meant to be this miserable drunk?

Lothar Rolan, youngest son of Loazian royalty—destined to be a man in the depths of the roots of grass. To die before age, lying in his sorrow, bottle in hand. 

His father was a drunk, sure, but was he ever a sorry fool like Lothar?

I don’t…quite…think so… He thought in his head, tripping on his feet. The humour in it all made him laugh inside. The irony of the situation—he’d risked his life to rescue them only to be wanted out of their home and banished. 

‘Ah…the joke of it all.’

He turned down to feel his sword—that beautiful Snakesword, snatched straight from Kaandorian heritage, by his grand uncle Georgon Rolan. 

That conqueror…now that’s a man I could look upto.

He unsheathed it and felt the edges, pricking his thumb by pressing the sharp edge too hard. He smiled. 

He gave his beautiful sword one long look, twinkling in the moonlight like an ornament of gold. He sheathed it. Tripping, he looked across his belt and to the other sheathed weapon on the right side of his waste—a dagger.
The hilt was pure gold with a small wooden handle for grip. At the hilt of it was a large gem—pure diamond. It was removable and could be used in gem-boats as well. He’d never been in a gem-boat since it was speculated that the lost Rolan fled in one when he was a child. Only Krilin knows what happened to him. 

He unsheathed the beautiful, intricate weapon, inspecting it by holding it up.

Given my current state, I probably shouldn’t…ah, fekh it. He thought, slashing it around in the air. Hatred filled him with every swing. 

Just talk to Rothrin about it. The letter was before you rescued him and father, He thought, trying to comfort himself, just talk about it.

He looked at the shining golden-silver dagger, admiring its beauty. For all the haunting hatred he was given by his father, one thing he never failed to give Lothar was a lavish lifestyle. But, then again, that was one of the many expected entitlements of children of a Rolan. 

Just talk to him.
He breathed a deep sigh and tumbled around. 

***

Chapter 44; Strange Sleep

/Dream-Earth

Like a lot of things in Adi’s life nowadays, the mist of his dream realm was beginning to mix with wisps of both black and white clouds, as compared to before when his dream realm was composed entirely of blinding white lights. While he’d normally stroll across the mist, at no hurry, to reach Olivia, he felt the urge in him to run across. And so he did, until he found the little table. She’d taken this new form which she’d been sticking to over the recent few dreams he’d had with her. The form of this middle aged woman he’d first seen in the dream he had before he met Biv. There was a haunting look on her face when she wore this form; a look of despair and loss—like there was something missing. Her pale wrinkled skin reflected the bleak colours of age and mourning. 

‘Is this the real you?’ Adi asked, candidly sitting.

‘Yes, Adi Walkman. This is me. Afraid? That what you’re used to seeing—the little girl—isn’t quite so little?’ 

He judged her with a keen eye, ‘I always thought you were too wise for your age.’ 

‘And you also thought that I was too real to be a dream.’ 

‘And so I always knew.’ He responded, a slight smile breaking out across his face.

‘That you did. And now you know something else.’ She said, walking up and examining the entire land. 

‘Have you ever wondered what those piles of ash are for, Adi?’ 

‘I know. Deaths I’ll cause.’ 

‘Why? Why does it have to be your deaths?’ 

‘Cause they wouldn’t be coming in my dreams if they weren’t.’

‘Is that so? What about them?’ She asked, pointing to the massive, meteor-like rocks fuming through the almost blinding white sky. Incredibly large boulders of rock were fuming through, as he’d often see in his dreams.

‘The infiltrators.’ 

‘Why can’t these piles be theirs, Adi? Why should you perceive them to be your deaths? Why would you bring this suffering upon people?’ She said, walking up to him close and concerned.

‘I can’t imagine I ever would.’ 

The confidence with which I speak…I—I can’t remember the last time…He thought to himself.

‘And neither can I.’ Olivia said, turning away with a frown.

‘So you know. I’m The Dark Wielder, and you know. You’re from here right? You’d know what that is?’ 

‘Yes. Yes I do. It is a great power upon which you perchance happened. Just know where to draw the line, Adi Walkman, always.’

‘Draw the line? Olivia—I’ve never had any lines to draw!’ He said in a louder tone of voice. ‘For more than seven years I’ve had nothing to do, no one to fall back on! If there was ever a line in front of me, I’d have been the first to move away from it.’ 

Tears closed in. The emotions of his past brought him back down to his original self. A stutter, perhaps?

‘There can’t be a line, Olivia, if there’s no life.’ 

‘Of which now you possess more than you ever could have asked for.’

‘Life?’ He asked, looking upon her.

‘Yes! Of course! That power of yours. Your sight—your dreams. For Krilin’s—god’s sake your reality, too, is meaningful! You’re surrounded by people who need your help!’ 

Her words were true and something he needed to hear, though they didn’t hit like boulders of a rough dosage, rather a message or an earnest request. 

‘Why do they need my help? They do fine on their own.’

‘Is it so, Walkman? War was waged not weeks ago in the West of Erhin, turmoil brews all across—do they not need you?’

‘Nah, not really.’

‘Oh…’ She sighed, turning the other way, head in her hand.

‘I’ve never seen you so…sick of everything.’ He said, blatantly observing what he saw to be the truth. 

‘And I’ve never seen you so truly ignorant. Adi Walkman—understand! You have the sight—I have the sight. You and I are both prophesiers. If I mean turmoil, it doesn’t have to be in the now.’ 

‘What kind of turmoil?’ 

Frowning, she took a deep breath, ‘There’s a—’

Crash. 

An enormous, spike like boulder with deep craters inside of it stabbed right through her, blood splashing and soaking into the white of everything. 

‘Wake up!’ He screamed at her. Olivia died, but he knew it was just in the dream world. 

The boulder which had split right through her opened up into two halves and out walked a man in a plain vest. 

‘Why do you keep coming back? All of you?’ Adi screamed, tenseness nonexistent, as boulders after boulders crashed into the ground around him.

‘It’s a fight you can’t win.’ The malevolent voice said, dagger in hand. It began running straight to him. 

Easy. 

Adi extended his arm out, half smiling, and waited for black light to emit out of his hand. Nothing. 

His smile faded.

The stances…

He remembered the stance Biv equipped himself with, and tried emulating it. 

A small flow of black light came out of his palms, but like a strange mix of light and a solid substance, it fell to the ground and soon after dissipated.

‘Oh fekh!’ He called out, running in the other direction as the strange man approached.

Panting, he turned back around to find the man closer than he was before.

Jesus Christ! He cried, pacing up only to feel a sharp stab send a tingle through his entire spinal chord as he collapsed onto the floor, feeling every level of pain he could possibly imagine. It ran through his entire body, covering him in blood and death-soaked dreams. The man slashed Adi on his shoulder with his spear, using it as leverage to turn him on his back. He hunched close to his ear.

‘We’ll find what we’re looking for, Adi. One day.’ He said, raising his spear soon after and ramming it straight into his chest. Strangely enough, he fell asleep in his own dream.

***

Chapter 45; Four

/The Lords’ Chamber, Haimar

‘Alright, we can make it final then.’ Rothrin called out. He was seated at the Lords’ Chamber at Haimar, alongside Aldin Kora and other law officers and lords of minuter kingdoms and towns in Northern Loazer. About fifteen of them, most dressed in green, sat around the table, discussing the finalisation of Theren’s ladyship of Loazer. 

‘I do believe that she is but the best that we have to offer as our ruler, my lords.’ Aldin called out, heroically standing up, ‘She is of royalty and she has the will to act and show courage when others cannot.’ 

‘I second this.’ Called out the coverlord of two-thirds of the Crocodilian Army, Krow, the brother of Daren. 

‘Are there any who wish to refute?’ Asked Rothrin, standing up and finalising the agreement. 

‘I do.’ Said a strange, creepy, but young voice. A stunted boy, of no more than seventeen, stood up from the corner of the room, with the help of a crane. He had a look of disgust on his face. 

‘Ah. The son of treason. Lord Sarrona. Carrying your father’s “legacy” forward, are ye?’ Aldin said, standing up to face the son of the traitor Sarrona.

‘No. He was more of a chance to this old kingdom than she could ever be.’

‘Oh ye bloody f—’ Aldin charged at Sarrona’s son, sword out and everything, face boiling with anger. The kid stood there, unphased. Almost as if the sentencing of his father to the Banished Lands had barely even impacted him. 

Men rushed to stop Aldin as his wife looked at him, scared.

