Chapter 1 | Of Black & Gold

The dim light of a torch descended through the darkness down a spiraling stairwell. Daelanor held the torch as he went, his every step ringing off the walls and resonating into the abyss. The air around him felt cool and smelled like burnt ash.

His alluring voice sang out into the darkness. The melody was soft and gentle, like a lullaby. “Obahaéro, aesoño la drokaere.” Great winged beast, I have dreamt of you.

When Daelanor reached the bottom of the stairs, he passed the doorway and slowly entered the lair. His sight had already adapted to the lack of light. He searched the shadows for movement. Cautiously, he bent down to lower his torch. Suddenly the smell of sulfur grew thicker. The ground trembled beneath his feet as something stirred in the deep dark. “Dórvas incindas faere?” he continued, slowly rising. How scorching are your flames?

Without warning, a great stream of fire erupted overhead and engulfed the cavern's roof. Beneath the flames, Daelanor caught a fleeting glimpse of the massive winged creature that had unleashed them. He watched as the fire spread and set the cave alight. His eyes glimmered in awe.

When the firestorm died down, only the small light of the torch was left. Then there were slow, heavy footsteps that shook the ground, and they drew nearer. Daelanor stood as he waited. He could only see a large shadow that moved in the dark.

Then its face emerged from the void and slowly came into the light. A dragon. The beast snarled and turned its head to take a better look at him. Its breath was hot, musty, and sour. Calm and collected, Daelanor resumed his lullaby, an old song of the ancient tongue. “Daórvas a lume.” How gorgeous you are. The dragon responded to him with a tender groan.

Daelanor gazed deep into its emerald-green eyes with a smile, one of reverence and madness. In them, he found a rare comfort—a reflection of his own fierce, unyielding spirit. They were like two sides of the same coin.

Anthranor Arathan

“Left!” Ser Dorristan shouted. Anthranor quickly checked his blade. “Right!” He parried. “Down!” He checked again, but the knight advanced rapidly. “Above!” Anthranor side-stepped this time, and moved to flank Ser Dorristan. The knight proved quicker, though, and swiftly deflected the prince’s sword. Then he drove his dull blade into Anthranor’s breastplate and pushed him back.

Anthranor had barely recovered before Ser Dorristan unleashed a flurry of swings and thrusts. He raised his sword and proved able in meeting every one of his attacks. The clashing of their steel rang across the courtyard, drawing in a crowd of curious household guards and servants.

Anthranor saw them gathering in the corner of his eyes. Do you have nothing else better to do? he thought. They must have been doubting him, the lowly second-born son, fit for nothing but reading and birdwatching. The laughing stock of the palace.

Ser Dorristan’s blade flashed and struck his helmet. Anthranor yelped and winced in pain as he quickly retreated. “Pay attention,” scolded the knight. “You’re losing focus. Focus on me, not the crowd.”

The prince nodded and raised his sword again. Ser Dorristan assumed a more passive and defensive stance. “Now, make your first move.”

Anthranor saw an opening and went for it, thrusting his sword at the knight’s torso. Ser Dorristan parried and responded with his own counter. The two men exchanged several blows before at last Anthranor landed a good hit against Ser Dorristan’s chest. Following up, he disarmed the knight by knocking down his sword with one fell swoop.

“Yield.” He pressed the blade’s tip against Ser Dorristan’s chest. Recognizing his defeat, Ser Dorristan raised his hands in surrender. “I yield.” He smiled. “You win, my prince.”

Anthranor sighed in relief as he lowered his sword. It’s over, at last. They had been dueling for the past hour. The unwanted crowd had aggravated his nerves and his body was exhausted from training. He lowered his sword and bent down to pick up Ser Dorristan’s. The knight thanked him as he retrieved the blade.

“You let me win, didn’t you?” asked the prince.

Ser Dorristan innocently smiled. “No, my prince. You won fairly.”

Anthranor eyed the dispersing crowd, his suspicions persistent. “I respect it, Ser Dorristan. You did not wish to humiliate me.”

“My prince, I assure you. The victory was yours.”

Despite his reassurance, Anthranor’s doubt still lingered. The knight gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “It truly was, my prince,” he said. “I do not lie.”

The prince’s eyes met Ser Dorristan’s. “I thank you for your reassurance, ser.” He smiled.

“Of course, my prince.”

Anthranor’s stomach grumbled loudly. Ser Dorristan glanced down. “I suppose it’s time for dinner.”

“Roast beef, wasn’t it?” Anthranor shed his helmet. His mouth watered at the thought of a hearty dinner.

“I believe so, although I am not certain, my prince.”

“We shall find out.”

As they walked back to the barracks, Anthranor caught a glimpse of the setting sun and stopped to admire it. He watched as it dipped below the horizon, the warmth of its rays melting away his troubles.

