There are a lot of sounds you don’t notice in your life. A lot of them go by unheard. This is because you get used to them. You become complacent in life and you just assume those sounds are going to be there forever. You end up mourning them when they are gone and feeling sorry you didn’t appreciate them when you had the chance. Sounds like birds flittering in the wind, chirping in their own song. Sounds like the breeze teasing the branches of trees, making them sway and crick as they move. Sounds like the giggle of a little girl that can light the world around you when you are submerged in the abyss. It can awaken you from a horrid nightmare and you suddenly realize that the only thing keeping you from swimming to the surface is your own doubt that there is a surface to swim to. No matter what I tried to forget, I always missed my sister’s laughter.
The point was not to make a sound at all, but it was impossible for Melody to hold back her giggles. The excitement of the game was getting to her as well as the anticipation of being caught. If I have been anything in my youth, I have been perceptive and hide-and-seek was never a game I lost. My footsteps were light as I could make them while I dashed from point to point in the halls of the castle. This wasn’t where I searched as I had realized that Melody never hid in the cold and poorly lit parts of the castle. With this knowledge, I was making my way towards the open courtyard.
I passed General Jouch on the way through. His short blond hair always bristled back and balding, his eyes suspicious, and his head tilted back as if to cast his eyes down on me. He reminded me of an owl in a military uniform, watching the other animals and finding their play foolish. He made a remark in his gruff voice about his distaste for my sister and me.
That alone was all the distraction I needed to trip over a pot laying near a doorway. It jumped and rolled across the floor after my collision, but its noise was muffled by the loud shouting of General Jouch who barked out, “Watch where you are going!” as quickly as a jungle cat springs on its prey in its moment of weakness. I made no attempt to apologize. It wasn’t a matter of social status or me being a prince and him being the General of my father’s army. Rather, it was a matter of upbringing. My father always told me never to pay respect to those who have no reason to be respected. Jouch did nothing that would warrant him respect, even from his own men outside of commanding them with a misplaced sense of discipline and preaching about the “good old days” which, even at the age of ten, I was able to perceive as a metaphor for the time before my father showed up.
As if the thought summoned him, the tall and imposing figure of the Warrior King Alexander appeared, looming over me and casting a shadow like some great obelisk. The rich blonde hair I inherited from him spilling down his back, over his royal tunic, his short beard covering his chin, those blue eyes piercing in their stare, he looked every bit the king he was meant to be. I looked up expecting to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes fixed on General Jouch. The gesture alone put an almost indescribable weight into the air, a tension that seemed to bare down on all of us.
Then, all the pressure of the situation was released at once as a reassuring, carefree smile lit my father’s face. His bellowing voice commanded the air to carry that unburdened tone all around him as he said, “if he is not bleeding, then I consider it a harmless accident, General. At the age of ten, he is still learning to be aware of his surroundings, which you and I know is an invaluable asset to have on a battlefield. Don’t you agree?”
Jouch summoned all the falseness he had to cover the anger gnawing at his spinal cord and gave a respectful smile to my father, his king. He responded with a pleasant tone, “Quite right, my lord. Although, one could stand to learn this skill as early as possible, given that it has used in every aspect of life far before one ever raises a sword against his first, true enemy.” My father gave a nod agreement, and the two shared a moment of understanding.
The Warrior King turned to me afterward and placed a firm hand on my shoulder then motioned with his head to move along. I ran past him in search of my sister, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the unease I was feeling from the tense altercation. By then, I had completely lost any sign of her. The entire confrontation between my father and General Jouch made me lose concentration, leaving me with no idea where my sister could be.
I didn’t need to look far. The moment I stepped out into the courtyard, I felt the air speak to me, barely giving me enough time to react. Unfortunately, I was not practiced enough to keep up with my senses, reflexes taking too long, and in an instant I was on the ground, my face pressed against the dirt and stone of the walkway that went through the courtyard. A familiar weight had me pinned down, arms and legs sprawled out, head cocked to the side. Dirt stung in my eye but became quickly ignored as my mind raced. Well, not so much raced. Shifted is a more accurate description. As if my thoughts could work in two different ways, switching at will when the situation changed, without any of my awareness.
