Verily, the will of the heart, when steadfast, may be brandished akin to a tangible weapon.

T'is how the Alvric Braves slayed their enemies during the Cataclysm, protecting the land.

But the strongest of wills is birthed from Truth.

Truth, undisguised and bitter.

This I pen to you younglings of Alvric.

That ye may find truth…

And grow.

Thus I say,

‘To thine own self...be true,’

A writ of Truth,

(An excerpt from the Annals of Alvric)

By Wuda,

Scribe of the 18th Generation of Alvric.

~~~

Rihal made his way toward the Library, a facility built to hold and interrogate offenders of high political standing. He dropped down from the sky halfway up a mountain northeast of the Royal Estate. Placing his hand on the rock wall of the mountain, he pushed slightly. The rock moved inward revealing a doorway and he stepped inside.

He walked down the stairs of the narrow passageway deep into the heart of the mountain. The many networks of tunnels in the mountain range form a labyrinth whose foundations were laid by the 3rd Sovereign of Vorthe, Zama’el the Sculptor.

The cells here were bigger and cleaner. But the essence in the air was sparse. There was only one inmate in this wing right now albeit a temporary one.

Rihal only needed to bypass the jailer to meet the prisoner. The warden stiffened upon seeing him, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Rihal approached.

“There are no appointments scheduled in your name, Lord Rihal. Please don’t make my job any more inconvenient than it already is.”

He avoided looking at Rihal’s blindfold but kept sneaking glances at it. Something about it just gave him goosebumps. Maybe it was knowing the man could see from behind the dark covering.

Rihal smiled. “Now, now, twenty-two. I’m just here to hear what the kid has to say, nothing else” he said.

“Forgiveness, Lord Rihal, but I've been asked not to allow you entry. You’re too close to this case,” the guard bowed deeply. “And I’m twenty-three, not twenty-two,” he muttered.

Asked, not ordered? So it’s not official. Rihal caught that. Good, good. “Sorry about that. I get your numbers mixed up,” he said as he put an arm around the guard’s shoulders.

The guards and work staff who were unnamed from birth were given numbers to identify them. Each number, a product of the unit they belonged to.

“Tell you what — heavens, you don’t have to be so nervous. I don’t bite!”

The guard wiped the sweat off his forehead with already sweaty palms as he shook from fear. He was only a Sprout. Rihal was a Spirit Realm expert and could kill him in less than a breath.

Contrary to your words, Lord Rihal, we guards have evidence that suggests you do bite, the guard thought “or maybe you sting… Forgiveness,” he quickly bowed his head again realizing he spoke the last part out loud.

“Huh!,” Rihal feigned a gasp. “You break my heart, twenty-two.”

“It’s…twenty-three,” the guard muttered with a sigh.

“Yes, Yes,” Rihal gave an exaggerated nod. “And I need to see the kid. You could let me in, or I could let myself in.”

Twenty-three stiffened. Then he deflated with a sigh. “Please, don’t take too long,” he said as he turned around, placing his palm on the wall. “This is gonna get me in trouble.”

A portion of the wall dissolved into mist revealing a room with pristine white walls and a single occupant. Rihal walked in quietly and the wall restored itself behind him.

He rested his back on the wall and quietly observed the kid trying to hide his shaking hands.

The room was sparse of furniture, with only a single bed, and a chamber pot. White walls stared back at him as he took a glance around.

A few days in here can do things to a man’s sanity, he thought. “I read Wuda’s excerpts of the Alvric Braves once…well, I glanced through it,” Rihal said as he watched the kid for signs of a reaction.

“You know what stuck with me? The last line where he addresses the younger Alvrics.

“To thine own self…be true.”

Hedon’s eyes lit up for a moment, but then he clenched his jaw and kept quiet, restraining himself.

“How poetic,” Rihal continued. “That line of the last verse speaks volumes, don’t you think, Hedon? I wonder what you Alvrics think of it.”

Hedon Alvric had been apprehended the moment he walked into Farryn. Vorthe did have eyes everywhere, and they had been alerted the moment Jerome left the city. The Sovereign of Vorthe, however, had warned them not to interfere.

“I owe you no explanations for my actions,” Hedon said tightly. “ A common fish in a pond thought himself a dragon, only to end up as dinner for an eagle. End of story.”

“Oh, but this isn’t about one common fish, Hedon. It’s about the twenty-seven others you took as sport, and for what?”

“They are from the slums, damn it! He may be your disciple, but are you willing to go up against a Great family for someone who has no background? No legacy?

“He is the lowliest of all, lowlier than the common folk. He has nothing, therefore he is nothing! You Vorthe’s just want to use your position to oppress others! You think you’re so powerful, but you don’t know the might of the Alvric!

“Just watch and see! We’re coming for you—” Hedon realized too late what he had said. He shut his mouth and bit down on his tongue hard, tasting the coppery tang of his own blood.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. He was so angry at the man in front of him but Rihal was a lot more powerful than he was. He turned to face a wall and punched with all his strength. He punched again and again until his fists bled.

Rihal just watched. He did nothing to stop the kid. Nothing to coax him to talk. If anything he didn't have the time for a drawn-out interrogation. The Royal family couldn't keep the kid for long. Sooner or later, his clan would come looking for him. Or the Patriarch might just order his release.

Someone pounded on the wall behind him and the central portion dissolved into mist revealing the exit. His time was up.

“What’d you learn?”

“Nice to see you too, Locke.”

The warden stared Rihal down, his gaze as sharp as a sword. He was a big man. A Vorthe, as tall and muscular as the Baelors from the Redwood Forest in the West, but he was no peaceful giant.

“Do you think you can do better at my job than I, Rihal?” Locke asked.

“Hey, no one’s looking to take your job away from you, Locke. Why are you being so insecure?”

Locke brimmed with anger as all he could think of was punching the smugness off of Rihal’s face.

“You think too highly of yourself, assassin.”

“That doesn’t mean I think less of you…or any other Vorthe,” Rihal said, patting Locke on the shoulder as he walked past him.

The warden was two heads taller than him so he had to raise his hand higher than normal for that pat. Locke gave up. True, Rihal was a genius in his Realm. Many like him look down on others, but he didn’t. Rihal’s communications rune lit up at that moment.

“Duty calls. I leave him in your capable hands,” Rihal said as he walked off.