‘Lord Aldin Kora, please. Settle down.’ Rothrin said, hand on his shoulder, helping him relax. He leant forward and whispered, ‘I’ll handle it.’ 

He took a deep breath and walked toward the stunted child. 

Ungrateful looking snarler. He thought in his head, sighting the disgusting child. 

‘Why do you refute? You represent a sect of the lords. We may or may not proceed without your refusal.’ 

‘Because…’ He said, scanning the chamber, ‘She’s a lady. I’m not having some stupid woman at the forefront of my kingdom’s affairs.’ 

Some people are just born to disrupt, aren’t they? 

‘Can we consider the claim invalid, the rest of us?’ He asked, turning towards the others. A round of ay’s sounded at they completed the agreement. 

‘As for…the son of Sarrona—the legacy of the Crabs of The Bremingade—what do we do to make him pay for his misconduct?’

‘Kill the boy! Or send him alongside his father.’ Krow screamed, looking appalled. The greyish room was lit with fireworks inside it. 

‘Conduct, Lords, please!’ Rothrin called out, trying to calm all the older, wiser men. Why was he controlling this meeting again? 

‘We are not here to make a mess of things. We are here to decide on our leader. The person to take this kingdom forward to their own death. And we can’t do it with childlike argument fuming at every corner of this room!’

‘I say we kill the boy!’ Another screamed, erupting yet another spark of noise and confusion within the chamber. 

Rothrin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

‘ARE YOU ALL FUCKING ANIMALS!’ He screamed, eyes wide. The entire room entered a phase of silence. 

‘Impossible to handle. You all are my family’s lords! You all supported my father in taking this kingdom into his hands. Here we are, for the first time, to carry on his legacy, and this…this is the noise you focus on?

‘My father would be dishonoured and ashamed at this.’ 

‘Your father was a drunk, who was no better than any man in this room.’ A spiteful sound came from the corner. The boy. 

You can do it, Rothrin. Command them. Kill him. No one in this room will tell the truth—the want the same thing as you. Do it. Kill him. He thought in his head, as conflicting thoughts pulled him either way. 

I can’t…it’s not honourable. It’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve death for his father’s actions. 

‘At the next word from the Sarrona, we will have a knife pulled through his throat.’ He said, calmly, followed by ay’s. Turning towards the kid Sarrona’s face, he could see worry and reconciliation on his face. 

‘Alright. We can table this meeting off then.’
The lords and ladies shared pleasantries and began making their way out. Rothrin walked over to Aldin.

‘You do a damn good job at that, might I say? Reminds me of your father at a younger age.’ The old man Aldin said, smile as sincere as ever. 

‘Yes, he was derailed, uh…somewhat, in his later years.’ Could he handle the grief of his father’s loss? The man he’d only just spent three days with in a jail cell? He’d learnt so much—more than he ever could have—in those three days. Truths his father had never outed. Truths that no one knew. The image of his father had changed in his mind—everything that he stood for. It all seemed different, especially after his death. 

‘Your father only had one too many cups of wine. That turned out to be his bane; however, it did not destroy everything he stood for.’ The old man said, facing Rothrin with gleaming eyes. 

‘He was troubled. Something during the rebellion that he could never let go. Something that’d happened, my boy. I know not of what I speak, but I can assure you it is the case. It only hit him in his later years.’ 

‘I fear so. I fear that has, or had been the case for the last few years. We lost our father—our kingdom’s father—to his own wallowing pity. T’is a shame.’

‘T’is a shame.’ Aldin repeated, patting Rothrin’s shoulder and moving down. 

Wiola’s pleasant, autumn red light set the perfect stage for a bleak sundown as many commoners stopped by to enjoy the view by the shores of Kais. He’d taken the longer route to catch the same scenic view, admiring the beauty of his home. The enormous, twisting, slanting trees that shook and shed constantly, blowing in the wind, made for a worth watch. Something uncanny. Almost peace in the madness—or the madness of the peace. He was making his way on horseback rather than carriage as he liked to catch the scent of the world—the sight of it—before trapping himself under concrete. He enjoyed the outdoors and its tranquility. He found himself as one with the greens of the world. Not to mention the heroic look he had as a weakening spotlight of wiola spotted straight down on him, hair flinging across his shoulders. 

About an hour later, after he’d reached home and spoken to his family, he was settling for bed. He’d had a long day with a tremendous amount of papers that’d needed arguing on, after which he was finally ready to fall asleep.

If only I had a wife by my side to help…Something he’d wanted for a while now—but something he hadn’t gotten. Not that his conquests had been unsuccessful—perhaps not as successful as Nathanial’s were—but he was never one to settle. Discomfort found its place within him faster than a girl ever did. 

He walked over to his window to see the starry night sky—he was a romantic man—and feel at peace. But a dwelling sadness within him nudged him. He felt like he couldn’t do anything—that he would not be able to fix the things coming his way and in his role of responsibility. He had a lot to do, and while he felt sad, to some degree he did feel confident about himself. 

You’ve always done it, Rothrin, no doubt you’ll handle what needs to be handled. 

It was almost out of a play, the way he meekly stared at the sky. But it was time for him to go to sleep and so he headed to his bed and felt the plush comfort of Loazian craft. Sooner than he knew it, he felt his eyes and head drift off into a deep, undisturbed sleep. He’d left his window open for the sound of the wind to be audible—it helped him sleep. In turn, he’d posted the two Crocs who were usually outside his corridor to downstairs, outside the palace, directly below his room.

***

In the complete darkness, he heard a slight creak, but thought nothing more of it than tricks of his mind. He’d been slightly awakened but still heard noises and sounds from every corner of his brain, and still imaged dreams that flashed through his eyes. 

The carpet made a soft noise below his bed, and some shuffling took place. Ugh…I need my sleep for tomorrow. He thought, trying his best to ignore the sounds. Suddenly, he heard some strange voice humming, and the scent of alcohol entered his nose. Confused, he turned to the side of his bed, still half awake, eyes nearly closed, and lit a small candle on the side of his bed and turned it in front of him. 

It was his brother.

‘L-Lothar? What’re you doing, it’s—’

He reached his hand out, slowly, holding a long sleek dagger. 

Rothrin’s eyes suddenly opened.

‘Lothar, Wha—’

A flowing stream of red was opened through his stomach, as his younger brother freed the dam with his knife. He had stabbed him long and deep, right in the gut. Rothrin cried a harrowing cry, screaming for his sister.

‘WHYYY! WHY!’ He cried. Lothar, unforgiving, took the knife right back out of his stomach.

‘Why are you…doing this.’ He said, having great difficulty in speaking. He could feel a liquid coursing through his throat, and soon leaving his mouth. He threw up blood on the side.

Yet he found no words. Only a sick hum from his brother.

He raised his arm again as Rothrin clenched his stomach. He went straight back in, through his hand and all. This time only grazing the surface of his stomach, but stabbing right through his hands. The haunting look of resentment on his younger brother’s face was shocking, as the numbness in his stomach made way for a cool liquid to flow down.

‘Gahhhhhh.’ He screamed, crying, hollow, empty, dead. Was he dead? 

The sudden jolt he felt when Lothar yanked the knife back out sent him into an unsympathetic oblivion. 

A raging force, sharp as a point, entered straight through his thigh. He felt his leg muscle shrivel in an instant as his dead nerves made way for an uncontrollable tingling that plagued his leg. He didn’t stop screaming. 

Seconds later, he yanked the knife straight out, and with an emotionless look, went beneath, holding his leg, and stabbed it right through his knee. That one hurt the most. He screamed at the top of his lungs, held hostage at the pleasure his brother received from this torture. All he could think of was the shocking sensation of…shocks—flowing right through his entire body. This sick, numb tingling overcoming his entire being. 

He then grabbed his knife, scraping it across Rothrin’s leg, and pulling it out of a spot he didn’t originally put it in. His shin. He’d been stabbed four times. Four.

He then went back in front and turned to lock eyes with him.

‘I’ve enjoyed your company, elder brother.’ 

‘Lothar…’ he gasped, coughing tremendous amounts of blood, ‘Why?’ 

‘You fully know. You fekhing know!’ 

His brother couldn’t be caught like this. Theren would sentence him to death. He’d lose everything.

‘Lothar…run. She’ll get you.’ He coughed, ‘Go! Now!’ 

A look of sadness suddenly coursed through his drunk, murderous brother. A deep look of regret.

