Aeons ago mankind had lived through the golden age of magic and heroes. Shrouded in mystery, this dark era left no traces, only imprints in the form of fables and artefacts. A young Arnos peered into the final chapters of 'The Fables Of A Faraway Land', almost possessed. Sweat trickled down his tanned forehead, blocked by his brow, his hair, as dark as night, was slicked back to avoid his eyes, which were absorbed in the jet-black ink. Fantasies swarmed his mind as he relived the tales of old.
A forgotten chronicle of legends where Titans roared and steel clashed. Where heroes were not born but made. The collection of stories detailed the birth of the Kingdom of Bertos—his homeland. Lands stretching further than the eyes could see and vaster than his young mind could comprehend. Arnos lay there on the library floor, mesmerised by the 'Tales of Roberto', a collection of fables within the book documented by King Roberto himself, a hero of the Dark Ages.
Arnos had been fascinated by the period known as the 'Dark Era', addicted to stories from a bygone age. A distraction perhaps, from the mundane reality he faced living as a servant boy. The almost temple-like library loomed over the secluded young boy. He lay there sprawled in the corner most area of the building, buried within the book. Unaware of his surroundings he hears a roar of anger.
"ARNOS, YOU FUCKER, DID YOU STEAL FROM MY STUDY AGAIN?"
The shouting shocked Arnos, causing him to panic. He got up and bolted, leaving the book on the floor with no regard for damages. He darted under tables and chairs, ran between shelves as if his life was in jeopardy. The wooden planks creaked as his small feet tapped across the floor. Arnos looked up and saw a large wooden door—an escape, he realized. He charged ahead with no thoughts other than getting through that door, his feet stamping, his arms flailing, his hair no longer slicked back, dancing to the tune of his fear. The closer he got to the door, the more relief Arnos felt. His feet were about to cross the open door when a jolt sent him flying backward. He felt a huge hand grab him by the collar, lifting him off the floor. He stayed still, helpless, believing he was doomed.
He turned and saw a man, no older than forty, muscular but lean, with a face full of anger. His circular-framed glasses reflected the panic in the young boy's eyes. His unkempt, messy hair covered his forehead, and his stubble was unshaven. This man is seething, Arnos thought. The man turned his eyes towards Arnos. "Where is it?" he asked. Tension rising, Arnos gulped and stared into the man's eyes, almost pleading for mercy.
"Where is what?" Arnos muttered, feigning ignorance. The man lifted him higher and higher, to eye level. Arnos grumbled, "You can keep me up here, or you can put me down, and I will fetch the book right now."
The man nodded and put Arnos down. Arnos instantly ran as fast as he could, away from his captor. Once Arnos got to the book, he turned, scanning for a new escape route. He fled to a hallway to his left. He thought he had finally escaped, but when he looked down at his hands, he saw the book was no longer there. A cold sweat formed on his scalp, his breathing became shallow. He turned around and saw a familiar grey waistcoat and trousers. The man stood there, book in hand, smiling.
"I can't believe you can read books like this at your age. It almost makes me want to let you off," he laughed.
Arnos scowled and walked back up to the man. "I would be able to read books a lot more complicated if I had been allowed to learn properly," he muttered quietly.
The man laughed again, but this time even louder. "Speak up, little man. I can't hear you. Do not forget your status, so be thankful I'm teaching you in secret." The man put his hand on Arnos' head and smiled.
Arnos shook his head and scowled. "Things would never have played out like this in the dark ages. Status was earned back then."
"Then tell me, dear Arnos, what happens in the final fable?" the man asked sarcastically.
"No one knows," Arnos replied.
"Then stop believing these myths and get to work," the man commanded.
Arnos had been raised as a servant boy by the Omari, a powerful clan within the city of Sorlane. The man was Adar Omari, the second-born son of the Omari grandmaster, Axion The Gold.
Disheartened, Arnos strolled out of the library and into the courtyard. Water flowed from fountains, luscious plants of every colour bloomed in every direction, stone pillars fortified the buildings around the great plaza. The stone and marble floor shone in the sunlight. Arnos understood that the Omari were as rich as they were powerful. Arnos stared into the scenic expanse in awe, he had been greeted by this scene countless times however his reaction had always remained unchanged. His feet on the cold stone, step by step, from stone to marble, he walked out of the plaza and towards the main building of the Omari residence.
