> Long ago, before the birth of kingdoms and empires, Hinos and humans briefly co-existed in this realm. Whether interracial procreation existed and was possible is unknown. There are beliefs, however, that in this day and age, long-lost descendants of the ancient dragonkin still roam about in complete ignorance of their true heritage. But they are yet to be discovered... - “The Book of the Rose, Chapter XII” by Emperor Midas I of the House Bladesong.
Kiera wanders in a dark, vast chamber of aged stone as if someone hasn’t been there for centuries. The walls display carved faces and intricate lines, and every few metres, a statue of a small sitting dragon watches Kiera as she presses forward, holding a flaming torch, the only source of light in this place. As its light reflects into her amber eyes, she hears whispers. Unintelligible whispers. She thinks she knows where the whispers come from, but she’s always proven wrong.
“Hello?” Kiera’s voice echoes. The only responses are whispers and shadowy figures who seem to hide behind stone pillars, watching her.
Despising her.
She isn’t supposed to be here.
Intruder.
She reaches the end of the chamber, displaying a huge stone door with a massive embedded face. It looks like a human face but with slit pupils and horns protruding from its head. Without her doing anything, it slowly slides open with a loud grinding noise, displacing dust that had been sitting there for a long time. The door reveals another chamber, a beam of moonlight descending down the centre, lighting up what looks like a black rose, pulsating with a dark, swirling energy. The whispers intensify, intruding Kiera’s mind.
They’re even louder. It must be hundreds of whispers, and they don’t stop. Kiera wants to run. She closes her eyes and covers her ears, but then...silence. She opens her eyes, now surrounded by a blackscape of nothingness. Except for her mother, sitting on a transparent rock, and...her younger self? She remembers this. As Kiera watches her mother and younger self, Alara points upward.
“You see that bright star over there? To the right of the Crystal?”
Younger Kiera gazes at the stars with a smile. “Wait, I see it!”
“That is yours, what do you think it’s shaped like?”
“Hmm...” Kiera rubs her chin, radiating innocence, “It kind of looks like a dress.”
Alara chuckles softly, “I can actually see that as well. But that is the Ghost. Your patron is Lundir. A long-lost god people pray to when they need to find the way. A lot of people think Lundir is gone, but then there are others who claim to have seen his signs when they lost someone dear to them.”
The real Kiera puts a hand over her mouth, wanting to fly into her mother’s arms. Younger Kiera frowns and crosses her arms. “I don’t like mine.”
Alara rubs her daughter’s back and smiles, “You’ll come to like yours when you get older. Besides, anyone born under the sign of the Ghost is very special.”
“Special, how?”
Alara takes a deep breath, “Maybe one day I’ll explain when you’re as tall as I.”
Kiera wakes up, finding herself in her bed once again.
Crest Castle
18th of Frostfang, 475 (5E)
Her red velvet blanket feels heavy on top of her. It’s been a fortnight since the incident, yet the dreams about her mother and this mysterious artefact don’t stop. She rubs her eyes with her left hand and yawns, only now noticing Elynn checking herself in the mirror of Kiera’s ornate wardrobe. “What are you doing?” Kiera smiles slightly, gaining the attention of the healer, smiling back at her. “Waiting for you to wake, of course. It’s time to tend to your wounds again, and I thought it would be a good chance for us to speak.”
Kiera reaches behind her and raises her pillow, sitting a bit more upright. “Speak of what?”
Elynn steps towards the bed with her bag, “You know well enough.”
“Right.” Kiera looks at her arm as if she’s trying to avoid this topic. Elynn sits on the right side of her bed and gently unwinds the bandage around her arm. “I understand what you’re feeling. You’d rather ignore all of this, live as though nothing has changed. I felt that way for a long time, too.”
Kiera sighs and shakes her head slightly. “I just don’t know what my mother expects of me. I’m not a fighter. I hunt animals, but taking on some powerful being that has an army spread across the realm?” her tone rises. “I mean, look at me—all it took was a bit of fire and a kille-” she stops herself, realizing she has already said too much. Elynn stops unwinding and looks up, eyes wide, “A killer? Someone did try to murder you, didn’t they?”