‘Don’t. Do that.’ He cried, ‘I have to finish it. I can’t…leave it like this—I’m not…weak!’ He cried, tears welling in his eyes.

‘Then finish it…and run.’ Lothar turned forward and raised the dagger right above his heart. He couldn’t believe what he was saying, but in the face of death, he saw something else. Lothar turned forward and raised the dagger right above his heart.

The door suddenly opened and a faint scream sounded as his brother suddenly turned and ran the other way. Fainter commands sounded all across the corridor as a bustle of people and noise livened. In came a running woman, whom he couldn’t tell with his blurry vision, and she held his hand. Muffled words left her mouth. Sounded comforting by her tone.

‘I…I’ll  go now. I’ll go to join our lost brother.’ He wheezed, few last breaths accompanying his voice.

***

Chapter 46; Eighteen Years

/The Rolan Manor

She couldn’t believe it. Here he was, Rothrin in the flesh, lying dead right in front of her eyes. Was he dead?
He seemed to have been stabbed deep in the gut, and through his hand, not to mention his entire leg was stabbed through, as if by a sick minded man with blood on his hands. The bleak light of the room gave way to the killer to escape through a passage across the other end of the room. She hadn’t gotten a look at the killer, but he seemed to have been off balance. 

‘Rothrin? Rothrin!’ She cried, holding his hand firmly. She could feel warmth leaving his palms. Limp fingers fell atop hers. He breath stopped alongside his as she felt the entanglement of grief and anger boil inside her. 

‘DID YOU GET HIM?’ She screamed at the top of her lungs. A cousin of Krow was on guard tonight, and he’d gone chasing after the killer. 

‘My lady.’ He called out sadly, entering the room with a look of despair and loss on his face.

‘Wha…what is it? Did you not get him?’ Her voice quavered like a child’s.

‘No, my lady we got him. But…I’m sorry.’ That’s all he said. 

He turned to give way to a man to walk through the door, who had his arms behind his back. He had familiar short, yellow hair and hazel eyes.

It was Lothar Rolan. 

She screamed as she saw him, utterly shocked.

‘No…it can’t be. You’ve got the wrong man!’ She screamed at the Croc holding him, ‘Run back down, and FIND MY BROTHER’S KILLER YOU FEKHA!’ 

‘Theren.’ Lothar called, slurring his words.

Oh please, no…you fool! She cried tears of torment.

‘It was me. It was me, Theren. I killed him.’ 

She breathed hesitantly, soon calling for an ailment assessor. 

She turned to look at her drunk younger brother—the murderer of Rothrin—the man she loved and respected the most out of anyone in her family. The one she looked up to and could seek guidance from at any time. The one that she would fight alongside to become the most powerful monarchs of the world.

And here he lay, mortally stabbed, dead, perhaps, and who was she left with? A degenerate younger brother who caused the killing of her father’s brother and the killer of his own brother. A foolish boy, a worthless boy, standing drunk on the brink of laughter, even at the sight of his own brother’s death. 

‘You.’ She called out, reaching for the whip on the Croc’s holster. She held the leather whip, feeling her hands shake. 

‘You did this.’ She cried out, whacking him across his face with the whip, while her Crocs held him down on either side. A smile emerged on his face, across his bloodied lip.

‘HOW DAIR YOU SMILE AT MY BROTHER’S DEATH?!’ She cried, like the hollow bellows of the dead. She swung her whip harder than she could remember pulling the bow on Altheas. 

She swung her whip, cutting his scalp and making his hair fall. She swung her whip, tip hitting Lothar straight in the eye and blinding him. His face was black, dusted, and bloodied. 

She whipped his chest, leaving a large, bloody cut. She whipped his chest again, blood beginning to stream down his chest.

‘My lady, I think you—’

‘Don’t. You dare.’ She turned to face the Croc who objected. He stood down in fear. She turned back around and whipped his face. Four bloody scars across his face, lips cut, almost gone, bleeding into his gums. Eye bloody and coarse like rough sand. And yet all the while the drunken creature smiled. He smiled a most wicked smile. A part of Theren, however angry, felt frightened at the sight of her brother.

‘Well what are you waiting for? Whip me again. FUCKING KILL ME! KILL ME!’ He shrieked, shaking left and right and turning red as he dug his feet into the ground, clawing into the Crocs who hit him on the back of his head. 

She would have made a remark but she felt…nothing. Sorrow, grief, anger, despair—these emotions overcame her, overwhelmed her ability to speak. She was dumb. Unable to communicate a word. She stood and stared at her brother, knocked out on the floor. The murderer of Rothrin Rolan. 

‘Get the assessors to Rothrin at once,’ she said in a meek, whispering voice, ‘and have him sent to the Lords room downstairs. Make sure he’s tied and unable to move.’
All she could think about was her brother’s death. The anger was once again replaced by sorrow. She stared long into the distance, infatuated by the silence—the nothingness of the night.

***

The Lords Room in the Rolan Manor was filled with the highest lords of the entire kingdom—Sarrona’s son, once again there by obligation, Aldin Kora and his wife, and even Etathesian lords, Eaginysian lords were there. Southern Loazian lords were called up for the occasion. It’d been a few days since the stabbing of her brother Rothrin, who had somehow survived the wounds, but was still unconscious and under critical conditions. 

A large, rectangular table was set up at the end of the room, decorated in paintings by Rav Maki, as well as wooden intricacies interwoven, flowing through the marble atmosphere, cutting the formality of the room. Two legs of wooden tables extended on each end of the wooden table, chairs set up behind each side. The lords inspected the criminal—Lothar Rolan—who was chained and sat on his knees in front of them. Georgon, on the ceiling, himself looked down on Lothar, eyes glinting. 

‘There is no trial to be conducted.’ Theren proclaimed, once everyone settled. ‘There is no requirement.’ She still felt herself shake, but did her utmost to control herself in front of everyone. ‘This treasonous man—this murderer—confessed himself. In a drunken haze, of some hatred unborn, he ran a knife through my brother, and his, Rothrin Rolan’s gut, hands, knee and thigh. He is yet to wake up, but as I found him, Lothar was ready to stab him through the heart. My lords and my ladies,’ she said, pointing stubbornly at the bent Lothar, ‘I present to you the most dishonourable man to have ever been graced birth into our family.’ Tears soaked her eye sockets. ‘A man so twisted that he deserves nothing better than death.’ 

Silence ensued in the room, followed by conversation across the entire room.

‘Like hell he’ll die!’ One man screamed from across the room, raising his arm in disbelief.

‘I do believe that we cannot kill him,’ another said, ‘as he is the last mail heir of the Rolans. He should be in your place my lady.’ 

‘You mutilated the boy!’ A third lord screamed, ‘What kind of a lord are ya?’ 

‘Silence!’ She screamed, making her presence noted, ‘Kind sir and lord, oh, but I am no ordinary lord. For I am not a lord. And second, this is the man, not my brother, not anymore,’ she quavered once more, ‘who killed my real brother. He deserved nothing less. The heir that you deserved, he is the one who took your real heir from you.’ Even if Rothrin was alive, the assessors had assured that he wouldn’t raise a leg or speak another word the rest of his life. He was indeed as good as dead. 

Some nods followed in the chamber. 

‘We cannot have this killer on the loose. I will request with all my humble personage to have Nathanial return to Loazer—to Kenneth—but until then, we must take our due course of action. I wish to have Lothar of House Rolan executed.’

Noise and disarray erupted across the entire room.

Aldin slowly walked up towards her and whispered, ‘You cannot do it, my lady. You will lose the support of all of them if you take away the last male heir Rolan.’ 

She breathed out heavily. 

‘Alright. His life is spared.’ Ay’s sounded across the room, ‘Until…his imprisonment is fulfilled. He will be sent to The Banished Lands for…’ I can send him away forever… ‘eighteen years, until his sentence is served and he is awarded a position among our people once more.’

‘NOOOO!’ Lothar screamed, wild and bellowing like an animal.

‘Is anyone in disagreement?’ Theren asked, examining the entire hall. Lords and ladies whispered to each other, eyed Lothar. 

Finally they subtly nodded towards her. 

‘Sister, please,’ he cried, whimpered, ‘I was drunk! Out of my senses! Please, mercy sister.’ He howled like a child.

‘Mercy for you, brother, would be an axe at your head and no trophy for your skeletal arm to hold.’ 

He looked up, scared, in despair—at a complete loss.

And yet she felt nothing at the sight. This was Rothrin’s murderer—her brother or not. She didn’t care. In her eyes he was a criminal.