~~~

“Kilian?”

Kilian looked up from the carvings that tell an old tale on the giant doors of the Council Hall to see Rihal walk up to him.

“How are you holding up? I know he was like a son to you.”

“He’s not dead. He’ll be back. I just hope this doesn’t…break him.”

Kilian stared at him searching his eyes for something — what it was, he didn’t know. He took a deep breath and looked away.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

They had both been summoned to meet with the Sovereign. It was quite easy to predict what they were here for.

“I failed him,” Rihal muttered softly.

“None of us accounted for the Alvric kid going this far,” Kilian said.

“Still, this is going to torment him forever.”

“Yes. Losing family can be hard. But he’ll get through it. Have faith in him.”

The double doors opened at that moment and they both righted their posture before walking in.

The hall was long and decorated with ceiling-high tapestries. Golden orbs of light hovered mid-air, close to the ceiling, emitting soft golden glows that brightened the hall.

Rihal and Kilian made their way toward the Curia Regis at the far end of the hall. They stopped a few paces away from the Elders seated around a rectangular table and placed their right hands on their chest going down on one knee.

“Greetings, Sovereign. Greetings, Elders,” they both greeted.

“Rise,” the First Elder, Thorlin Vorthe commanded.

“The fated Dark One is advancing at a very rapid speed. Faster than anything we have ever seen before.” The Sovereign spoke.

Rihal could feel himself being drawn to the Sovereign’s voice. It was slow and soothing. He felt he could listen forever to the Sovereign and want for nothing.

“Right now, he is in a deep slumber at the bottom of Blade’s Edge canyon. I believe he would be drawn to the mountains as a Sprout.”

Both Rihal and Kilian looked surprised and confused. This news was quite different from what they had learned of the Dark Ones — they are drawn into the mountains when they reach the Spirit Realm, not before!

“Nothing is impossible; and moving forward with this in mind, have you both any information for me as regards how he was able to restrain the beast?”

Rihal gulped down hard, ready to answer.

“Forgiveness, Sovereign. We didn’t have a proper opportunity to question him about it,” Kilian said with a deep bow.

Rihal followed suit, holding his tongue.

The Sovereign of Vorthe kept quiet for a long while, drawing out the tension in the room.