Anya Arathan

Anya stared hungrily at the piece of meat that lay before her. Roast beef, it was, and one of her favorites, but she had been forbidden to indulge until her brothers arrived. Her father sat beside her, the towering Aremos Arathan, Emperor of the Black and Gold. Quite frankly, he had seen better days and was well past his prime. His once imposing stature had softened; his swollen gut bulged from his tunic, and his beard was a scraggly mess of dark chestnut hair, which hung unkempt. Today, he seemed particularly foul-tempered, and she knew better than to stir the dragon.

The emperor was silently fuming as he sat. The light of the braziers that lined the pillars flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows that crept over two empty chairs. His eyes twitched as he looked about the room, his fingers drumming restlessly against the table. Then he turned to Arya, his chair creaking. “Where are your brothers?”

“I do not know, father,” she replied. “Perhaps Anthranor is training again.”

Anya shrugged as Aremos sighed in exasperation, though she could’ve at least predicted where one of them was. She knew Anthranor often visited the library, walked in the gardens, and trained with the Imperial Knights during the day. But Daelanor, her elder brother, was more unpredictable. Some days, he would be sparring with three men at once in the courtyard; others, he would vanish with his dragon.

The doors of the dining hall opened, and in came Anthranor. He had neatly combed his chestnut-brown hair to the side and he wore his favorite: a dark blue tunic of simple design with golden buttons. Although blue was not among either of the family’s colors of black and gold, Anya knew that he preferred it.

Aremos leaned back in his chair, eyeing the prince as he sat down. “Where is your brother?”

Anthranor looked at his father. “I do not know,” he replied. “He could be anywhere, really.”

“If he’s not here within the next minute, we should just eat without him,” suggested Anya, who grew ever impatient. She had already been waiting for nearly ten minutes, and was still counting every passing second. “Besides, the food’s getting cold.”

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Aremos sighed as he nodded in agreement. “Let us pray,” he said. Together, the three of them lowered their heads and held hands. As they began reciting the prayer of the ancient tongue in unison, they pressed over their foreheads and lips with their thumbs.

“Páreda Erodus,” Aremos intoned when they were done. Thanks be to Erodus. As they began eating, the doors to the hall opened again. All eyes turned to Prince Daelanor as he carelessly strolled in, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. His hair was unkempt and his unbuttoned coat swayed with each confident strut.

Anya was already half-way done with her steak when Daelanor took his seat. Her father coldly judged Daelanor in silent contempt, who merely returned his same, smug smile.

“You’re late,” said Aremos, bluntly. Daelanor’s brow perked up as he took a bite of beef. “Apologies, father,” he replied while chewing. “I was rather busy with Dormund.”

Anya perked up from her plate. Dormund was his dragon, the largest of the realm. During the Marchidium, the beast had been used to great effect against the kingdoms that opposed Alderin the Great’s war of conquest. Her older brother had bonded with the beast when he was seventeen years of age.

“And what were you doing with Dormund?” Aremos inquired.

“Flying.”

“Flying,” Aremos repeated with scorn. “Are you aware that you missed two council meetings today?”

Anya slowly took another bite. She could see her father’s rage building, his face flushing red. He glared at Daelanor, whose laidback demeanor persisted. The prince scratched his chin. “I seem to have forgotten.”

Aremos pounced from his chair and slammed his fists onto the table. “Out!” he shouted. “All of you!”

At once and without another word, Anya, Anthranor, and all of the servants with them hastily made way for the exit, with Daelanor remaining. Anya was sure to take her plate with.

She exchanged glances with her younger brother as they left the room, the emperor’s voice rising through the corridors as his fury was heard from within the dining hall. Silently, they walked to the palace gardens. The gardens lay in the very center of the palace and were filled with great trees from all over the realm, alongside beautiful flowers and impressive marble fountains that spouted like geysers.

After a long moment of quiet admiration of the gardens’ spectacles together, Anya turned to Anthranor. “Be truthful with me,” she said. “Do you think Daelan is fit as father’s heir?”

“No,” he replied, studying the ground. “I don’t think so.”

Anya took the last bite of her steak. “I don’t disagree with you. But don’t let Daelan know. He’ll beat you to a pulp.”

“He’ll beat me to a pulp anyway,” shrugged Anthranor. “He hates me.” The mention of it seemed to have soured his mood. Anya stopped walking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

He stopped and turned back to her. “What’s not my fault?”

She gave him a knowing look. Anthranor sighed as he slouched his shoulders.

“Come on.” She wrapped her arm around him, grinning mischievously as she riled up the top of his head.

“Hey!” he shouted, backing away as he tried fixing his hair. He cracked a small smile at her, though it quickly disappeared when he saw that she had swindled his dagger. “Hey, give it back!”

Anya avoided him with ease as Anthranor lunged for the dagger. She dangled it in front of him. “You want it back? Come and get it.”

“You know I’m stronger than you,” he warned. To that Anya merely smirked.

“And you know I’m faster than you.”

Without warning, Anya’s brother started running at her. She quickly turned, taking off at full speed. As warned, she easily outpaced Anthranor and escaped from sight behind a pillar. Peeking from the sides, she looked and saw that she was safe. After waiting for a few more minutes, she slipped away to seek out his chambers.