‘Three days time.’ She said, heartlessly, ‘He leaves.’ 

And yet she felt hurt. 

She felt hurt that she had to send her brother away for killing her other brother. 

She felt hurt that right after her father’s death, her family had been torn apart, a war had been fought and almost lost, and a massive surrender of power and ten thousand troops had been made. She’d already taken the kingdom into a downward spiral and felt as though she were losing control by the minute. 

And yet how could one pin all the blame on her? The terrible position in which she inherited this power pushed her here. 

I’m going to lose it all… She thought, dour feelings overcoming her and pushing her over the edge. She felt loss and grief claw into herself, feeding nothing but what seemed to be an everlasting sorrow within her.

***

Chapter 47; The Dark Wielder’s Palace

/Adi’s Visions

He held a firm grip on Adi’s head. Black, floating mist coalesced and floated around his entire being, as the boy prophesier Rys transformed Adi outside of all time and space. 

Thousands of flashing, colourful lights flew by his eyes. The road underneath him made of a thousand strings of light, noisy like trains, flowing straight through his feet. Rys was besides him. He felt like he was in a tunnel of flashing tubes strung together all around him. It felt so surreal to be experiencing this—even in a vision. 

‘Come on then,’ Rys called out, right at the end of the tunnel, his vaint vision and visage of the young boy, ‘follow through the tunnel.’

Some said Rys was a boy who came here just a few years ago. Others say he was an ancient being—a time transcending presence. 

With slow and steady footsteps, Adi fought the resistence of the air blowing towards him as he walked towards the boy prophesier. This reminded him of his first meeting with that creature from the cave. It was in the exact same setting as this one. 

Finally, after tremendously rough steps, he reached Rys who stuck his hand out and guided him further across the path. 

‘Do you know where we are?’ He asked, turning to face Adi. 

‘Yeah…at least I think so. It’s the palace of The Dark Wielder.’ 

Rys frowned at him, confused as to how he knew. 

‘You gotta keen a sense or…?’ 

‘He told me.’ Adi blandly responded, pointing to the dead body of the creature which lay on the ground far off—the creature he’d met at the cave in the Fang peaks. 

‘Ah, I see. You beat me to that one.’ 

Rys turned around to face him, hands on his shoulder, ‘Look, boy, I’m no Wielder, let alone The Dark one. But I need to teach you to channel this energy. If I don’t, well, I don’t know how you’ll ever learn how to.’ 

‘Rys, what all can I do with this power?’ 

He took a deep breath and observed the tunnels around him. The sound began to softly subdue, making way for his voice, ‘You know, Adi, I’m not too sure myself. What I’ve always learnt from the readings I’ve found in the past is…well, what you decide to be. What you decide to do with it.’ 

‘Is that the way it is for all Wielders?’ 

He pursed his lips, ‘You ask me questions that I don’t entirely understand all so well. I do know that they use stances to channel their energy. Perhaps Biv can teach you that facet. I am here to help you control it from here,’ he said, pointing to his head, ‘the most powerful tool you’ll ever have to use.’ 

‘But how do I do that?’ He said, looking across the tunnels with a contemplative stare. The softening of the sound made him think rather deep, for some reason. 

‘You see, like with channeling your own anger, or any emotion, all you need my boy is a little patience. Look at a mirror.’ 

‘There isn’t one here.’ He said, laughing.

‘It’s a vision. It can be if you need it.’ 

Adi closed his eyes and took a breath. And a mirror appeared right in front of him. 

‘What do you see, Walkman?’ 

‘Me, obviously.’

‘And?’

‘Oh…the black light.’

‘Yes! That’s what you need to learn to control. You have to gain access over it. Otherwise you’ll just look like a man with a floating cloud around him most of the time.’ 

He laughed, staring at himself head to toe. 

‘So I use my mind to do it then?’ 

‘Yes?’

‘Just sort of…think about not glowing black?’ 

‘It’s got to come from a deeper place Adi. A motivated place. There has to be a reason. Power only listens to true motivation. As long as you can find that motivation, this untamed power will be yours before the dawn.’ 

He breathed out, ‘You’re really good at the monologues.’ Adi said, a hint of a smile on his face.

‘It is a specialty.’ 

***

A few hours later Adi finished his climb back down the mountain. About a month and a half had passed since he’d begun his training with Rys, and he’d already started feeling the effects of having to climb the mountain twice everyday. He felt far more muscular than he originally did, not to mention the ease with which he now climbed after having acquired the powers of The Dark Wielder. 

He was at the foothill of the small peak atop which was Rys’ village. Large chunks of snow and falling snowflakes bursted through the entire landscape. Breezy, snowy winds fulfilled the emptiness of the air, and yet wiola still cuts its way through all of that to shine a bright spotlight on him. Curious, he went to the side of the foothill, away from the road leaving the city. He wanted to know just how much he could do with this power. 

I don’t know any stances so I don’t think I’ll be able to channel anything…

He extended his left hand, and the glow of black light on his palm intensified. He stuck his arm out, jolting it, expecting a beam of light to shoot out of his palm. All he got was a sad wisp of a cloud which fell sorrily to the floor. He sighed. 

Mistac stance…You remember that.

Adi tried positioning himself in the way Biv used to, and then stuck his hand out once more. He jolted it forwards. 

A large beam of light extended straight out of his palm. A void. A deep, black, and solid formation of light escaped his palm with vigour, making its way through the air. A tree was in its path, which it sliced right through and continued forwards. 

What if…

He turned his shooting palm, feeling the resistance due to the light, almost as if it had weight. He turned the direction of his shot through the mountain, only to begin breaking through the foundation. 

Oh fekh fekh fekh!

He quickly positioned out of the stance, eyes wide in shock, and looked at the hole he created in the foundation of the mountain.

What the hell…how did I do that?

He looked down at his hands only to still find the coalescent black clouds floating around his entire frame. 

Really gotta fix that.

Adi felt something truly strange. Not in a million years could he imagine himself like this two months ago. And here he was, cutting holes into mountains from light coming out of his palms. 

Things change…

A satisfied grin accompanied his face as he made his way to the King’s Guesthouse, or the Lord Chaimberlain’s quarters now.

In a sixth, or two hours, he reached the front gate of Nathanial’s house. He signalled to the guarding Croc, who bowed and made way for him. The prestige of having the contact of the King and his right hand man wasn’t half bad for him. He was treated like a true friend of the crown everywhere and by everyone. By now, most people were aware of the new prophesier from earth—but no one knew that he was The Dark Wielder, save for the guards and protectors of the king and Nathanial. 

The mechanism of the gate was unlocked, and they let him in as the massive doors swung open. A sprout of greenery lined the entrance of the palace, carefully tended to by various gardeners. The entire mansion was massive—three to four hundred acres at the least. And to think this was the King’s Guesthouse. 

‘And you fair okay, my lord?’ Asked Daren, who accompanied him inside. 

‘Daren! Ha. Yes I do.’ 

He frowned, ‘Your stutter?’ 

‘I don’t know, it’s…better now.’ 

He smiled and nodded back as the two went inside the castle. The entire house had been redone from the inside as far as Adi knew. Nathanial had lined the inner walls with green and depictions of Crocodiles and whatnot—he truly was a lover of the lavish, a king of kings, if anything. Gr’Erhin was going to be safe in his rule. 

‘Adi Walkman.’ Called out the familiar voice of The Hunter. Nathanial Rolan.

‘My friend.’ He smiled, embracing him. The bond between the two had become rather unbreakable. He felt like he could relate to Nathanial. 

‘Ah. You’re not glowing clouds.’ He said, staring Adi head to toe. 

‘Rys told me a few things.’ 

‘Well that’s good. Subtlety wasn’t particularly on your side.’ He said back, smiling cheekily. 

‘And yet I always thought—’

Flash. 

Hundreds of thousands of sensations wafted right passed Adi’s ears; he felt himself transform into a different world entirely as he felt his mind leave his body. Force resisted his movement, wind gushed against his eye, until he took a moment to reach out with his hand and wince—looking up ahead. Blurry, shaky lines like paint made up the canvas. In the far distance he could see a massive black tower. He winced, trying to keep his vision unobstructed by the strong winds facing him.

Ashe Ka Sha ne re. Ke she na re Ka sha di ke…

Alien words rung in his ears. A band of men approached from the massive gates of the tower. One man holding a stick in his hand—with the head of a snake—jumped right to Adi, giving him a smile. 