She had my back straddled and her hands on my forearms to keep me pinned down. Something I never understood was how she could be four years younger than me but even at the age of six, she was able to overpower me. She had me trapped but I was never one to be trapped for long. I started to struggle, to roll to one side and the second she sensed it and tried to put her weight on the other side, I immediately changed direction and rolled the other way. She was stronger, but I was faster. Forcing her to overcorrect, I used her own strength against her and rolled her onto her side, then I changed directions again and in the confusion, I broke free of her grip while her priority was to regain her balance and stay unscathed rather than hold on to me.
I rolled out of her reach and got to my hands and knees, then popped up quickly to my feet. She was back on her feet a second later, facing me with her lower lip sticking out in a pout. I took a quick look at my surroundings. I noticed a large planter on either side of the archway, a small blue green tree on either side, reaching to a ledge that started half way up one side of the opening to the courtyard and running along the top to stop back down the other side at the same spot. It is from this ledge, I assumed, that Melody had leaped from when I passed under the arch.
My sister always had a warmth to her that nothing could replace. It was in her smile that lit the hearth of the heart. Had she not been born four years too late, we could have been near twins. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes, same bronze skin, but we were not identical in our demeanor. Sharing her more subtle features, Melody also inherited our mother’s sweetness. Though she ran and climbed, scuffed her knees, tore her dresses, and came home dirty, she had an innocence to her that no amount of tomboyish antics could take away. Even now, the simple pale blue dress they had placed her in was gray with dirt and torn where it had caught on the tree she climbed to get to the ledge. She didn’t seem to notice nor did she care. I, however, seem to have been born trying to carry the same weight of the world my father bared on his shoulders which is why the general was always telling me not to slouch.
From the opposite end of the yard, two women emerged; each garbed in white gowns slitted at the sides and held with flimsy straps over their shoulders. They were handmaids, both at the bidding of my mother. They shifted uncomfortably as they approached us. There was something about we royal children that always made them nervous. It was odd because they were the most compliant and willing servants of the Queen, always responding quickly to every bidding and executing it without balking and with uncompromising excellence. I was told that before we were born, there wasn’t anything the pair of them could not accomplish. They were named Leah and Calea and they were perfect servants for my mother.
Melody and I proved to be a different matter. I asked them once what made us so difficult and why they were always so nervous around us and I could not get a straight answer. It was to be expected. What would be the odds that either of us would tell the Queen? So I asked my mother instead and she told me that each of us pose a different challenge. I am too serious, like my father, and I am too independent. It is hard to aid or guide someone who has such a strong will of their own. Melody was uncooperative in another way. She was unruly, chaotic, and enjoyed playing more than anything Leah and Calea were sent for. This gave her own independent demeanor.
They moved apprehensively towards the two of us only to stop in front of my sister. “Princess Melody,” Leah started while in the midst of a respectful bow, “we have been sent by your mother, the Queen,” as if she had forgotten who her mother was, “to bring you to her in clean and mended dress and in matching condition.” To this, my sister responded by jutting her tongue out and blowing spittle at the two. I knew from the moment the word “clean” was introduced that my sister would object to it. Still, I admired their tenacity as they made the request again, adding, “if you do not come with us, your Queen Mother will be quite cross with all three of us and surely she will have to choose a punishment for you. Perhaps something in the manner of six hours of book lessons.”
I was witness to my sister’s eyes becoming the widest I have ever seen then she stomped her foot in protest, huffing about how much she didn’t want to wear another dress, get a bath, or anything else that came with their request; but in the end, she submitted to the pair and left to visit with my mother.
“Kael,” came the thunderous voice behind me and I turned on my heel to face my father standing in the courtyard. He was standing in battle gear, iron armor chained together with gaps to allow better movement, metal skirt clicking against his pants as he walked towards me in thumping iron greaves. The handle of his massive sword reached from his back to extend higher than his head, demanding two large and strong hands to wield it.