“No it’s not...” Kiera sighs, “Please, keep this to yourself.”
“I won’t speak of it, but you know what this means.” Elynn tenses up, “It was the Touch of Shadows.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Kiera says.
“Who else could it be?” Elynn insists, staring at her.
Kiera remains silent, scouring her mind for any lie she could tell her, but she isn’t stupid. And why would she even lie at this point?
“You’re right.” Kiera’s voice is barely a whisper now, “I am afraid, Elynn.”
Elynn recomposes herself and removes the bandage, revealing Kiera’s burnt arm. It’s made a lot of healing progress but is still heavily scarred, and some patches are still too ‘fleshy’. “Princess, I am too. I am terrified. My life has been spent tending to the wounded, saving lives. But this...” She takes the usual vial of salve and smears it all over her hands, “...This is something far greater than anything I’ve known, or seen. What frightens me most is the thought I might never be strong enough. Yet, I know this is not something I can run from.” She begins rubbing the salve all over Kiera’s arm gently. As much as it healed already, it still hurts a lot, judging by Kiera’s winces. A brief silence reigns in the room as Elynn performs her healing routine. Kiera watches her work, then changes her gaze to her face. Elynn looks troubled, just like her, but she seems to have accepted all this weight on her shoulders.
“What made you accept it?” Kiera asks. The healer straightens her back and rubs her nose with the top of her wrist to avoid salve getting everywhere. “I realized helping all the wounded and the sick...all will be in vain if we don’t do something. You read the Book of the Rose. Once, the whole of the realm belonged to the Hinos. If the leader of the Echo of Silence finds the Black Rose, whatever dreams we may have, we will all perish. That is...if we decide to ignore it.”
She doesn’t have to say anything more to convince Kiera that this is not something she can run from. But it does still hit her hard. She looks at her arm, scarred from shoulder to fingers, then releases a deep sigh. “Well, at least I know I am not alone.” she looks at Elynn, smiling softly. She returns a smile, cleaning her hands on a rose-scented rag from her bag. “We have each other now, Princess.”
Kiera reaches out, placing her right hand on Elynn’s arm, her grip firm despite injury. “Together, for both our mothers. We cannot fail. And please, you may just call me Kiera.”
Uncertainty still lingers in Elynn’s eyes, but she nods reassuringly. “We won’t fail. As for our third, perhaps you could ask the Lord Inquisitor to make use of his...whisperers to seek Aldrin? Discreetly, of course.”
“I shall.” Kiera smiles.
“Good!” Elynn stands up, “Let us have a look at your shoulder and then I will leave you to rest.”
“A whisper can topple thrones where swords have failed, for the most dangerous weapon is the truth twisted by deceit.” - Zakar Hayard, Lord Inquisitor of Emperor Midas II.
Bryce stands outside in the winter snow, watching the gardeners tend to the beds of red roses all across the royal gardens. His thick fur cloak sways slightly with the wind, and snowflakes gather on his black, curly hair and shoulders. Looking upon these roses makes him think about why his ancestors chose the red rose as his house’s crest. These flowers endure even the harshest of winters. There are times when people find them buried in snow and still yet live as vibrant as always. This endurance and toughness are things he has always seen in his father and grandfather. Even his children. And yet, knowing all of this, he still cannot keep himself from shedding a tear thinking about Alara. He scrunches his narrow, black-bearded face and notices the tear slowing down, nearly freezing on his skin. Captain Pollus’ voice emerges behind him.
“The Emperor’s emissary has arrived, Your Grace. Per your request, we have received him in the council chamber. He awaits you there.” Bryce wipes a tear away and clears his throat before turning. “About time. My thanks, Pollus.”