Turn around. The echoey voice called out. Against the force of the wind, he turned to find a companion of men by his side. Grace was there, on his right, a look of worry strongly masking her beautiful face. Besides her was another strong, bearded man, sword out and everything. And on his right stood the short haired Biv, his face too worn out with a look of worry. On his side was another man, and right next to him was…Nathanial. 

The man with the crane, standing right in front of him, turned to Adi and smiled, ‘Don’t forget your company.’ What a sadistic smile that was. 

He turned to look at Nathanial once more, ‘You’ll need us.’ He could almost hear him saying. Echoes floating across the back of his mind. 

‘Gah!’ Adi screamed as sense knocked him back into life. A dizzy spell followed alongside black vision, until he finally regained his senses. 

‘What…wha…’ He panted. He was down on the floor.

’What happened? Was it a vision?’ 

‘Nathanial…You can’t leave,’ he panted, ‘you have to join me. You have to.’ 

‘Where?’ ‘Kaandor. We’re going to kill the King.’ 

***

Chapter 48; The Locket

/Galathground, or Hal’s Prison

Lothar was familiar with these cells. He knew the scent of the hay-laden floor. The rusted metal bars. The massive cell-by-cell layout. The hundreds of severe criminals housed underneath this roof. 

Galathground, as it was called before his accident, was where he set free the Wielding vicer who killed his uncle, Hal. It was the turning point of his life. His ever-so-rosy life. Everything’d been perfect. Sure, he was a delinquent to some extent, but at the end of the day, his father saw his sons as equals in his eyes. But something’d snapped within him that day. The death of his uncle had pushed a threshold Lothar never expected to cross. Everything had spiralled straight down from there for him. 

He sat with stiff joints, sore muscles, and a broken heart. Had he really killed his brother? 

That fekher wanted you exiled to the worst place in the world. Of course you wanted to kill him! He thought, with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

But did he really want his brother dead? At the end of the day, did he really want his brother stabbed everywhere, just to see the life leak out of him? 

Perhaps it was the drunken haze, or a long lost hatred that he’d tucked away and hidden, that hadn’t manifested until that night.
Whatever it was, whatever happened, it led him here. Here, sunken in the midst of stinking haze and jails. He felt his eyes drooping, limbs falling off; he hadn’t eaten in three days, and today he was being put into the wagon. The famous prison wagon. The wagon to take the worst of the worst straight to the hell of this world. Right into Chronisc’s eye himself. The Banished Lands. 

He was jailed in the same cell as a strange man. Fod, as he called himself, was a tired old worker of the mines. He was caught raping the daughter of one of his friend’s. He too was going South with the rest of the criminals. 

‘So whachu do?’ He asked. Lothar’s weak head turned towards him.

‘Oh nothing…killed my brother.’ 

The man frowned, but went into a deep look of sorrow. 

‘They say they caught me a’rapin. I didn’t do it! I never touched a woman other than me wife.’ He had a thick undertone to his voice, and a strangely deep sound of honesty that plucked through his whimpers.

‘It was not me, not good Fod! All I do is work the mines n’feed me daughter. T’was Revean they’re lookin for. He done it!’ 

‘Yeah, well Fod they’re not gonna listen to you now, so I suggest you shut your FUCKING MOUTH and sit back down before I knock your head back and cut into your gut. Just like I did my brother’s.’

He felt sorry for everything he did, and yet he was willing to say something like that in a moment of fury. A bittersweet man was what he could call himself. 

He heard a rattling at the door of his jail cell, and in walked a booted man with a large Crocodile across his chest. Those used to be his colours. His ren-call. 

‘Up! The lot of you! Your arses are off to the South!’ 

‘To the South!’ Screamed all the Crocodiles in the jail. 

One by one, they began freeing the prisoners from each jail cell, and at the end of it more than three to four hundred had amassed. But Lothar knew that there was no chance of a riot at this stage. Simply because the number of Crocs outnumbered the prisoners. Five hundred or six hundred stood there, perhaps straight from Theren’s personal guard reserve, considering the loss of men they were at, and one by one they rounded up the prisoners, beat them with batons, and loaded them into massive wagons, each pulled by six horses. The wagons themselves housed thirty forty men. Even Gerens, as massive as the birds were, were leashed to the top of the wagons and made to fly, giving an additional force of pull to the massive carts. 

The bustle in the prison soon became huge, as weak Lothar found himself being pushed around by sweaty, dirty prisoners left right and centre. 

‘Gah!’ He screamed, as he twisted all ways to find some breathing room. The noise was extreme—everyone began shouting.

‘Make way! Make—’

Suddenly, he felt a firm grip on his arm, hurting his wrist. The hand yanked Lothar out of the crowd—almost falling to his feet—and he was led out of the fray. Another jolt and all of a sudden he was in a quiet corner, probably a supervisor’s office in the prison. Eyes tightly shut, he slowly opened them. A short haired man with nothing extraordinary about him held his hand out. A closed fist. 

‘Wha…What is—?’

‘Take this.’ He said, opening it to show a golden locket with some sort of glowing pearl inside it.

‘Take this with you to the South. Hide it from anyone who searches for it. Up ye fekhin arse if you have to. Once you reach there, look for  the man in the green shack.’

‘How…why?’

‘Shut ye fekhin arse and listen to me Lothar, if you want to survive.’

‘O—okay.’

‘You’ll find the green shack three leagues through the gate of the SECOND LINE. That’s the one you’ll be in. And look for this sign on his shack.’ He said, pointing at the locket which had a little hand holding up what seemed to be a log of wood.

‘Wha—what line?’

‘You’ll fekhin know when you reach The Banished Lands. Go there and tell them that you’re the Innkeeper’s steward. Show this to them,’ he said, pointing to the locket, ‘and let him do the rest.’

‘Why should I—’

‘You’re going to fekhin hell! A man comes and gives you a trinket, you won’t listen?’

He was flustered.

‘Trust me. It’ll save ye a lot of trouble. We haven’t forgotten you, Lothar. We know who the true heir is. Long may you reign.’ 

He felt shocked to the core as the man swiftly exited, leaving him with what seemed to be a locket of tremendous value in his hand. But most of all, the words he said. He had…supporters? 

And a second chance? 

He took a long, deep breath, and closed his eyes. He made his way back into the crowd of prisoners.

No fekh ups this time. 

***

Chapter 49; A Crocodile in The Ice

/The Rolan Manor 

Hvit was starting to see himself somewhat as the leader of Rean nowadays. Of course, Muriel was there, delegating all their tasks to the spies, but he seemed distracted in larger work now. And the matter of Isolde. Isolde, too, seemed…strangely enchanted. Enchanted with his lady. Even though she barely showed any interest. He’d been going off on his own to places and’d been living in his own world. The rest of them just sort of…fell in place. Everyone seemed so strangely complacent after the Bremingade war. Save for Hvit. He was the only face with an expression on his brow in a what seemed to be a sea of emotionless faces. 

The ten spies waited in anticipation, knowing fully well what the reaction of their lady was going to be once they would tell her their failure to collect any tangible information on the death of her father.

‘Really wish we found something.’ Dek said, out of the blue. 

‘Yeah, you just go and fiddle with your guns back on earth why don’t ye?’ Said Hvit, sarcasm not held back. 

‘Oh fookh off. You know I saved your arse five or six times at the least. When I had me gun, no fookhin Wielder could come close to me,’ he made an air pistol with his fingers and pouted his lips, imitating the sound of a bang; all nine spies watched him curiously, ‘with one good shot, I could kiss the King of King a sweet goodbye.’ 

Snarky giggles sounded throughout the crowd until Isolde brought them under control. 

‘Watch your tongues. The Lady could be coming at any moment now.’ He said, quieting everyone down. 

‘She’s your lady for sure, ain’t she?’ Connor said, mocking the captain.  Laughter erupted.

Isolde turned around, silently so, giving him a chilling look. 

‘Just because you can find your way around a sword,’ he said, walking towards him, ‘doesn’t mean your tongue can cut so sharp. You better watch it, boy.’

‘Maybe I should.’ He said, smiling back and staring into his face. Isolde began sliding his hand down onto the hilt of his sword, as did Connor. 

‘What’s going on here, boys?’ Lady Theren suddenly called out. Everyone quickly jumped back into position, but Isolde and Connor shared one long look with each other and finally fell back in and bowed to the stunning Theren, dressed in red. 

‘Lady, may I just—’ Muriel began,

‘Not the time right now, Muriel. Give me the report. What have you found? Who is the killer of my father?’