“You’re wounded,” he said as he reached me, lowering to one knee. His hand reached out, adorned in iron and leather glove, and touched against my mouth. When a small drop of blood rested on the tip of his glove, I realized my lip was bleeding; most likely busted open when a certain six-year-old dropped on me from an archway. He suspected as much, as the next words to rumble forth were, “Your sister?” When I gave a nod, he gave a smile that mixed pride and humor. My father had too much of one and not enough of the other. “She has inherited more strength than you, but you are faster than her. You will learn to use that as your strength and, in the end, their lack of speed will be their weakness,” he explained.
I didn’t bother to ask who ‘they’ were. They were whoever would stand up against me as my enemy. For the time, the kingdom was in peace, but my father was unconvinced it would last. That is why he insisted that I’d be trained as early as possible as both a warrior and a king. Although, I suspected that he was still learning the latter himself, even after ten years. Without questioning the reason he was dressed in battle gear, I went to the weapon rack to find myself a sword of my own. Nothing as enormous and imposing as my father’s greatsword, I chose something strong but quick. Before I could turn back to him, he turned and started walking towards the sparring ground that was made in the courtyard separated by another large archway.
It occurred to me then that our short walk was the perfect opportunity to ask him the questions that I, myself, mulled over whenever we trained. Falling in line next to him, I started by asking him, “Father, why is it that we don’t use practice weapons like the soldiers? Isn’t it more dangerous to use real swords for practice?” I tried to keep my tone even and without waver because part of me didn’t want him thinking I was afraid of his beast of a weapon cutting an arm off even though I was.
He didn’t look to me as he answered, keeping a calm demeanor as he kept his hands crossed over his chest, still walking. “Because, Kael, we learn the hard way.” When his glance darted to me, I knew I still had a confused expression on my face. He continued, “Because anyone meaning to kill you will not come at you with a practice sword. And there are those that mean to kill you. You do not have to worry for now and outside of your training I want you to enjoy the time you get to be a child, but you are born greater than men and men will want you dead for this.”
“Greater than men? You mean because I’m a prince?”
He stopped then and turned to me, taking a knee once more. He placed his hand on my shoulder, holding me in a firm grip to accent the importance in his speech. “Kael, you are not human, neither am I, and neither is your sister. You come from a lineage ever known as the titanian. As demi-gods trace their bloodline back to the gods, so do titanians trace their bloodline back to the titans. We are made of stronger things than man, and strength is in our very souls.” Half of what he said next I remember from my history lessons. “After the creation of Embre, beings began to grow in power and intelligence. Gods they were called but the gods were made, the titans have always been. It is the titans who remember the creation and it was the titans that played the biggest role in the War of the Dark Gods.”
I struggled against the urge to look at my feet, or the sky, or anything but my father’s hard eyes. My grip tightened on the hilt of the sword I carried while my mind reeled from the idea that I was different from everyone I knew. That I would grow up stronger, faster, smarter, and I would be hated and feared for it. The gods used the titans immense strength by enslaving and tricking them in order to win their civil war but when a titan turned against their lesser, the gods went to great lengths and sacrifice to destroy that titan. The gods are stronger than any mortal species on Embre, and they feared the titans. What is feared is often hated, and what is hated is often destroyed.
“What Titan are we descendent from?” I asked.
He stood back up once more and began walking back towards the training ground. I followed. “His name is Hyperien and he represents light given consciousness. It was a time before humans, who value history and memory, first started recording knowledge. And since the titans do not speak to mortals, and all the remaining gods are still too young to know, no one knows the origin of Embre. Not a single being in Embre. At least, not one who is willing to tell or capable of telling. You might want to discuss more of this with your mother. She is more educated in history than I am. I have only ever been interested in the stories of the gods and the titans. She knows better of the role of man.” He stopped a little bit past the center of the sparring ground and turned to face me, both hands reaching behind him to grab that long hilt and pull the heavy blade from its sheath. He sank down into a defensive stance, holding his sword in both hands vertically in front of him. I lifted my sword with both hands and did the same.