“When he fell into the river below Blade’s Edge canyon,” the Sovereign finally spoke. “His body was covered in some kind of cocoon, one made of earth, but there was no aura.”

Both Spirit Realm experts in the room were surprised at this new information. But they could also sense the Elders’ confusion. Meaning the Sovereign hadn’t discussed this with them.

“It was like he just turned to stone, and his vitality disappeared like he really was a stone sculpture. If it hadn't been for our connection, I would have thought him dead,” the Patriarch said, almost absent-mindedly.

Everyone else was confused.

“If I may Sovereign,” Rihal said.

“Go on Rihal.”

He bowed. “Two of the Sprouts from Clan Alvric had their hands in a similar state. We didn’t know what to make of it.”

“Hmm. I saw them being affected by the strange phenomenon,” the Sovereign stated.

The Elders communicated silently among themselves in confusion. Whatever this strange phenomenon was, it was beyond them.

“Perhaps he obtained some kind of treasure during Pilgrims’ Keep,” Fesir Vorthe, the Royal Artifact Refiner, said with interest in his eyes.

He was an eccentric man; never liked to show himself in public. Seated on his left was Elder Duten, who said, “That would be the case. His luck is damn good, that one.”

Rihal felt irritated at that. Does he have to sound so offensive? He thought.

Duten Vorthe always looked like he was spoiling for a fight and maybe he was.

You need to relax man, and maybe look in the mirror more often too. Might do you some good, Rihal thought.

“I’m telling you all this so you could make plans,” the Sovereign continued.

“The darkness is a lot more potent than it was during the days of the First Vorthe. If he takes on the darkness as a Sprout and is unable to control it, it will consume him completely — body and soul.”

Which meant they may have to search for another suitable candidate for the Sovereign to implant the seed of darkness into. They all thought this but no one spoke out loud. It was an uncomfortable subject.

“Albeit, that would be a shame. I have really high hopes for him.”

“Sprouts aren’t strong enough to withstand the Darkness, Sovereign,” the Second Elder, Princess Aeldra Vorthe, said.

Rihal’s gaze lingered on her for a breath longer.

Aeldra Vorthe was just too beautiful; it was hard to look away after a glance. She sensed Rihal’s gaze and looked up smilingly at him.

Weirdly, it felt like an apology.

He still had his band over his eyes, but if he could see her, she could sense him looking her way. She was a Sage, after all, a Great Realm above him.

He nodded and looked away. She reminded him too much about the woman he lost — to her father at that. Or at least it’s what he chose to believe.

“But, Sovereign, mayhaps there is a way to help him,” The First Elder, Thorlin Vorthe, said, his eyes distant.

Rihal looked hopefully at the white-haired Elder sitting on the right side of the Sovereign. Thorlin Vorthe was an aged man, yet he was vibrant and as strong as a dragon in its prime.

He was a Saint Realm expert—one of the very few in Vorthe; greatly respected by some, and deeply envied by a few, but unknown to the majority of the populace. He was a realist, one who never went easy on anyone, not even himself. Tales had been written about him, many of which have passed into the Annals of Vorthe.

“You speak of the Diviners Thorlin; they cannot help. Not this time,” the Sovereign said.

The rest of the Curia Regis, including Rihal and Kilian, looked to both the Sovereign and the First Elder, hoping to make sense of what the Sovereign said. Thorlin Vorthe bowed in his seated position quietly.

“Come forward, Rihal,” the Sovereign said.

Rihal took a few steps forward with his nerves wound in a knot. The Sovereign unveiled a tiny portion of his Will and Rihal felt something leave him.

He blinked behind his blindfold, reaching up to remove it. His eyes were back to normal. The seal that was placed on his eyes as punishment for choosing one of the common folk to wed had been taken off by the Patriarch. Now he could use his eyes naturally. He didn’t know how to feel about it though, so he just numbed himself. There was no victory there. Perhaps once, a long time ago, he wished to see normally like he did before but now…

“You raised him well,” the Sovereign said.

That damn seal had been with him for thirteen years. It was his stamp of shame. The Sovereign left warnings of further punishment if history were to repeat itself unsaid.

“Gratitude, Sovereign,” Rihal bowed deeply with his right fist to his chest.