He turns and heads inside the castle, correcting his buttoned crimson doublet. As he steps inside, a servant awaits him to help him remove his cloak by unfastening the brooches and taking it from him respectfully. He makes his way through the halls, up the stairs, and then down another hallway, where he can already see a bunch of Talonguards posted beside the archway of the council chamber. Talonguards are highly trained, specialized guardsmen of the Trinitan Empire; they are always clad in full armour from head to toe and bear the sigil of a white owl’s foot on a golden shoulder cape. The Talonguard are representatives of the empire’s security. As Bryce, the king, approaches them, they cross their giant halberds, prohibiting access.
“Come on, let him through.” a voice sounds from inside. Bryce is slightly offended by being denied entrance into his own council chamber, watching one of the guards trying to find eye contact, but they stare in front of them, hidden by a steel visor. They open the way, and Bryce walks in, looking upon a man about his age but with grey, long hair that ends at his shoulders. He wears attire that is more fit for travelling. A forest-green cloak and a brown linen tunic of high quality. He has a round, sodden face but piercing dark blue eyes. “Please forgive me, King Bryce. Our Imperial Highness insisted I bring these Talonguards. You know they take their work very seriously.”
Bryce peers behind him briefly and smiles, “I can tell. No offense taken.”
The man bows, “Good. I shall introduce myself. My name is Darrius Honorwind, born in Nevallir, and emissary of the Emperor Midas the third of House Bladesong, Sentinel of Oryn, and Uniter of Realms.”
“Well met, Darrius.” Bryce says, pointing at a pair of chairs, “Shall we sit?”
“Of course!” Darrius says with a gruff voice. He sits down in the chair next to Bryce, and Bryce takes his usual chair at the head of the table.
“First and foremost, you have the Imperial Highness’ personal condolences for the loss of your consort, Alara Fyre. As reward for your continuous loyalty, he offers a decrease in taxes and a gift.” The emissary waves his hand in the air, summoning a young male servant in pure white robes adorned with a short cloak in the shape of wings. He carries what looks like a sheathed sword with both hands, walking stiffly to the king.
“I present to you, ‘Duskbringer’. Made by the Emperor’s personal blacksmith himself, with true Umbran steel.”
Bryce accepts the sheathed sword from the servant and inspects it. Its scabbard is crafted from blackened leather adorned with subtle silver filigree that mimics a dragon’s head. The hilt, wrapped in deep midnight blue leather, features a crossguard shaped like sharp, spreading wings, with a silver dragon head as the pommel. Now he’s curious about the blade. He carefully unsheathes it, revealing a blade of dark, polished steel with a faint sheen, its surface etched with delicate, almost imperceptible patterns. The edge is sharp, tapering to a deadly point. “It’s beautiful,” the king says, “I almost feel unworthy owning this sword.”
“Your House served the realm honourably for generations, King Bryce. In my truthful opinion, such a sword should have been in your possession centuries ago.”
“I am grateful, Darrius.”
The emissary scoffs, “I am undeserving of your gratitude. Our Highness bestowed you this blade.”
Bryce nods, looking at the dark, almost obsidian steel before sliding it back into its scabbard. “Send the Emperor my highest regards.”
“Most certainly,” Darrius bows in his chair, “I haven’t, however, only come bearing gifts. There is the matter of security. The Emperor would like to be enlightened about the current situation with the murderers running loose.”
Bryce shuffles uncomfortably in his chair, placing the sheathed Duskbringer on the table. “They have yet to be found. We have, however, discovered one of their lairs. A cave hidden beneath the city, entered through a hidden passage by the harbour.”
“And?” Darrius asks, leaning forward.
“It collapsed. It was rigged to explode. I lost over thirty men in that blast, and my Lord Marshall was heavily wounded.”
“A shame.” Darrius mumbles, “Was there no knowledge of this cave’s existence?”
“There was.” Bryce says, “It is a depleted copper mine abandoned long ago. All of the copper has been used to fund the construction of this city. The place had been forgotten.”
“Not by all it seems...” Darrius mumbles, his gaze shifting to the big square portrait of a young, auburn-bearded man with long locks of hair hanging high on the wall between the stained windows. “Excavating the rubble might still surface evidence.”