When he came at me, his sword tilted and came swinging towards my left side. It was all I could do to torque my upper body, turn my sword so the flat would receive the blow, and place my palm on the other side to brace the sword against my father’s incomparable strength. When the blow hit me, I had to decide between keeping my footing and keeping my sword. I ended up losing both. I stumbled backward as the force of rattled me and I ended up somersaulting to my back, my feet coming up over my head and landing behind me. And placed a hand on the ground and pushed back to my feet, then returned the hand to my sword.
My father was not impressed. “Did you forget what I just told you? Your strength is speed. You should not block what you can easily dodge. The greatsword is a slow weapon and its moves should be easy for you to predict.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Without thinking, I shot back, “I know.”
That made his face tighten with annoyance. “If you know, then why take the blow? If you can see it coming, then you should not squander your endurance trying to withstand it and instead move around it. Find an opening in the attack and counter it.” It took him only one large stride to close the distance on me and swing that large sword at my left shoulder. I slipped down into a low crouch and let it sail over me this time. When I crouched down, however, his knee was rising to meet me. The crack sounded louder in my head and a pain shot from the part of my forehead he hit then ran the course to my temples and then deep into my skull. I went backwards again, stumbling, and when the pain hit my core, I tightened my grip on my weapon and managed to keep a hold on it. My free hand moved to hold the part of my head he hit for the lingering moment it took for the pain to subside. I partially expected my father to come charging at me again in my moment of weakness, but I suppose, being ten, I was allowed some mercy.
After I recovered, he began a sideways pace, strafing around me. I began to mimic his movements, pacing the circle of the training ground. I watched the giant that was my father move like a predator, gauging its prey. “Learning yet?” he asked. I knew better than to answer him with words. I stopped suddenly and pushed off with a burst of speed. It took me a few more steps than him to close the distance so when I arrived, sword pointed in a straight thrust, jabbing towards his stomach, he was ready for me. He moved his sword into a vertical position, pointed to the ground while turning his body so that my sword would simply skid across his. When my blade was halfway across, I pulled back suddenly only to turn my body inward. I twirled on the balls of my feet, spinning around the massive blade blocking me and stopped facing my father’s exposed side with my sword coming around with me. The blade bit shallow into the leather beneath his armor, and would have gone deeper had he not pushed off of the foot closest to me and danced away.
He seemed genuinely impressed by the feint. I wish I could have claimed victory right there and called it a day, but my father wasn’t satisfied with a single cut. There had to be much more before the day was done and all of them on my arms, legs, back, chest. He avoided my face on purpose. If I had any visible bruises or cuts, my mother would have taken an age to forgive him. My stronger skin helped but only to turn each fatal blow into a black and purple bruise.
When he was finally satiated with the progress we made and the sun was just starting to make its descent after reaching half the sky, he told me to go wash up for my book lessons. I set the sword I used for practice back on its mount and waited until I was no longer in my father’s sight to rub my sore muscles. My father’s opinion of me was the most important thing to me at the time, and the last thing I wanted to do was to make think I was weak.
As I made my way towards the library where my studies were held, I passed through a part of the castle where I could see out into the distance. When I looked at the sky, the setting sun seemed to set the world on fire. Red across the top of the sky, bleeding into darkness. It didn’t look right. The red was too deep and the darkness seemed to suffocate the light from the few stars that could be seen. It created an ominous cold within me and I knew. I could feel the disaster coming. It was as if the sun had risen in the morning, but instead of bathing the world in light, it gave way to an endless darkness. It was a bad omen, a sign of doom, a black dawn.