She seemed extremely anxious, but no one was willing to step up and fulfil her longing. 

‘My lady, I…’ Hvit started. He turned downwards, ‘We didn’t find a trace. We asked every single chef and member of staff in your house. With knives at their throats. No answers, m’lady.’ 

She frowned, walking with steady footsteps towards the spies.

‘Is that all? I mean…four years of training and was it all for that? When the lord of your kingdom has been killed under his own roof, that is all you have for me? That is all the effort that you put?’ She stared Hvit directly in the eye now. He shivered. 

‘By all means, my lady, it was not. We conducted a city wide search. We put our locals on the job. All the chefs on the market, all the underground organisations we know. But we found nothing. Not a trace. Not yet at least.’

‘You won’t stop?’ 

‘Never. Not until justice is brought to the man who sent your father to the grave. He who must join him.’ 

Well he isn’t actually in a grave, you dumb-shit soldier. Hvit thought. Her father’s body was burned, and the skeleton of his hand was preserved to hold the trophy. The largest one a Rolan has ever held to date. 

‘Alright, well the ten of you have to continue working on it. And I do not want to be let down.’ 

‘Yes m’lady.’ Isolde said, followed by the rest. 

‘Oh, my lady, I must ask a favour of you, i-in private.’ Hvit called out, asking her to come to the side. 

‘What is it, Hvit?’ 

‘Your…uh, brother, my lady, has been loaded onto the carriages. We thought that you may want to see him a last time before he’s gone for good—or the next eighteen years, well—’ 

She raised her hand, calling for silence. She stared off into the distance, in deep contemplation. Should she give him the mercy of meeting him once again? The man who stabbed her brother to death four times? 

‘Take me to him.’ 

‘Sure, my lady, I’ll draw the carriage—’

‘On your horse.’ 

‘Uh…sure, my lady.’ 

***

‘Here we are, my lady.’ Hvit called out, as the two of them on horseback made their way through the main road outside Galathground. An enormous parade of caravans was already on its way out, guided by Crocs on horses all around them. More than five hundred prisoners must’ve been loaded on the large wagons. Jailed bars revealed the sight of sickly prisoners, weeping all over the hay covered floors of their wagons. 

‘It’s the Lady! March and get Wagon 19!’ One of the Crocs called out. The rest quickly scrambled to locate it and have pulled aside, while the rest of the caravans continued. Prisoners from within rushed onto the metal bars and started hooting and taunting. She rolled her eyes, feeling disturbed, and continued approaching the caravan. Guards gathered around as they opened the wooden gate, scared prisoners sat trembling, head downwards. Only one dared to look up. One smirking, spoilt brat. 

‘Oh…ha ha!’ He laughed, hysterically. He laughed his heart out, sitting there in the caravan—like a madman. Lothar Rolan—the bane of her life. 

‘One more laugh leaves your lip and I’ll have your tongue chopped off.’ She said, eyes playing the roll of death in the most twisted of plays. 

‘Oh sister, I don’t get you,’ he started saying, tearing up all of a sudden, ‘why did you—I…why?’ His voice quavered. 

‘I’d ask you the same thing, but you’d,’ she paused, swallowing to prevent tears, ‘you’d respond the same.’ 

‘Please, Theren. Don’t…send me away.’ 

Did she really find sympathy for him in her heart. Looking at the sorry, poor boy, weeping away from within the muddy haze of dirty prisoners. Feeling like a lost soul, what Theren can imagine—with nothing but a lifetime of pain to look forward to. Eighteen years down South was more than two lifetimes of hell. 

Should she weep? 

She took a deep breath, ‘Drunk or not…you should have thought of it before killing our brother.’ 

‘HE WANTED TO SEND ME!’ He screamed. Whimpering, faltering. Her brother was a mess of all messes. 

‘To the fekhin South! And for what? A dumb mistake of a fourteen-year-old? Does my family find no forgiveness for the ones left alive in it? Do you feel no pity? No concern? Four years ago, Theren. FOUR FUCKING YEARS—I WAS A CHILD! A CHILD WHEN IT HAPPENED.’ 

‘And yet you caused our uncle’s death.’ 

He sighed and put his head down on his lap. ‘There’s no hope…’ He muttered under his breath, ‘no hope at all.’ 

‘Fair well on your travels, brother. Perhaps I’ll see you in another lifetime.’ 

The caravan began moving, and guards got to closing the gate, until Lothar suddenly jutted his hand out and snarled at her, screaming: ‘One day, my lady, I’ll take away the thing you love most. I will butcher it and I won’t be unequipped. I begged for mercy, I did! But you chose this. You chose this suffering. Prepare for it! YOU CAN’T RUN FROM IT.’ He screamed, top of his lungs. 

Something within her felt deeply disturbed. 

If things could be going any worse right now… 

Not a few weeks into her tenure and she was beginning to lose it. 

***

Chapter 50; Adi’s Decision

/The Training Grounds: King, Gr’Erhin

The Hunter wiped his brow, frowning, and took a seat by the edge of the Colosseum-like training ground. The snow didn’t falter; it sprinkled the edges of the world like swift drops of flakes. Nervous, Adi approached him, scared to know whether he was going to accompany him to Kaandor or not.

He quietly took a sit by his side and shared a deep, contemplative look with him. 

‘Look, my lord,’ he started, ‘I know your family needs you. I know you have to go home, but please. This extends beyond friendship, Nathanial. This is a matter of grave importance.’

‘Really? More important than the death of my father? Could you say so?’ 

He took a long breath, and a long moment to respond, ‘Yes.’ 

His eyes widened and from within, Adi could see Nathanial’s blood boiling. 

‘Have you no respect?’ He gritted his teeth. Black, coalescent mist began forming around Adi’s arms.

‘Look, I’m sorry but—I need you there. This is not a call upon me. It’s for The Dark Wielder. I saw it. I saw a vision and it takes me right there. And you were there. By my side. Accompanying me through whatever heaven or hell we surfaced. But it’s a cold, hard truth. You need to leave your family behind for a few weeks and—’

‘So is just supposed to be that simple? I leave my family and—’

‘YOU ALREADY FEKHIN LEFT ‘EM NATHANIAL! YEARS AGO!’ He snarled, not knowing what overcame him. He took a breath and turned the other away, expecting a fuming response from The Hunter. 

Silence. Complete silence. He turned to look at his face, only to find a slate of guiltiness surfacing his visage. 

‘Adi, I…’ 

How did he not get angry at that? Adi thought to himself, confused. Did he get…frightened?

Yeah, if he got frightened that easily, like hell they’d call him The Hunter. Don’t be stupid. 

‘You’re right. I’ve…’ He swallowed, ‘I’ve left them behind all my life. This is the first time they’re not doing fine, without me there.’ 

Adi put his hand on his shoulder, ‘What do you think that means?’ He whispered. Since when did he become such a comptroller of others’ emotions? Since when did he get struck with a confidence he earlier thought he never had? 

‘Adi, I…if you’re sure that your matter is of grave importance…perhaps,’ he looked away, ashamed of leaving his family behind, perhaps, ‘perhaps I shall accompany you.’ 

‘The Dark Wielder isn’t shown things that aren’t meant to be.’
Nathanial turned to look at him. 

‘Well I….at least I guess so, ahaha!’ He sniggered, bringing about a light smile on Nathanial’s face. 

‘I’ll accompany you. If it means we’re making something meaningful of it. I sacrifice a greater deal than you imagine.’ 

‘There is real meaning behind this, Nathanial. I wouldn’t have been shown otherwise. I know it. I know there is. I just…I just don’t quite know what that is. All I know is that it involves that bastard.’ 

He nodded in response; some sense of sadness had overcome him, and it was quite obvious to Adi. Perhaps he shouldn’t have screamed at him like he did. 

A few hours later, dusk settled into the snow-laden city, and Adi made his way back into the Guesthouse to get a goodnight’s rest, two nights before they were to venture out. Straight back into a gem-boat. 

He made his way up the corridor and into his large chamber, aided by a lovely, beautiful maid who helped him with his things and whatnot. 

‘Late night is it, my lord?’ 

‘Only so I can come back and see your smile.’
She blushed uncontrollably. 

Adi smiled and walked over to her, who was shyly pocketing herself away. He put his arms on her shoulder, and lifted her chin up, 

‘You deserve to be far more than a maid. With gorgeous eyes like those, that beautiful face—I’d take you all for myself.’