“My men are on it.” Bryce says, “As for the murderers, I am nearly certain they left the city. When my men found the cave, it was empty. The place was a mess, as if they left in a hurry.”
Darrius nods, shuffling closer to the table and interlocking his hands in front of him. “Please, enlighten me, King Bryce. And forgive me if these are false. There are rumours about, that the queen was involved with these assassins.”
Bryce clenches his jaw. “Those are false accusations. My beloved wife often visited the Lower District to help the poor. Always against my wishes because it is a dangerous part of the city, but I couldn’t stop her.” he snaps.
“Of course, I meant no offense. I was merely making sure.” Darrius forces a smile, then stands up. “I believe I have all the answers for Our Highness. Before I take my leave, is there something else you wish to discuss?”
“The murderers will be found. I will not rest until they are within my dungeon.” Bryce stands firm.
“I have no doubt of that.” Darrius answers, “I thank you for your hospitality, and you have my condolences once again. Be sure to inform us when you find something of significance.”
“You have the word of a king.” Bryce answers, watching the man leave the chamber along with his guards.
It is believed that the castle city of Mythril was built with the Black Rose because it would otherwise be impossible to build a city of such expansive size. Today, no one knows where Mythril is, and every dawn, thousands of explorers and guilds set out to seek it, for it is believed to hold unimaginable riches. Yet, it has never been found, and others believe it is cursed... - “The Book of the Rose, Chapter II” by Emperor Midas I of the House Bladesong.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The Black Mountains
Southern Calador
Near Seguja Pass
That same day...
The wind howls like a wounded beast, whipping icy shards of rain against a twenty-year-old man’s face as he struggles to keep his footing on a narrow mountain path. The Black Mountains live up to their name as its jagged peaks are lost in a swirling tempest of dark clouds and freezing rain. Thunder rumbles in the distance.
“Keep moving!” The young man shouts over the roaring wind, his voice barely carrying to the figures behind him. He glances back to see his two companions, male and female, hunched against the gale, their cloaks flapping wildly as they push forward.
“You picked the absolute worst day to climb these mountains, Aldrin!” the male grumbles, his usually cheerful face set in a grimace as he battles against the elements. The female, smaller and lighter than the two young men, clutches her cloak tightly. Her green eyes are filled with determination.
“Quit your whining, Riley! We need to find shelter!” she yells, her voice barely audible over the wind. Aldrin clutches the rock beside him, scanning the rocky terrain for any sign of a cave or an overhang that might provide them with some protection.
The Black Mountains are notorious for their treacherous nature at the best of times, but in the heart of a storm, one might call it suicide to attempt to climb it. The path they follow is narrow, clinging to the side of the mountain with a sheer drop into a misty abyss below. The jagged rocks and crumbling ledges offer little in the way of security, and Aldrin knows they are in a race against time to find safety. Suddenly, his next step breaks off part of the rock beneath his foot, and he loses his grip. With a terrified whine, he slides down, desperately reaching for anything. He stops falling, and then he notices his female friend grabbed his wrist just in time. “Got you!” she pants, followed by a grunt as she tries to pull Aldrin up, but the rain makes everything so slippery. His wrist slowly slides away. Now, she’s only clutching Aldrin’s hand. “I can’t! Grab something, Aldrin!” his friend screams.
“Wait-wait!, Anira!”
Slip.
With a final, desperate glance, Aldrin’s hand slips free, and he plummets into the abyss below. The world becomes a blur of rushing wind and cold rain.
This is it.
As the ground rushes up to meet him, a dark shadow cuts through the storm, slicing the wind with unnatural speed. A shriek pierces the air. Aldrin barely has time to register the shape hurtling toward him before it slams into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Sharp talons wrap around his body. Suddenly, he isn’t falling but soaring through the storm-tossed sky. Panic surges through him as he realizes what has happened. He’s been caught by a direraven: enormous ravens the size of a horse. With jet-black feathers slick with rain, its wings beat against the storm with powerful strokes. Aldrin clutches the raven’s talons, desperate to avoid being dropped.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” he gasps, the world spinning as the bird carries him higher up the mountain. The mountainside where his friends were becomes a distant blur, swallowed by fog and rain.
