Chapter 2 | Echoes of Legacy

Anthranor Arathan

“I, Aremos the First of House Arathan, do hereby swear to uphold my oath: to faithfully guide and nurture the realms, to act as an unyielding shield for the people, and to foster peace and prosperity for all.”

Those were the same words that his father had recited aloud before the masses in the Great Seat of the Three Gods a month ago. Some nights, he dreamt of revisiting that scene. The words of the oath always stuck afterwards like sap to a tree.

Forty-seven years ago, his grandfather, Alderin the Great, had also sworn the same oath. One day, Anthranor knew that he would be the next.

Anthranor opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, he admired its painting, which depicted a scene of Alderin the Great’s coronation, his grandfather. The Emperor, with an ornate crown atop his head, stood tall upon the stage. The lords and masses of the realm stood around him, praising his name and welcoming him with open arms like a messiah. How could he ever live up to that? Anthranor shifted in his blankets, trying to get more comfortable.

A stone statue of Alderin the Great stood opposite of his bed. He was depicted in his prime: an elaborate crown upon his head, clad in armor with a cape, and clutching his spear. He was said to have been tall, handsome, and strong in his youth—fitting for an Emperor.

It saddened Anthranor to have had to watch his grandfather wane in his old age. His face had withered, his body had grown frail, and his strength had all but faded.

“One day you will wear the crown,” he had said to the prince on his deathbed, chuckling. “You’ll hate it more than I did.”

He had always looked up to his grandfather and even now, consistently found himself thinking about him. Alderin was a legend, after all: the great Founding Father of the Aladarian Empire.

When Anthranor was still a young child, Alderin would visit his chambers and tell many stories about his adventures from his younger days, including when he met and bonded with his archebeast, Arsaehid.

Anthranor smiled, recalling how they would often talk late into the night. He was a curious youth that never seemed to stop asking questions. At times, he could barely remain awake for his tutoring lessons the following morning.

No matter how much the young Anthranor begged, though, his grandfather refused to share his experiences of the Marchidium, the Great Conquest. He had little choice but to resort to the unsatisfactory history books, which seemed to only constantly praise Alderin the Conqueror and detail exaggerated legends of swift, absolute victories with few losses. He wanted to know about the real truth of the story, not some fabricated and glorified mythos.

Anthranor saw that there was an open book lying on him over the blanket. He lifted the novel up and skimmed over its title. History of the Golden Rocks.

I must have fallen asleep in the midst of reading last night, he thought as he closed it.

A page turner, by no means.

He set the book onto the nightstand and stood to stretch, yawning loudly. The city bells tolled in the distance, prompting him to wonder what time it was. Suddenly, there was a loud knocking from the door.

“Your Highness?”

Anthranor turned, hastily sliding his shirt on and sloppily buttoning it together. “Come in!”

A servant opened the door and entered, bowing as was custom before addressing him. “Your Highness, they are waiting for you.”

The prince frowned, yanking his trousers upwards and slipping on his boots. “Who?” he asked.

“The Emperor, his Gauntlet, and the rest of the Imperial Council, Your Highness,” the servant replied. “They have been waiting for a while now.”

“Inform them I am on my way!” Anthranor rushed to his mirror, panic coursing through his veins. The servant departed as the prince dunked his hands into a bowl of water and began taming his messy, dark brown hair.

Sweeping his hands through, he arranged his hair towards the right to create a side swept style. As he gazed into the mirror, he saw that the top of his head looked odd and stupid. Frustrated, he frantically ran his hands through his hair again to remedy the flaw.

The attempts would prove futile despite his efforts, and he was still adjusting his hair when the Imperial knights opened the doors to reveal the council’s chambers.

Cane Calborne

Cane rubbed his lower back, attempting to mend the pain that was gnawing at him. His hips were always bothering him as well. He was an old man, after all, approaching his eighties.

“Well, where the hell is he?” inquired Aremos, the Emperor, who sat impatiently at the end of the ironwood table, his back to the large balcony that overlooked the bustling harbor. The other councilors looked at each other nervously as they felt the Emperor’s temper fuming, but Cane remained calm.

“The servant assured us he would be here, Your Grace,” he said. “He should be here shortly... I hope.”

“We have already sat here as if we were lame ducks for twenty minutes since then,” said Aremos in response to his Gauntlet, seething. “The council starts now, I will deal with my son later.”

The councilors nodded in obedience, shifting their papers and straightening their posture.

“What is our first order of business?” Aremos asked, looking at each councilor individually.

Cane cleared his throat. “It would seem the Master Sapient’s predictions of the storm season ending were slightly inaccurate. The Zerpentian scouting fleet has gone missing, along with Lord Baron. Kelin’s Point sent word that they missed their expected return date.”