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The building stood tall and proud with huge doors that dwarfed the young boy, strange inscriptions were plastered across the frames and onto the walls of this palace. Gold and white pillars with the same strange patterns held up a great statue at the foot of the gates. A man, with the same inscriptions on the door and walls etched into his skin, covering his arms and back, stood with grace. Hair carved out into a ponytail, a strong jawline and sharp eyes, a muscular frame with robes from the waist down carved so beautifully it made him wonder who could create such a statue. At the foot of the statue read 'Azuras Omari', with a strange writing underneath that Arnos could not comprehend, a lost language perhaps, he thought. He stood at the front of the statue in reverence, knowing he could not be here for long. He strolled past the statue and around the Palace towards a small shack, clean but unsightly in the face of the views the boy had witnessed just prior. The disparity staring into the eyes of Arnos as he wondered what worth there was to being in this residence. He walked meekly into the shack, his straw bed lying on the floor next to a small table with books piled up at the desk. His clothing strewn in the corner of the room. This is my reality, he thought as he sat at his desk.
His desk, a mix of paper and books, all scattered with just enough order that it was possible to grasp what the young boy had been learning about. Meteora. A book so large it dwarfed all others sat at the forefront of the desk. Tattered but still readable Arnos flicked through its contents. Meteora, it read, was the source of all energy in the known world, harnessed throughout all nations and by all life forms. An energy source said to be the father of magic and the key to life itself. Arnos closed the book and sat, composed and tranquil. He had closed his eyes and allowed his senses to wander. The light airy fragrance from the pavilion followed him closely. With each breath, his mind grew calm, thoughts no longer racing, and his focus sharpened as he calmly searched for this energy source, Meteora. The silence grew louder, and the darkness brighter. Sweat trickled down the cheek of the young boy as his concentration strengthened. The suffocating darkness was now an abyss that loomed over young boys' mind.
The silence pitifully watched over him as his desperation grew. Meteora, still unfound, hid in every corner of the room. Gulping with anticipation, he hoped for this mysterious energy to reveal itself. Bang. A loud thud snapped Arnos out of his trance.
His eyes were now open to the door flying towards him. Startled, he raised his arms to protect himself. Gritting his teeth for the impact, he caught the sound of laughter echoing from outside his shack, a familiar laugh. The door now approaching Arnos at a blitzing speed seemed to dissipate the closer it got. Arnos blinked in confusion and with every blink the scene seemed even more bizarre than before.
The door was now back on its hinges with no damage in sight. The boy stood perplexed, confused and in awe of the sight before him. He turned and was faced with a familiar face. An older boy, with hair as dark as night that juxtaposed his sun-kissed golden skin and radiant smile. Eyes as blue as the deep sea, the boy was handsome, handsome enough to incite a level of envious admiration from Arnos. The boy had been wearing robes similar to the statue in the plaza, garments with inscriptions woven into them. Detailed and beautiful, the boy exuded an aura of luxury many would covet.
"How did you do that?" asked Arnos.
"It's a secret," replied the boy gleefully.
"Tell me before I tell Adar you are bullying me," Arnos threatened.
"We both know he wouldn't believe that," the boy laughed. "And besides, secrets are only fun when one of us is clueless. That's what makes it a secret."
Arnos stood there, stunned at the boy's brazen remarks. "So you mean to tell me, you invade my privacy, interrupt my training, frighten me into thinking my door will crush me, and after all of this, you won't even tell me how you did it?"
"Yes," the boy replied with a straight face.
"And what training were you even doing in the first place?" the boy asked.
"None of your business," Arnos retorted.
The boy dismissed Arnos and grabbed the book at the desk. "Meteora..? You mean to tell me you still can't feel anything?"
"No," replied Arnos shamefully. "Not everyone is a genius like you."
The boy laughed again. "That's true. If everyone was like me, I guess this world would be like—"
"Hell," Arnos interrupted.
"Heaven," the boy said, finishing his sentence. "Look, I can help you if you want."
The boy looked concerned, but Arnos hated pity more than anything. "If I wanted your help, I would have asked for it. Leave me alone, Ceru," he replied, annoyance growing.
"I can see you are frustrated. I just came here to let you know that we are having a family dinner today, and Father wants you to join."
"Your Father," replied Arnos
"He took you in, so he is your father too," Ceru replied calmly but with authority.
"Tell Adar I will attend. Is there anything specific he wants me to do?" asked Arnos.
"Look presentable," laughed Ceru as he walked out of the shack.
Arnos sighed and cleared his desk. "What a drag," he thought to himself.