“Please don’t drop me!” Aldrin yells, but the raven shows no sign of mercy. It ascends rapidly, the wind howling in his ears as it circles a mountain peak; dark eyes lock on a cluster of massive nests perched on the rocky summit. With a sudden, stomach-lurching drop, the bird releases him.
“Woaaah!”
He hits the ground hard, the impact jolting every bone in his body as he rolls across the wet, rocky surface. Before he can even catch his breath, the raven shakes the earth as it lands upon him again, letting out a deafening shriek. Its beak, sharp and deadly, thrusts toward him.
Aldrin rolls aside just in time. The beak slams into the ground where he was before. Scrambling to his feet, the world tilts as he fights to regain his balance on the slick rock. The raven screeches, flaring its wings as it prepares to strike again.
“Come on, you big FUCKER!” Aldrin growls, unsheathing the sword from his belt. The weight of the blade in his hand is a small comfort against the massive creature before him. The raven lunges, its talons raking the ground as Aldrin dives to the side. He swings his sword in a desperate arc, catching the bird’s leg in a glancing blow. The raven shrieks in pain, retreating for a moment as it reassesses its prey. Aldrin’s foot slips on the edge of the mountain, sending a cascade of loose rocks tumbling into the abyss below. He steadies himself, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands as he prepares for the raven’s next attack. The bird circles him, its beady eyes filled with fury.
Another shriek echoes through the storm. Aldrin’s gold irised eyes widen as lightning reveals the silhouette of a second direraven, swooping in the scene.
“Oh, give me a break!” Aldrin pants, his grip tightening on his sword.
The second raven dives at him with extended talons. The young warrior barely has time to react before an immense force slams into him from the side, sending him crashing into the rocky wall. The wind is knocked out of him, and before he can even think of recovering, the raven’s talons slash across his back, hot blood spreading beneath his tunic.
He is outmatched and outnumbered. With a roar of desperation, Aldrin raises his sword high, shouting words that are instinctive, ancient, and powerful. “Sum ka’raedis!”
A radiant, blinding light erupts from the sword. The ravens screech in terror, staggering back as the light pulses outward, pushing them away. Aldrin stands in the ball of light, his eyes glowing with the same ethereal radiance as his blade. The ravens hesitate, circling Aldrin warily. One of them, bolder than the rest, dives at him. This time, Aldrin runs at it and leaps as it approaches, digging his sword into its chest. It shrieks in pain and crashes into the ground, dragging Aldrin along. They are both about to slide off the mountain. Growling loudly, Aldrin pulls out his sword and reaches out for whatever he can grab as he continues sliding toward the cliff’s edge. Everything is too slippery. He’s not going to make it. He lets go of his sword, and right as he is about to plummet down, he manages to hold onto a rock outcropping, his body dangling above the abyss of fog. He watches the lifeless direraven he just killed fall underneath the fog.
Another direraven approaches, landing in front of Aldrin as he tries to climb up. After a loud shriek, it thrusts its beak, but Aldrin throws his left arm forward, “Ae’thris!” A burst of blinding light repels the bird. Aldrin climbs up and sees the glint of his sword behind the direraven, lying on the ground. The beast isn’t done yet, however, attempting another charge at Aldrin, who answers it by charging himself. Right as they are about to meet, he ducks and slides underneath, grabs his sword by the hilt, and turns to the bird. Instead of readying his blade for another charge, he sheaths it and plants his feet into the ground. Another thunder rumbles the skies, followed by two bolts of lightning as the raven adapts, charging at Aldrin by stomping at him, staying as low as possible so he can’t get underneath it. As it approaches with its beak wide open, Aldrin focuses on the wall next to the beast and throws both his arms at it, spouting more ancient words. “Koxar!” The wall cracks and ejects from the mountain into the bird, staggering it. Now is his chance. Aldrin dashes forward, eyes lit ablaze with ethereal light and leaps onto the direraven’s back. It screeches in objection, thrashes wildly, and then runs off the cliff. The wind tears at Aldrin as he clutches its feathers, rain pelting his face as the beast begins flying upwards, higher and higher. Aldrin’s heart pounds in his chest as he struggles to hold on, his muscles straining with the violent thrashing of the bird. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the storm clears. They burst through the cloud cover, emerging into a world of eerie calm.