The feeling stayed with me all through supper and gnawed at me while I lie in my bed. It kept me from sleeping and I kept staring at the door. My bedroom was higher up in the castle (as were all the royal bedrooms) and my sister’s room was just across the hall. My room came with a single window that let the starlight in and faced the outer wall of the castle itself. The placing of our rooms was meant to be a position of honor but even at my age, I questioned whether or not it was foolish to be so far from all possible escape routes. I was told that it was the best place as far as defense goes but no one listened when I argued that the best defense is a good escape. They told me they didn’t want to give up the castle. I argued that stone and granite are not worth keeping when compared to the lives of those that live within it. No one listened.
I wanted to stay some-what awake so I could listen out for any trouble but the roll of thunder drowned anything else I would have heard. Rain beat at the shutters of my window and washed down the sides of the wall that faced the storm. I remember how soothing the sound was. It relaxed me enough to sleep and kept me safely in a world of dreams before the nightmare would come to wake me.
It started with some shouting from downstairs. Like the sudden pull of a string you didn’t know you had around your neck, I was yanked out of my dreams by what sounded like arguing. Next came the clanging of metal and heavy steps of men who didn’t care what time of night it was. I slipped from my covers and began to dress. If I would be scolded for being up this late, it would be worth it to satisfy that need to know what was going on. Part of me needed that certainty no matter how terrible that knowledge was.
I had finished lacing my boots over my pants and had exchanged my night shirt for a shift when I heard the yelling get closer. It sounded like our royal guard. Not the ones commanded by General Jouch, but those who had been part of father’s Lost Army. They were yelling something about a retreat. I could make out words that I could only guess were calls about being outnumbered but what were they being outnumbered by? What was coming at them that they could not defend against? Then there was only the sound of hard and fast footsteps as they hurried up the halls. Finally, the last shouts I heard before their voices went silent was one of them shouting louder than thunder. “The King and Queen are dead!” The black dawn had risen.
More heavy footsteps came from outside my door but I was sure it wasn’t from the personal guard. It was from whoever killed them. I moved to the side of the door, putting my back to the wall on the side opposite of the direction the door opened. There was a soft try at the door’s lock, then a length of hard pounding, until finally the door gave way and a man burst forth into the room. He was clad in leather armor, not unlike that of the recruits under General Jouch’s command, and in his hand, he carried a worn-down sword, firmly gripped. I studied him for as long as I dared while I went unnoticed. He was fixated on the bed while I tried to figure out who he was or where he came from.
As I tried to piece together what this armed soldier’s purpose was, he was stalking towards the bed itself where my pillow was making a lump beneath the covers. Nervously, he lurched over it and reached out with an empty hand at the sheet, grabbing the hem of the comforter while raising his sword high, pointed down to plunge into the bedding itself. “You can do this,” I heard him mutter. “Don’t think of it as a kid,” he told himself in a whisper, “think of it as a little lamb or something. You can do this.” It was me he was after. Surely he was the man who killed the King and Queen and now he meant to cut off the line of succession completely. That means I wasn’t the only one in danger. After he killed me, Melody would be next.
I silently slipped behind him and put my fingers on the knife in his boot, gently pulling it free as he gathered the courage and focus on killing his supposed ten-year-old target. With sword tilted, he yanked the cover back and stabbed blindly, piercing the feather-stuffed pillow. As he did so, I pierced the side of his stomach, right where his kidney should be. He took in a sharp gasp and hissed in pain as I wrenched it free. He half-turned, half fell to face me. I saw that he was fighting the urge to call out his pain, but he kept it in. He didn’t want to alert his allies to his failure. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to kill a child.
However, it seemed I had no problem killing a man. I grabbed his sword, placed it on his neck, and ripped it to the side, tearing a hole in his throat. He was the first man I had ever killed. His was the first blood I had ever spilled. I had imagined it when I practiced and I had known that I would be faced with no other option than to take a life but I didn’t think such a day would come until I was old enough to fight alongside my father’s army. I thought I still had some time to be innocent; to keep my hands clean. That idea was dead now with the man who would have seen me just as dead.
I gathered myself when I thought of innocence and remembered that my sister was still across the hall and in as much danger as I was. I don’t know why, but I remember bending down and cleaning the blade off quickly on the front of the man’s leather armor. After that, I turned and ran to the threshold of my door. Stopping just short of exiting my room, I peeked my head out and looked first in the direction opposite of my parent’s room, which I assumed is the direction the attackers had gone after killing them. There was no one that way so I looked the other way.