The elderly Master Sapient scratched his crooked nose awkwardly and twiddled his thumbs, clearly embarrassed by his misjudgment that had potentially led the Zerpentians to disaster.

“I see,” responded Aremos, who looked disappointedly at the Master Sapient. “Arrange for scouts to thoroughly observe the weather patterns along our eastern shores in the north. If, and when it is safe, send out search parties on land and sea. Lord Cane, please send a message out to the other houses commanding them to commit men for the search. House Corent, in particular, for they rule in the north and are closest to where Lord Zerpentis disappeared.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Cane complied, dipping his quill in ink to transcribe the message onto a piece of paper. After completing the order, he sealed the scroll and handed it to a servant for delivery.

“Now,” Aremos continued. “Have we heard any word from the Greencloaks on their mission?”

“No, Your Grace. The Brotherhood has gone quiet, and we have not received any hawks for quite some time now.”

Aremos frowned, turning to look at his Spymaster, Therion.

“Have they roasted all of their birds for supper, or what?” he scoffed.

“Perhaps, Your Grace,” replied Therion. “But we cannot know for sure at this hour.”

Aremos placed both of his arms onto the table, sighing deeply. “Send hawks to relay messages and restore our ability to communicate. In case that yields no fruit, send a party of men as well to the Bothic.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Therion forwarded a message for a servant to deliver.

The doors to their meeting chamber were suddenly opened by two knights of the Imperial Guard, Ser Dorristan Kelsaphon and Ser Braathos Worth. They were adorned in dark armor complemented with golden patterns and draped in black capes bearing a rearing golden archebeast. Between the two knights emerged the crown prince, his hair a chaotic mess.

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“Prince Anthranor Arathan, Heir to the Crown,” announced Ser Dorristan. All present at the table turned, watching as Anthranor descended the steps and bowed in the presence of the Emperor.

“Your Grace,” he greeted.

Aremos slowly rose from his chair, his face wearing a silent outrage. The other councilors stood as well, bowing to the prince.

“Your Highness,” Cane smiled. “We are so glad you could finally join us.”

Anthranor returned a warm smile back to Cane, but the smile quickly faded as he turned to Aremos, his lips nervously pressed together as he anticipated the Emperor’s wrath to unleash.

Cane pondered what could have possibly caused the prince to be so late.

“Where have you been?” inquired Aremos.

“I was in my chambers, father.”

“Your chambers,” he muttered. “At this hour?”

Anthranor bowed his head submissively. “Yes, father.”

Aremos’ fiery eyes glared into Anthranor’s, a dark grimace on his face. “Out, all of you,” he spat. “Lord Cane, you as well.”

At once, the councilors took their leave, bowing courteously before hastily clearing the room. Cane was the last one out as the Imperial knights closed the doors behind him.

He could not help but smile a bit, turning to look at Ser Dorristan. “Perhaps the council will be in recess until further notice.”

Ser Dorristan returned a sly smile underneath his helmet’s open visor, nodding. “I suppose so, my Lord. Perhaps for a while. It may be best to retire and rest.”

“I agree,” Cane replied, glancing at the door as the Emperor’s fury was heard from within. “An old man needs his rest. I wish you a good day, Ser Dorristan.”

“To you as well, Lord Cane.”

As Cane ventured through the palace halls, he took much time to bask himself in the warmth of the sunlight. It was a beautiful day after all, with clear skies and moderate temperatures—a perfect balance struck between hot and cold.

He sat on a bench in the gardens, soaking in the beauty that surrounded him. The colorful birds sang their happy songs, and the gorgeous flowers bloomed in all their splendor.

Cane hoisted up his cane for a closer view, inspecting its finer details. It was made of polished black ironwood, with a silver knob for the handle. For seven years now, it had served him well.

“A new blade for you,” the Emperor had joked when he gifted it to Cane. “May it serve you as well as your old one once did.”

He smiled at the memory as he recalled it fleetingly. In the days afterwards, Alderin never ceased to jokingly ridicule Cane's name with puns. The Emperor was always a fun and loving trickster at heart. Though he was hardened by the wars and the responsibilities of wearing the crown, he never lost his touch—even in his elder days.

Cane had hoped Alderin’s son, Aremos, would turn out similar to his father. But alas, they were two different men. The crown prince, however, did share common traits with his grandfather. Anthranor had inherited the same mischievous nature that Alderin possessed, and he was more moderate in his temper—a stark contrast from his father. No doubt, his temperance was inherited from his mother as well, Cane mused.

As the topic of Anthranor’s mother crossed his mind, Cane once again found himself missing his daughter, Elena. He carefully eased the tip of his cane onto the ground, gazing reminiscently at a large peach tree that stood in the center of the garden. The tree had always been her favorite location for sitting and reading. Gone too soon, she was.