The sky above is a beautiful purple glow with a big, red sun submerging beneath the horizon. Below them, the storm rages on, a churning sea of clouds and lightning. Suddenly, it dives back into the clouds. Completely drenched, Aldrin grabs the beast’s neck feathers tightly with both hands and starts screaming.
“Zhalok!”
His eyes glow ever brighter with ethereal light, causing the beast to struggle even harder.
“Zhalok!” he screams again, a bolt of lightning descending right next to him, followed by an instant ear-deafening blare of thunder. The beast keeps resisting whatever Aldrin is trying to do, plummeting down toward the ground with insane speed. The young warrior can’t even control his legs anymore with this speed, flailing in the air behind him.
“Vrak jhaur! Zhaloooook!” Aldrin screams again, spreading his light to the raven’s own black, beady eyes, now shining bright.
The forests beneath are now ever closer, and Aldrin is terrified he won’t make it. But then, just before they hit the canopies, the bird spreads its wings and flies forward, brushing some leaves off the trees. “WOOOOOOOO!” Aldrin yells, then laughs with uncontainable excitement. “Holy fucking shit!”
Having control of the beast now, he flies back to the mountain, to where his friends last were, his glowing eyes now fading. As he flies beside the narrow path that crumbled beneath his foot earlier, he can’t see them and decides to fly further up the path. Then, there they are, standing on a clearing near the top of another peak, surrounded by more people. Aldrin approaches them on top of his direraven and lands before them. The beast lets out a more docile shriek to the bystanders.
The people around his friends wear white armour with gold ridges and finishes and white robes with cloaks of snow-white that billow in the stormy wind. The first to run up to him are his friends, Anira and Riley. Aldrin slides off the raven, landing on unsteady feet. He wipes rain from his face, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Aldrin! Thank the Three, you’re still alive!” The young woman wraps her arms around him and presses her lips on his. He returns the gesture, and then Anira stops the kiss. “When you fell down, we thought...I thought...”
Aldrin gently grabs her head and presses it on his chest, “Hey, I’m here now. I’m okay.”
His other friend, Riley, also approaches with a smile despite being drenched from the rain. “I’m glad you made it, friend.”
“Thank you for keeping her safe.” Aldrin nods, then notices the other men observing in the background. One of them, a tall man with a hood pulled low over his face, steps forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword. The symbol of a golden sunburst is embedded into his cloak and chest. The man lowers his hood, revealing a dark olive-skinned face with piercing blue eyes, locking onto Aldrin, assessing him with a mixture of curiosity and approval.
“You’ve tamed the beast,” the man says, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “That wasn’t even part of your mission. Yet, here you are.”
“You’re with the Order, aren’t you?”
The man nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I am Syrron Fyre, leader of the Flaming Order. Your mission was to reach this peak in the eye of a storm before it ends. You succeeded. Perhaps we underestimated your abilities.”
Aldrin’s heart skips a beat. He wants to be excited, but his adrenaline has begun to fade, reminding him of the stinging pain in his back. The strength in his legs fades as well, making him lose his balance, but Anira rushes to support him. Only now, she notices the red stain in his tunic on his back. “Aldrin, you’re wounded!”
He grunts and sighs in exhaustion, “It’s...fine...”
His whole body relaxes, and Anira can’t keep him up anymore as he crumbles to the ground. Riley rushing in as well is the last thing he sees before losing consciousness.
Aldrin wakes from a dreamless sleep, greeted by Anira’s face watching over him. A fabric tent seems to be above his head, but he still feels a cold breeze flowing in from the opening. His head hurts. “What happened?”