“You both may leave.”

~~~

Rihal knew of the Diviners. They were healers — some of them. They were not as powerful as the Sovereign, but their methods could wrought miracles. They followed the old ways, the way of worship and servitude to a being of a higher power — a god.

Rihal paced in front of his master’s Palace. The Master of Shadows had been in attendance at the meeting, even if he didn’t see him. Damien Vorthe wasn’t called the Unseen for nothing.

“Your master wouldn’t appreciate your pacing, son of Ivar.”

“Forgiveness, my lady,” Rihal said, bowing to the beautiful woman who appeared out of thin air.

“Greetings, my lady, why you look lovely today," Kilian said, beaming with a smile.

Erika Vorthe’s gaze lingered on Rihal’s face a while longer. Not having seen him without his blindfold.

“Congratulations Rihal,” she said with a smile but left a whole lot unsaid.

Erika Vorthe turned to Kilian with a smile. “Why are you both here? Did my husband do something I need to know about?”

Rihal tried to picture his master being lectured by his wife. Now, that would be a sight for sore eyes.

“Oh, no, Lady Erika. We just seek information is all,” Kilian responded.

“Really?”

“Truly,” Kilian said with a palm over his heart, feigning sincerity.

Rihal watched them chat.

They were both scholars who worked together on secret research for the benefit of Vorthe from time to time. Whatever the joke was, he wasn’t in the know, so he just stood to the side watching them both as they chatted away.

“And what might you be discussing with my wife?” Damien Vorthe whispered from beside Kilian.

Kilian almost left his skin as he jumped in fright. Soon enough, he calmed down, smoothing out his pristine royal blue robes. Erika giggled with glee at his cowardice and he blushed in embarrassment.

“Greetings, Lord Damien,” Kilian greeted, his face flushed from embarrassment. “How did you do that?”

“Greetings, master,” Rihal greeted.

Damien Vorthe looked at his wife, his eyes filled with endearment. She quickly left without a word. And he turned to his disciple with eyes that could freeze fire. “Come with me.”

Damien led them through beautiful gardens and fountains toward the back of the Palace. They came to a beautiful pavilion beside a small stream.

“Sit,” he ordered, “I know why you’re here and I won’t mince words.”

They both sat down as instructed and waited for the Sage to tell them what he knew of Jerome’s condition.

“According to the Patriarch, his foundation has been damaged.”

Rihal stiffened at that. That’s something that can be solved with ease, he thought. This shouldn’t be all there is to it.

“If that were all, we could rest easy, but Hedon stabbed his heart. Most of his blood vessels were ruptured, including his essence channels.”

Rihal ground his teeth as he shook from anger. His eyes stared daggers in the direction of the library promising vengeance.

“Calm yourself, Rihal, a rational mind means a rational man, which is the foundation of success.”

Rihal closed his eyes as he repeated his master’s words, “A rational mind means a rational man, which is the foundation of success.”

“Why wouldn’t the Diviners be able to heal that?” Killian asked.

“Because the essence in his channels reversed itself,” Rihal answered. “With a bruised and battered body, the Diviners will only end up inflicting more injuries than healing it.”

“And the Patriarch…?” Kilian asked, still looking confused at both master and disciple. The human body wasn’t his field of study, but assassins study the body, it was their job to get rid of people after all.

“Light and darkness do not mix, Kilian,” Damien said.

“So, what do we do?”

“We wait. When he awakens he’ll find his way back and he can start healing properly…But he’ll have to do it on his own.”

~~~

Jerome opened his eyes. Darkness was all he could see. He tried calling out but his own voice echoed back at him. He checked himself for injuries but found none.

Jerome walked around for a bit calling out from time to time. His own voice was the reply he got. There was nothing else around. Even the ground was dark.

Someone walked past him and his heartbeat sped up. The man was headed up a mountain.

Where did the mountain come from?

It was a huge mountain, and it gave off a dark and ominous aura. Like a beast with a maw wide open, ready to swallow the world around him. It filled his stomach with dread as goosebumps rose on his skin.

Jerome recognized the man a moment later. Three! The first stranger he ever dreamt of. Three climb up the mountain, his attention focused on getting to the top as if something awaited him at the peak.

Jerome fixed his gaze on the mountain. He could feel it too, deep down in his bones. Power. Unlike anything he had ever experienced.

The mountain called to him, drew him in. Whispering promises of invincibility…

Like a truth that had existed for ages.