Anthranor Arathan

Anthranor had searched for his sister’s whereabouts in the gardens for perhaps some twenty minutes, but in vain. Giving up, he called out to her but heard no response. Damn it, Anya, where are you? he thought, now frustrated. After another round of searching the gardens to no avail, he went inside to scour the palace halls instead. Although he passed numerous guards and servants, he decided not to cheat by asking them if they had seen his sister.

As he neared rounding the corner of a hallway, his older brother appeared from the other side. Daelanor looked unpleasantly surprised to see him. “Well, look who it is,” he said, a sarcastic smile on his face.

Anthranor tensed, slowly backing away. “Daelanor.”

“Where are you going in such a hurry, brother?” Daelan leaned against the wall, his sharp green eyes piercing into Anthranor’s. “Late for a council meeting, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Then where are you going?” He pushed himself away from the wall and approached Anthranor. His taller height made him tower at least a head above his little brother. “Hm?”

Anthranor looked up at Daelanor, who now stood over him. His throat felt so tight that he could barely get any words out. “Anya—I’m looking for her.”

“Ah, that cunning, vicious little fox.” Daelanor’s signature smug, self-satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. Anthranor shrank in his presence. He wanted to get away, to be free of him. But Daelanor wouldn’t let his prey slip away so easily.

“So I’ll be on my way now,” said Anthranor. He went left of Daelanor to try and get around.

“Why don’t I tag along?” Daelanor blocked his path, grinning. “A big brother wants to spend quality time with his baby brother.”

Anthranor saw the sinister look that Daelanor had within his eyes. It was difficult to guess what Daelanor was planning, but he didn’t imagine it would be something fun.

“So, what do you say to that, baby brother?” He leaned in close to Anthranor’s face, enough to the point that his smelly breath was vividly noticeable.

Anthranor recoiled from the smell. “No, leave me alone.” His patience had worn out, and he turned to promptly leave.

Daelanor raised his voice. “I would not have you show your back to me in such distaste, little brother.”

Anthranor stopped, clutching his fists. “Then what would you have me do?”

“Enough.” Anya bellowed from behind. Both brothers turned to her. Daelanor greeted her with derision. “Why, there you are, sister,” he smiled fleetingly. “Anthranor has been desperately searching for you.”

“Stop pestering him,” she said firmly.

He didn’t seem to relent, despite her clear indignation. “I was merely offering him help.”

Anya shot him a nasty look. “He doesn’t need your help.”

Daelanor chuckled. “He certainly seems to need everybody else’s, wandering around like a lost child, like a little babe that needs his arse wiped and kissed up. Perhaps we should fetch his milk.”

Anthranor clenched his jaw, his breathing unsteady. “Shut up,” he said sternly.

Daelanor turned. “What’d you say?” He yanked Anthranor by the collar and pushed him back. “I couldn’t quite hear you there.”

Anya rushed to confront him. “I said enough, Daelon.”

Daelanor released Anthranor and turned around to face her. “So what if you said it? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She feigned as if she were thinking hard, and then looked him in the eye. “Perhaps I’ll tell father what you’ve been up to after dinner.”

He scowled at her, scoffing. “You act as if he’d do anything about it.”

Anya stood her ground and dug in. “You act as if he wouldn’t.”

Daelanor had nothing to fling back and only stared at her without another word. She gazed right back at him, undaunted.

After a long moment of silence between them, he scoffed, laughing aloud. “Very well, little sister,” he said. “I’ll be on my way.”

He brushed past Anya, his shoulder bumping into her before he left. When he had gone, she immediately went to Anthranor. “Are you alright?” She gently put a hand to his cheek.

He was on the verge of tears, his face reddened like a tomato. He merely nodded in response, words unable to escape his lips.

Anya wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“It’s okay.” He sniffled. “I’m okay.”

She pulled back. “No,” she said. “It’s not okay. Daelan can’t keep treating you like this. It has to stop.”

“…I don’t know how.”

“We’ll talk to father, and he'll put an end to it. For good, this time.”

“It won’t help,” Anthranor responded meekly, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew what would happen if they told father, dimly recalling memories of Daelanor exacting his own retaliatory vengeance in the aftermath.

Anya shook her head, her brow furrowing with determination. “We have to tell someone. This can’t keep going. What happens when he sits the throne, Anthranor? What will happen—to you? To us? The realm?”

Anthranor knew she was right. He looked at her. “Father’s chancellor, Lord Cane.”

“Grandfather?” she asked. “He’s old.”

Lord Cane Calborne was the elderly chancellor of Aladar and arguably the second-most powerful man in the realm. He was a long-time friend of the family and had been very close to Emperor Alderin the Great, whose son, Aremos, his daughter had married. Of them all, he perhaps had the most sway over their father, who was left a shell of his former glory following their mother’s passing in childbirth.

“Old,” Anthranor reaffirmed. “But he’s a good man, a wise man. He’d know what to do.”

“Come on, then.” She reached out her hand with a warm smile. “He’s probably in the gardens.”

Anthranor looked at her hand and smiled as he eagerly took it. “Let’s go.”