Anira affectionately strokes his hair, “You passed out, my sunlight, right after you completed your initiation.”
Then, it all comes back to him. The storm, being separated from his friends, that perilous fight with the direravens. He looks out the opening, only seeing bright light that makes his headache worse.
“We’re still on the mountain where you passed out.” Anira responds, “Syrron is waiting for you to recover. He wants to show us something.”
Aldrin puts his head back down on his pillow and looks at her. A soft smile appears on his sharp and defined face. His golden eyes stare into her own, and he speaks softly. “Whenever I look upon your face, it feels like I fall in love with you all over again. And all my worries just disappear.”
Anira flushes red, brushing a loose lock of her brown hair behind her ears. “That is probably the sweetest thing someone ever told me.”
“I love you.” Aldrin strokes her neck.
“I love you too,” Anira replies, giving him a peck on the lips, “How are you feeling?”
“Can’t we just lay here for a while?” Aldrin sighs, still feeling the headache.
“I would love to, sunlight. But the people of the Order are growing impatient.” Anira sits up straight, noticing Riley approaching. “Apparently, so is someone else.” She smiles right before Riley ducks underneath the flaps of the tent. A mischievous smile on his narrow, brown face. “Come on sleeping beauty. People would start to believe you’re a king the way you’re treated.”
Aldrin smiles and grunts his way to sitting upright, feeling slightly dizzy.
Anira pushes him out, “Get your smelly feet out of here.”
Riley recoils and lets out a manly giggle but then returns with a more serious look on his face, “Seriously. Master Syrron says we can’t stay too long in the open. We need to move.”
“Fine,” Aldrin says, crawling up with Anira’s help. When he leaves the tent, it’s like he is somewhere entirely different. The storm has passed, and the black clouds are only visible in the far distance. A full moon stands high, silhouetting the mountain crests, and its light bounces off the rock on the summit clearing. Syrron approaches Aldrin, flanked by two armoured men, all wearing hoods.
“I am relieved to know you have recovered, Aldrin. Are you ready to finalize your initiation?”
Aldrin, still feeling slightly weak, puffs out his chest regardless. “I’m ready.”
“Good,” Syrron says, gesturing to the others, “Now, we take you to Ancush, the heart of the Flaming Order. There, you will be welcomed as one of us, and you will learn what it truly means to be a member of our community.”
The group begins their descent down the other side of the mountain, led by Syrron and his warriors. As they walk in a single file, Aldrin turns to Anira, who is behind him. “What happened to the direraven?”
“It just flew off moments after you passed out.” she answers.
“Huh...the magic must’ve worn out.”
The wind is now but a cold whisper as they make their way toward a hidden entrance at the base of a cliff. It’s a stone door carved into the mountain. It bears the sunburst sigil, the same one on Syrron’s attire. He turns to Aldrin and his friends.
“Before we enter, I do have to remind you that once we step foot inside that door, there will be no going back. To protect the secrecy of this place, everyone a part of the city is soulbound to the Flaming Order. To leave the Order, is to forfeit your life. Does anyone wish to turn back with this knowledge?”
Aldrin, Anira, and Riley all glance at each other and silently agree that they wish to continue.
“Very well then,” Syrrus says, turning back to the door. He places his hand on a section of the stone, and with a low rumble, the wall slides open to reveal a dark tunnel descending into the earth. “Follow me, now.”
Aldrin follows the others inside, last in line. The tunnel is lit by flickering torches. As they move deeper underground, the air grows warmer, the scent of earth and stone filling his senses. The tunnel widens, opening up into another stone door. Much bigger than the one in the mountain wall, and this time, guarded by two heavily armoured men bearing the golden sunburst sigil on their white armour. Upon seeing their leader, they step aside, and both place their hand on another section in the stone. Dust and dirt fall from the cracks as the giant stone door descends into the ground, slowly revealing the city. When Aldrin lays his eyes on it, it immediately takes his breath away.