It felt strange like I wasn’t really there. A small part of me was trying to convince the rest of me to accept that inside that room at the end of the hall, my parents were dead and I would never again hear their voices or see their eyes looking down upon me. I would not let the same happen to my sister. I didn’t see anyone moving from my parent's room, nor did I hear anyone coming up the hall. I dashed across to her room. In the second it took to cross the hall with heavy sword held aloft at my side, the door made a creaking sound and cracked open. I could see a blue eye peering at me through the thin slit, strands of blonde hair falling in front of her vision.
I leaned into the opening and whispered to her. “Melody, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.” I could see her recoil in fear. It might have been the urgency in my voice or how quickly I approached her. Or it might have been the blood that undoubtedly stained my clothes, none of it my own. Her voice was shaky and weak with fright. “What’s happening?” she asked when she was sure enough. I didn’t want her to have the burden that I had on me knowing our parents where dead, though if she had been listening outside her door, she would have heard the same call as I did. “Quickly, there are people coming for us,” was all I said.
She opened the door enough for me to come in but I did not enter far. I told her she had no time to gather some clothes or take some toys. There was no time to tell her where we were going, not that I could. I had no idea where we were going either. I grabbed her hand with my free hand and pulled her out the door. She complied but kept asking questions in a hushed voice I didn’t have the answers to. I had to stop at every corner to look around it before hurrying along to the stairwell that leads down to the castle entrance. When I got to the bottom of the stairwell, I was met with a group of men in the same kind of armor and brandishing the same swords as the man I left upstairs.
I had rushed down the stairs too hastily and it resulted in us being caught. My heart caught in my throat and refused to beat so I stood frozen, sister in one hand and sword in the other, watching as the men turned to us. Cautiously approaching us at first, they didn’t seem to understand what a pair of children we doing in the midst of all the chaos. Around us, I could hear fighting going on inside and outside of the castle. It had escalated to a full battle in the time it took us to get down from our rooms. I’m not sure why these men where waiting at the bottom of these stairs but it seemed like they were waiting for someone and we were not who they were waiting for.
My heart went from frantic to stable and I gathered the courage to let my sister go, move in front of her, and raise my sword in both hands to hold the combat stance I had practiced time and time again. I counted about five men and even with the lineage of a titan on my side, I doubted my odds greatly. The only light in the room was a pair of large candle stands on either side of the banister, sitting at the end of the stair. The lights at the doorway leading out into the court were out and darkness had consumed all but where we stood to where the soldiers stood some eight feet away.
I wanted to lunge at them but I knew it was foolish to be rash. I had to think of something, though. They were beginning to work out who we were and what sort of threat we posed. “Oary failed,” one of them said the others. “It’s the royal children. They’re still alive.” A skeptical one asked, “how do you know? Could be a servant’s kids.” The first to speak pointed his sword at me, gesturing at my own with the tip. “That’s Oary’s sword. I can tell by the nicks in it. The kid killed Oary and took his sword.” Again, the skeptical one responded, asking, “How do you know it was him?” The first gripped his hilt tighter and narrowed his gaze. “He’s the son of the Warrior King.”
The others accepted this explanation and resolved that even if I was only a ten-year-old boy, I was too important and too dangerous to let live. Oary, who I assumed was the man I killed upstairs, was sent to end the bloodline of the Lione family by killing us off in our sleep. I still don’t think he wanted to kill my sister and me, but I’m sure he wanted my mother and father dead, as did the rest of these attackers. The question that begged to be answered was “who were these people?” So I asked them as they finished closing the distance, cutting us off at the bottom of the stairs so we couldn’t run anywhere but back up.