‘Oh, my lord, I really shouldn’t—’

‘It’s okay.’ He said, grabbing her face and slowly leaning in for the kiss. She felt hesitant, but he didn’t bother. He simply leant in and claimed her all for himself. Moments later, before he knew it, she was in his bed, undressed, and under the wing of his pleasure. 

‘Oh, my lord, that was lovely.’ 

‘Oh, well, it’s me, darling. What would you have expected?’ 

She giggled away and finally left his company as he found himself in search for some sort of sleep. 

Brilliant stress relief…

He felt far more relaxed. Until he was suddenly frowning.

That was…that was my first time, wasn’t it?

He got off his back and sat up, giving a curious stare in the distance.

What the hell…did I just have sex? I…how did I know any of that? 

He’d felt so sure of himself during the bedding—he’d always expected himself to ruin it the first time, and yet he was confident that he’d found his way around it, even though he had no idea how. 

And the moment his distraction disappeared, the unsettling thoughts came back into his head. Was he even close to ready to venture out into another planet? And for what was he even going? All he knew was that the creature from The Dark Wielder’s Palace was guiding him somewhere. He was taking him into Layonas—for what reason he knew not. 

Only time will tell… Said the vision, he remembered. 

For hours on end, he fidgeted around in his bed, moving left and right, until finally, he was jolted into a dream. White mist covered the floor, as always, and Adi, out of peace, jogged towards Olivia, leaving behind black, smoky trails.

He quickly found her and approached her. He took a quick look at his palms to find a familiar trailing black mist floating around his entire frame. 

‘Olivia!’ He called out to the middle-aged woman who had her face turned the other way. She wore all black, veil covering her head, and held her hands together. She had a deep look of long lost, forsaken memories on her eyes; she stared down the distance aimlessly. 

‘I can’t do it, Olivia. I don’t know why I’m here. Can’t I just go back?’ He felt tugged. Unsure feelings overcame him—edged him to take a gem-boat and run right back to the comfort of his home, but his raw self—his ambitious self—urged him to stay. He felt torn apart. 

‘Why,’ she said meekly, ‘there’s no question! For you must go. You must. You will indeed feel unsure, Adi, you won’t know where to go, what to do, and why you do it, but know this—all of it is happening for a reason. You are simply a track upon which destiny’s heels leave a footprint. If you do not give her the road, she’ll never travel your way.’ 

‘So I must take the call? I must go, then?’ 

She put her arm on his shoulder, and stared at him with pleading eyes, ‘there is no question, my beautiful boy,’ she ran her hand across his cheek, ‘she needs a road. You are the one who must offer it to her.’ 

Olivia couldn’t have picked a vaguer choice of words. And yet he felt convinced. He knew that, perhaps, this was better than anything else he had going on for him. Besides, he was convinced about the importance. 

‘You’ll find out what you have to do, Adi Walkman. You’ll find out.’ She said, arms together, lips pursed. 

***

Chapter 50; Another Locket

/The Innkeeper’s Lodge

‘Welcome to the Lodge, my lady.’ The strange man from The Ages of Wood said, guiding her through a tucked away staircase and into a small Lodge. She’d snuck out at night once more, risking her safety like a total idiot, but with the pace of how things were going within her first few weeks as Lady of Loazer, she could barely be bothered with risking her safety for something new. 

This place too had a cold, damp vibe running through the entire tunnel and into the main structure. Yet the echo of the entire hall was far greater than the last lodging she’d been brought to. This place was rather large.

‘The Innkeeper awaits you. Far end of the room, my lovely lady.’ 

The men of this company had a strange tendency to come off as creepy. He had an intense, almost freakish look in his eyes, as did most of the men here. 

Her footsteps echoed across the entire void of a room. She held a torch, giving her visibility of a few feet. Finally, she reached a table, by the side of which were seated three men. The old man whom she’d met the last time—The Innkeeper—was at the forefront of it. Small candles were lit and placed on the wooden table, and the three men had their fingers crossed and arms on the table—serious stares on all their faces. 

‘Have… a seat.’ The Innkeeper said, smiling and pointing to the chair, ‘I,’ he said, pointing animatedly to his chest, ‘for one, am truly fond of the uh…the dark setting of our erm…business. Please I ask, don’t mind it.’ He had a strange manner of quickening the pace of his words in between his sentences. 

She slowly dragged the chair back and took a seat, all three men eyeing her in the strangest way. 

The torch bearer took slow footsteps back, removing all the light from the table, leaving only that of a few small candles. 

‘Well, I…I must tell you about myself, my lady. You’re…erm…perhaps the third most important guest we’ve had here and, and, and therefore I feel obliged to explain our operations.’

He’s a boring old hag, isn’t he?

‘You see, I….well, the few of us began The Ages of Wood as a small…a small undertaking. Yet it has grown beyond us.’

Did his manner of speaking just change?

‘It is small no further. Not an undertaking…more than a foundation, upon which lies your kingdom.’ 

Far more daunting now.

The old man leant in, eyes intense, staring into a deep chasm.

‘We. We are everything. And if you don’t listen to our commands, my lady,’ he whispered, softly and eerily, as men with torches began to close in on her, from the shadows, ‘you will lose what you hold dearest.’ 

‘Are you threatening your ruler?’ She said fiercely, holding the hilt of her knife.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘we’re commanding our “ruler”.’

She took a step back, knowing fully well she didn’t hold leverage here, ‘What do you want. What do you wish me to do?’ She asked, remembering the letter in her room. Of course these men had far more reach than she’d thought. And they didn’t seem malicious, just intent on doing their job. 

‘Q’oura.’ Bring it here. The man said, in Corr. 

‘You—you speak Corr?’

‘Only the ancient royalties—yourself—and perhaps I enjoy the way it rolls of my tongue.’ He smiled. 

A man from the darkness brought a small box—seemingly one that held a trinket inside.

The two other men on the table watched with careful eyes, as if overseeing a procedure that had to be carried out in the most careful manner. 

The box was set in front of The Innkeeper. He opened the intricate mechanism of the gold slated box—which had a strange depictions of logs of wood and lost eyes inscribed all over it—and put his hand inside. He grabbed something and closed his fist around it, handing it over to Theren. He sure made a great deal about it. The trinket within his fist had a faint green glow, as she could tell. 

‘Extend your arm. No, and open your hand, of course.’

She did as he asked. He then opened his fist and put an elegant, intricate locket in her hand. It had a large, shiny silver chain going around the locket’s top loop, and within the locket was a glowing green gem. She took a long look at the locket, and opened the little hatch to get a closer look at the gem inside. 

‘Are these the same enchanted gems? The ones on the gem-boats?’ She asked casually.

‘No.’ 

She took a look at the inscriptions within the locket, and in it was a hand proudly holding a log of wood. 

‘Why wood? Why is that in your name?’

‘Well, we aren’t the royalties, as you all are. We aren’t made of marble and glittering gold. We’re the simple ones. The cart-bearers, the lumberjacks, the stable-keepers. And wood is our main tool for all our work. We’re the ones who cut the wood so that you,’ he said, pointing to Theren, ‘can have the walls of your castles that you all do.’

She felt awkward about what he’d just said, shifting uncomfortably, without responding. 

‘You hang tight to that, Theren of House Rolan. Don’t lose it. We only have so many. Await our further instructions.’

The man got off his chair; rather than wishing goodbye, he, along with his company, took eery footsteps back, slow and steady, and went back into the shadows. 

‘Wait!’ She called out. The footsteps stopped. ‘How can I trust you? How can I know any of this is real?’ 

Silence. 

‘Follow me.’ 

She got off her chair and took slow, careful footsteps into the darkness. On her right and left were two hooded torch bearers. No one said a word. 

She walked right behind The Innkeeper and his few men, until the entire company suddenly stopped.
He reached his hand out and pulled a doorknob towards him. The sound of a humongous mechanism working entered her ears—as if it were some strange cryptic lock.

‘You may not expect this, my lady.’ He said softly. 

‘Now you hold onto something.’ 

She reached her hand out and found a metal bar.

‘Wha—I—’

BAM.

The floor suddenly fell straight downwards; she felt her body jerk up and off the floor, but she quickly brought herself level. She screamed as the company descended—the rest of them surefooted. All of a sudden, the place came to a sudden halt, Theren completely freaked out, and it slowly fell into place. They must have descended a lot.

‘What…’ she was panting, ‘What the hell was that?’ 

‘That is a lift, my lady.’ 

‘Did we just go…down?’

‘Why yes!’ 