Someone approached Cane from the corner of his eye. He turned and saw that it was the prince, undoubtedly fresh from his father’s scathing lecture. Anthranor’s face was flushed red, and his hair had been fixed, now neatly swept to the side. His eyes were fixed downwards, shoulders slightly slumped as his feet shuffled forward.

“Good afternoon, my prince,” Cane warmly greeted, putting on a genuine and friendly smile. “I see your hair troubles have been tended to.”

“Yes, they have.” Anthranor sighed as he stood beside Cane, his eyes wandering the ground.

Cane patted the empty space beside him. “Come, have a seat, Anthranor.”

The prince sat, twiddling his thumbs. “I miss my mother,” he said bluntly.

Cane looked over, shocked to see tears welling up in the eyes of the prince.

“I miss her warmth,” Anthranor continued, choking with emotion. “Father is cold, and he is like a scorching flame that never relents.”

Cane felt his heartstrings being tugged strongly. He immediately wrapped his arms around the young prince in a warm embrace, gently patting his shoulder to offer reassurance.

“We all miss her, Anthranor,” he said quietly. “Your mother meant the world to me, as well.”

Anthranor sniffled, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his tears away.

“You see that tree there, Anthranor?” Cane asked, gesturing towards it.

“The giant peach tree, you mean?” The prince looked at it, his eyes swollen and wet.

“Yes, that one,” Cane reaffirmed, hugging the prince slightly more. ”Your mother would always read you stories under that tree, and I would watch from this very bench.”

“Really?” Anthranor seemed shocked. “...I can barely remember at all.”

Cane nodded. “It was her favorite spot. Every day, whenever she had the chance, she would come there and read for hours.” He smiled, chuckling. “She was so lost in her books that I would often have to come searching for her when she missed dinner. But I always knew where to find her.”

The prince laughed along with his grandfather. “Do you know how she came to find this tree?”

Cane pointed to himself, smiling. “Me, of course.”

Anthranor returned the smile. “Was it also your favorite spot for reading?”

“Indeed,” Cane replied. “When your mother and her siblings were still young, I would read stories of old to them under that very tree.”

“So it has quite the history, that tree, doesn’t it?” The prince took a moment to reflect on the tree’s significance.

“Yes,” said Cane. “In a way, your mother is still with us. Not just in our memories, but here as well.” He pointed to Anthranor’s heart. “She lives on through you, her son.”

The prince looked at him, a solemn expression on his face. The tears had stopped, but there were still visible streaks that trailed down his cheeks.

Cane gazed into the eyes of his grandson, a brilliant blue that sparkled like sapphires. “Even now, I see her in your eyes. You carry the essence of both your mother and your father.”

Anthranor sighed at the mention of his father. Taking notice, Cane gently placed his hands onto the prince’s shoulders.

“Your father loves you, just as your mother did,” he said.

Anthranor shifted his gaze to the side, looking down. “If only it felt that way,” he muttered. “He has been different ever since her passing.”

“He grieves, as do we all.”

“But that is no excuse to mistreat me, grandfather,” Anthranor retorted, looking at Cane. “To shun me in front of the entire council?”

His grandfather’s expression softened with compassion and understanding.

“Anthranor, you must understand that as heir, you have many responsibilities and expectations,” he replied. “Your father loves you with all of his heart, but in order to prepare you for the Crown, he must be strict, and you must be knowledgeable on what it means to lead.”

“What if I don’t want to lead?” Anthranor asked, gazing at the ground as he kicked his feet. “What if I fail, grandfather?

“It is inevitable that you will make mistakes, my prince,” Cane answered. “That is why you must learn as much as you can now, and make your mistakes now, so that you may be better prepared in the future. Learn from your mistakes, and grow.”

“I understand your fear,” he continued. “It is a fear we all have, the fear of the unknown. But in the face of necessity, we must step up to our responsibilities. If we do not, then who will?”

Anthranor was silent, only nodding. Cane looked him in the eye.

“That is why it must be you,” he affirmed. “Only you can step up to the responsibility of leading, for you are the heir. You must prepare yourself accordingly and take things seriously. Lastly, take your father’s strictness with a grain of salt, and remember that he loves you. What he does now is for your sake in the future. Do you understand, Anthranor?”

“Yes, grandfather.”

Cane smiled, embracing Anthranor once more. By the time he had pulled back, a guard appeared. The two of them turned to look at him.

“Your Highness, my lord,” he greeted, bowing. “The Emperor has summoned both of you to his chambers, at once.”

Anthranor rose from his seat, helping his grandfather stand from the bench. He turned to the guard. “Do you know what he has called us for?”

“It is about a tournament, Your Highness,” the guard answered. “It will be hosted by House Eins. His Grace wishes to discuss the matter of attendance.”

“We shall leave at once,” Cane declared, leading the way forward.