The first to speak answered me. “We’re the ones who want what’s best for the kingdom, boy. You’re too young to understand, but what your father is doing to us is wrong. We’re being oppressed in the name of progress. You’re mother gave the whole kingdom to a tyrant: the land and all the people on it. But there is another way. There’s a man who can save us; free us. You see, Gen-“ He was cut off before he could finish, a metal chain having lashed out from the darkness behind him and coiled violently around his neck. It was pulled tight, keeping him on a leash for a moment before one hard jerk pulled the man off his feet and into the waiting darkness.
The men turned quickly to aid him, but I recognized the sound of a blade sinking into flesh and muscle. I knew it was already too late. I showed my familiarity with the noise by harmonizing it with my own blade thrust deep into the lower back of another one of the soldiers, just next to the spine. He wasn’t quite like the first, and the stab wasn’t fatal, but when I dragged the blade out of him by pulling it to the side instead of backward, it was enough to end his screams and his life. There wasn’t any silence to follow, though, as my sister started to scream next in terror.
One of the remaining soldiers turned to face me, another to the darkness, and the last was caught in that chain and pulled away, this time from and to a different direction. Like the first, there was no time to speak or react. The chain wrapped around his neck and he was gone. The one facing me gambled his life in trying to finish the mission his friend upstairs had started, rushing at me and swinging his sword down at my head. I went low and tilted the sword so the end pointed right at his belly. Pushing forward with my feet and putting my shoulder into the stab, I forced him to impale himself on my sword while his own stopped in mid-swing. His arms went limp, the sword clattering to the stone floor, then the rest of his body began to slump as well.
I pushed the body off my sword and stepped back, ready to take on the next only to find there was no next but the last one had disappeared in the time I had spent skewering the soldier that came at me. It wasn’t over, though, as I could see someone stirring in the darkness in the direction of where the others had been dragged off. Listening closely, I could hear the faint sound of a chain softly clicking while the person came nearer. When our assumed savior had emerged, he was far from what I expected. Clad in all black, the whole of his face hidden by a demonic, white mask, he wore neither armor nor protection of any kind except the light clothes covering his entire body meant only to protect his identity. I could see short strands of black hair peeking out from his hood and his form was definitively male.
What worried me, was the chain he had wrapped around one of his arms and the thin sword being held by the other. I had never seen a blade like that before and it looked lighter and sharper than any sword I had held. He relieved my worry though when he slid the sword away behind his back and offered out a cloth-wrapped hand to us. “Come,” he spoke in a voice as deep as my father’s, “I’m going to get you out of here. It’s not safe to stay.”
I turned and went to my sister, who cowered against the rail of one of the stairs. I spoke to her loud enough for only her to hear. “Come on, Melody. We have to get out of here.” Her screaming had stopped when the black-clothed man had revealed himself but she was far from composed.
The man spoke again, “there is no time, you have to come with me now.”
I narrowed my gaze at him, asking, “Why should we trust you?”
“You have no choice,” he said honestly. He added, “if I was here to kill you, you would be as dead as they are.” He was referring to the men he had dragged into the darkness. “There is no one to ransom you to and there is nothing you possess anymore that I could gain from holding you hostage. Now come along, quickly, before more arrive.”
It was Melody who went to him first, running as fast as her little legs could carry her. I followed, deciding to go where ever she went and protect her from whatever threatened her, even if it was this man she trusted over whatever waited for us beyond the walls. The stranger took us out of the castle through a series of passages, starting in the courtyard. There was a war raging around us and a number of times I feared we wouldn’t make it even with this stranger’s help. Thankfully, we managed to escape the castle and make it to the edge of town where the man had a horse waiting for him. He put us on top of it first before climbing on behind us and taking the reins.
He told us to hold on as he sped away from the roar of battle overtaking the castle we once called home. I looked back and watched the fires grow; illuminating the night sky brighter than the stars could ever manage. I listened to the shouting of the people as they slaughtered one another and were slaughtered themselves, death ruling the night. As we rode away, I looked up at the darkness being touched by the yellow and red of the war below it, stained in its violent brushstrokes as the sky was painted with so much tragedy and I knew I would never again see a blue sky.