Metal bars in front of them rattled open, and he began walking straight through. She followed.

After a while of walking, the men came to a halt once more.

‘Q’iera ni asta’na sacha.’ He called out. Light the beacons!

There was a long moment of silence. Theren heard his voice echo through a massive, massive hall. Now she was intrigued. 

The sound of fire erupted along the walls, as the dark place suddenly came into illumination. And then she saw it.

They were standing on a cliffside, underneath her entire kingdom. And below the cliff was an enormous flatland. Thousands and thousands and thousands of men stood completely still, not making a sound. Not even flinching. They all stood attentively, look forwards without blinking. She couldn’t see a tangible end to the flatlands. It was covered with a slather of men, shapely formed, all across the dark horizon. She couldn’t even see the end of the fiery beacon. She was completely, and utterly, shocked. Stopped in her footsteps. Her heart sank. The power—the magnitude of this entire thing—she could never have imagined. 

She turned towards the old man, who simply smiled back at her. He then walked over to her, with gentle footsteps. 

‘You see…now you must understand. Now you know why you must obey.’ 

All the men on the flatland were dressed differently. Some of them wore the uniform of servants, gaffers, chaimberlains, others even wore Crocodilian armour. Her soldiers were in on this?

‘We…well, we have a fair share of say in this world,’ he pointed towards the crowd, ‘people you trust. People you don’t. Perhaps they are all with us.’

How did she not know of this before?

‘And so I repeat once more, my lady, follow our command. Keep the locket safe. We have given you a great honour.’

‘…Why? Why me, then? What do you wish to achieve?’

‘Here is the beauty of it all,’ he said, folding his sleeve, ‘We don’t…know. It is not up to us to decide. How now, I bid you fair travels and journeys. You’ll encounter them, soon enough.’ 

‘Tell me something, since…since you seem to know it all.’ 

‘What is it?’ 

She could ask him. She could ask him about the terrible wound left in her heart. The death of someone so close to her that she couldn’t bear to think of it. Pierced through, torn apart, fallen. Hearing of the death of him would destroy her.

‘Is…is he alive?’ 

‘Which “he”, my lady?’ 

She took a deep breath, ‘Altheas. Is he gone?’ 

He smiled at her, the creepiest of smiles, ‘No.’ 

She nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. 

‘Until next time, my lady.’ 

***

Chapter 51; The Carts

/Outside Galathground, Kenneth

Lothar Rolan, the greatest disappointment to any royal family in the history of Erhin. He felt like a total moron—an idiotic bearer of royal flesh: flesh he didn’t deserve to bear. A body he didn’t deserve to command, a mind housed in the wrong skull. Everything wrong with him was sure as hell rooted in there, wasn’t it? 

If I wasn’t such a weak toddler perhaps I could’ve made it out here alive. 

And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the locket he’d gotten. He’d stared at it subtly a hundred times over. There was a small hand engraved on the inside of it holding up a log of wood. The design was so intricate it was almost something he’d keep in his own chamber. 

The glowing green gem, though, was something difficult to keep hidden from all the strange prisoners. They’d been loaded into the wagons, or carts, rather, a while ago, and were on the road for a few hours. The overseeing Croc, Reimens, someone Lothar used to command around for fun, had been particularly harsh on him. It was as if everything he’d ever done wrong was coming back to bite him, and bite him hard. 

His wagon, huge as it was, was covered with horse stinking hay and urine buckets. Apparently all the other wagons had a “piss-holes” through the wooden exteriors. 

‘U’right, why don’t we got no piss ‘oles?’ A grimy bloke questioned out of no where, his blob of a stomach too big for his shirt to house. 

‘Because, you fekhin idiot, we’re the worst of the lot.’ Lothar answered. He felt shameless for being so up and about—answering so easily—after everything that had happened. And yet he couldn’t resist the urge to vent his frustration. To just…put down a commoner right into his place. Oh, the enjoyment he felt at screaming at staff members, at the chaimberlains and stewards of the house, who was he going to scream at now? 

Just one of these idiot blokes, eh?

‘The fekh you say?’ He said, all of a sudden, getting up onto his feet.

‘Yeah, took you more effort to get up off your feet look down at your toes?’ 

‘Oh…you fekhin cock suckah, I’ll have ye!’ 

‘Oh I’m the cock suckah? And I wonder why you’re going to jail.’ 

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief, ‘You callin me a faggot? Oh come here, you two faced bastard, I’ll have ye—’

Lothar suddenly wrapped his handcuff around the man’s ankle, and yanked it hard towards himself, tripping the man on a two fold of feet right below—the men were cramped for space indeed. Three or four sleeping beauties woke up in disbelief. Lothar looked at them unapologetically.

‘Why, uh…it’s him. He’s the one who fell, ain’t he?’ 

The prisoners shared a look and all nodded, agreeing with him in bliss. 

‘Yeah…true heir’s right. He knows ‘is shit.’ 

True heir? Ha! What? His heart skipped a beat. And then he remembered Rothrin. In the one moment of happiness that he felt in this stinking wagon, he had to remember his brother. Well, it’s only been three days, what do you expect? He felt…something about it. Something. But he couldn’t tell what. A part of him nudged him, telling him to move on, another dragged him into the endless sands of unforgiving sadness. And yet there was a part of him he refused to truly acknowledge. A part which smiled. A part which turned to the scene of the murder and subtly winked. That part of himself scared him the most. 

‘Oye! That’s Lothar Rolan!’ 

Murmuring flooded the entire wagon, until they all stared, swallowed in silence.
Oh fekh, they shouldn’t know. I’ll get killed!

‘You’re our hero, mate. Don’t think we’d ‘urt ya, lookin all scared n’ that!’ A grumpy looking fat man said, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

‘Why? Why you supporting me?’ He couldn’t refrain from smiling. 

‘Cuz you’re a symbol, m’ro. You mean something more than just another prisoner. You’re the first one of the royalties being sent with us. Down here, down with the rest of us. Means fairness back over there,’ the same bloke said, pointing down towards the kingdom, through one of the little air holes in the wagon, with his grimy, broken fingers. His green, dirt-filled fingernails distracted Lothar from the view, but he understood what he was trying to say. 

‘We’ll all treat ya well, boy. Don’t ya worry.’ 

‘Now,’ another man said, with a raspy voice, ‘don’t you think you’ll be no king tho!’ He said, smiling a truly genuine smile. These prisoners weren’t all that bad, ‘Yeah, no you won’t be no king! Jus’ a friend, eh lads?’ A round of cheers followed through the wagon, and Lothar could feel the slightest tinge of a smile form on his face. A small sense of belonging he found where he’d never expected to.

‘Don’t get too excited.’ Whispered a soft but hard voice from his side. He turned to find a tanned woman with hair cut short, dark eyebrows and sharp eyes—focused straight ahead.

‘These old idiots,’ she continued, ‘they don’t know what they’re saying. All of ‘em are shameless anyway. Rapers, murderers, thieves, Crown thieves. Why do you seek happiness from this lot?’ 

‘Yeah?’ Lothar asked the girl, eyeing her down, ‘then the fekh you here for? A vacation?’

‘Piss off, I don’t care about your royalty. I’ll stick it up ye if I have to.’ 

‘Why you here.’ 

Silence ensued, ‘trouble.’ 

‘Vague.’ 

‘Don’t care.’ 

‘Clearly don’t do you? Especially not about that haircut.’ 

She turned to give him a death stare, eyeing him as a fiend. 

‘Your dad’s dead. Your mother’s a creepy old hag and your brother’s dying. What do you care about?’ 

Anger. Rage. Red flew right through his veins, boiling within his temple.

‘Ah, ah, ah…I don’t suggest you do that you poor little puppy,’ she said, pouting her lips, condescending him, ‘they’ll kill you for even a slight act of violence in ‘ere. This ain’t Kenneth anymore, swee’ heart.’ 

He held himself back, feeling the anger course through his entire frame, until all of a sudden she lunged in and gave him a long, sensual kiss. His temper sure felt calm.

‘You’re in the second line, aren’t you love?’ She said, lips still pouting. 

Krilin…He just wanted to grab her and kiss her again.

‘Y-yes I am.’ He said, remembering what the man had mentioned to him, the man who’d given him the locket. 

‘Ah…pretty boy. We’re gonna have a fair share of fun.’ She said, smiling content and looking right on ahead as the bumpy wagon set en route to The Banished Lands of Erhin. 

‘What’s your name, girl?’ 

‘Tirette.’ 

***