Ancush is a city unlike any he has ever seen. It sprawls out before him, carved into the very rock of the mountain. Buildings of smooth, white stone gleam in the torchlight, their roofs adorned with golden tiles that glint like stars in the dim light. Bridges arch gracefully over underground rivers that flow through the city, casting shimmering light across the rocky ceiling. Members of the Order move through the streets with purpose, their white and gold garments standing out against the dark stone.
“Welcome to Ancush.” he says,
Syrron leads them down a natural staircase that leads into a bridge that spans above a vast, wild, churning river into the city. As they walk past the first houses, Syrron starts explaining, hands behind his back. “Ancush was built centuries ago, hidden from the rest of the realm to protect the secrets of our Order. It is here that we train, plan, and prepare for the battles to come. But it is also a sanctuary. A place where our people can live freely and feel safe. At this moment, we are about seven hundred and twenty-four strong. Twenty-seven, with you three joining us.”
Anira notices many of the citizens are eyeing her and her friends down, not always in the friendliest way. “Do the people here not like new initiates?”
Syrron halts in the middle of the street and turns, locking his hands together in front of him and smiling politely. “It is true most of our members are suspicious of newlings, but they are hardly to blame. Most of them have come here after the Touch of Shadows ruined their lives in one way or another. Most commonly, entire families murdered.”
“All of these people are victims of the Touch of Shadows?” Aldrin needs confirmation, dumbfounded by this fact.
“So you understand.” Syrron nods, “There are some who grew up here, out of the Shadows’ reach, but most members come from the outside. They will grow accustomed to you when you prove your loyalty to them, and to our cause. Now, shall we continue?”
Aldrin nods, glancing at the passersby, many of their faces sodden with grief, anger, or fear. He can tell these people are all damaged by the Shadows. It feels strange to him that after all these centuries, having had so much time to reproduce, fear and pain are still so prominent in this city.
“As I already told you. Secrecy is the one thing that keeps all of us alive, and free from the grasp of the Touch of Shadows. Their dark master must never discover this place, or all will be lost.”
They reach a grand hall at the heart of the city, its entrance flanked by towering statues of warriors clad in armour, holding spears. Once again, the sunburst symbol is carved into their chests. The hall’s roof is also covered in golden tiles, hosting four towers on each corner, all bearing guardsmen. When they step inside, the hall is lit by chandeliers of glowing crystals, their light reflecting off the polished stone floor. At the far end of the hall stands a throne carved from a single piece of obsidian that sits atop a raised platform. Syrron turns to face Aldrin, his expression serious.
“You and your friends have shown great courage today. You have proven yourself worthy to join our ranks. But know this: the path ahead will not be easy. The Touch of Shadows is a formidable enemy, and the challenges you face will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine.”
Aldrin nods, his resolve hardening. “I’m ready.”
Syrron’s eyes soften slightly, and he places a hand on Aldrin’s shoulder. “Then heed my words, all of you. And answer them truthfully. Do you vow to serve the Order with unwavering loyalty, placing the mission above all personal desires, and safeguarding our sacred purpose against any who would seek to destroy it?”
“I do.” Aldrin, Riley, and Anire say in unison.
“Do you pledge to protect the secrets of Ancush and the Flaming Order, never revealing the hidden city or its knowledge to outsiders, even at the cost of your own life?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to remain ever watchful, defending the realm from the evil that lurks in the shadows and any darkness that threatens our world, never allowing complacency to dull your blade?”
“I do.”
“And finally. Do you commit to stand by your brothers and sisters in arms, offering your strength in their time of need, and trusting in theirs when yours falters, for we are bound to each other?”
“I do.”
Syrron removes his hand from Aldrin and sits on the obsidian throne. “Then I, Syrron of House Fyre, High Flame of the Flaming Order, and Protector of Ancush, proclaim you, Aldrin, Anira, and Riley, official members of the Order. May your kindle never fade.”
Aldrin and his friends look at each other and smile.
“We did it.” Anira says.
“We did.” Aldrin allows himself a small smile. Anira is right. He has made it. He has passed the trial and found his place among these warriors. But in the back of his mind, he knows the true test is yet to come.