The evening sky was a stunning blend of gold and indigo, and the surface of Divine Lake mirrored the clouds drifting lazily above. The shadows stretched as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the scent of damp earth mingled with the crispness of the approaching night. Yet, Elijah barely noticed any of it.
He staggered closer to the towering statue of Jermaine at the lake’s edge. Jermaine had always been larger than life—a protector and a force of unshakable will. Now, his legacy loomed in cold, unfeeling stone.
“You’re a liar!” Elijah’s voice cracked as he yelled. The accusation hung in the still air. He slammed his fist against the statue's base, his knuckles meeting solid stone with a sickening thud. Pain shot through his hand, but he didn’t care. Again, he struck, and he struck. “You said you’d always be there! You promised!”
He stumbled forward, collapsing against the cold stone. “Damn you!” His voice cracked again. “You weren’t supposed to die. I wasn’t supposed to—” The words choked off into a sob. Tears burned down his face, carving tracks through the grime on his skin.
“You left me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You left me, Unc…”
Unbeknownst to him, Imani watched.
She had been watching since the first night he came all those weeks ago. Silent and still, hidden in the distance, her heart clenched with every slurred word. She never intervened. Not while he raged. Not while he wept.
Tonight was no different.
Shaking, Elijah fumbled with the bottle in his hand and threw it at the statue. The glass shattered with a loud crack, sending shards skittering across the ground. The sudden noise froze him in place. He then dropped to his knees, frantically gathering the shards with trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with guilt. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to…”
A jagged shard bit into his finger, drawing a crimson bead of blood. He stared at it with glazed eyes, then slowly looked up at the statue as the edges of his vision began to blur and fade. Suddenly, everything went black.
Imani waited a few more moments before approaching. Her movements were careful and quiet. She sighed as she knelt beside him, carefully sweeping the shards into her palm. Her gaze lingered on him as she worked, studying the lines of pain etched into his face, even in unconsciousness. Gently, she wiped the blood from his cut finger with a piece of cloth.
“Eli...” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow. He didn’t respond.
With some effort, she slipped an arm under his and hoisted him to his feet. His weight sagged against her, nearly dragging her down, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. Step by step, she guided him away from the lake.
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The streets were quiet, bathed in the muted glow of crystals that lined the cobbled pathways. The only sounds were the soft leaves rustling in the night breeze and the faint murmur of distant conversations. Imani struggled forward, Elijah’s arm draped heavily around her shoulders. His head lolled forward, and his feet dragged uselessly across the ground.
As they passed, a few people glanced their way. Their eyes lingered—some curious, others disapproving. A woman paused, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stepped aside, her nose wrinkling as if to ward off the sharp stench of alcohol that clung to Elijah. A man crossing the street slowed, staring openly before shaking his head and moving on.
Imani ignored them.
She kept her eyes fixed ahead, her legs straining under the weight of Elijah’s limp body. Her arms burned with effort, her shoulders aching, but she refused to stop. The cold night air prickled her skin, but she welcomed the chill.
When they reached Elijah’s door, her body trembled from exhaustion. The small, weathered room inside offered little comfort. The furniture was sparse—just a bed pushed against one wall, a battered table, and a chair. The air inside was stagnant, carrying the faint smell of spilled liquor.
Imani half-dragged and half-carried Elijah to the bed. With a soft grunt, she eased him down onto the mattress. He sprawled there, motionless, his face slack and pale. Kneeling beside him, she tugged off his boots, her fingers fumbling with the stiff leather. Each pull sent jolts of pain through her overworked arms, but she gritted her teeth and kept going until they were off.
She grabbed the thin, worn blanket folded at the foot of the bed and draped it over him. Her movements slowed as she tucked it around his shoulders, ensuring he was covered. Finally, she sat back on her heels, her eyes tracing the lines of his face.
Even now, his expression was twisted with sorrow. The shadows under his eyes were dark, and his lips slightly parted as he muttered something unintelligible. Imani’s gaze softened, and her hand hovered near his cheek momentarily before she pulled it back.
She rose to her feet and turned to leave, but a weak grip closed around her wrist before she could take a step.
“Don’t go.” Elijah’s voice was hoarse, barely audible. His glazed eyes met hers. “Please… don’t leave me…”
Imani's breath caught in her chest, and for a moment, she froze. Then, with a soft sigh, she eased back down onto the edge of the bed. She leaned against the wall, taking his hand in hers and tightening her fingers around it.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Elijah's breathing gradually steadied, and the restless murmurs faded as sleep finally took hold. She kept a silent watch over him, unable to leave—not out of obligation, but because she couldn’t bear to see Elijah in so much pain; it felt all too familiar. She understood grief and how it could hollow a person. She knew what it was like to carry that kind of ache. So, she stayed with him until the crack of dawn.
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The midday sun burned bright, casting a golden sheen over the gentle waves as a ship approached the Ceialan docks. It was a magnificent vessel, larger than any seen in these waters for years, with towering crimson sails emblazoned with the fiery emblem of the Phoenix. The hull, painted in bold strokes of red and black, gleamed with fresh polish, and along its railings stood warriors in immaculate formation, their armor catching the light like molten gold.
As the ship docked, the gathered crowd whispered among themselves, their eyes fixed on the emblem of the Phoenix. For centuries, it had been a symbol of protection and power, but recently, it had become a legacy nearly forgotten. It returned, boldly etched into the crimson fabric, carried by a mysterious crew.
When the gangplank lowered, it was not a crowd of disembarking merchants or sailors who emerged but a disciplined company of warriors. Their wyvern-scale armor, polished to a mirror-like finish, gleamed in hues of red and gold, each piece masterfully etched with intricate tribal designs. At their shoulders and helms, fiery orange and deep crimson feathers shifted with every movement.
The warriors who descended were silent, moving in unison. Though only a fraction of the crew left the ship, many remained on deck, standing like statues. At the forefront of the procession, a single figure emerged—a man whose bearing spoke of command and purpose.
The crowd's murmurs quieted as he stepped into view. They recognized the colors, the emblem, and the unmistakable style of the Sulis Tribe craftsmanship. Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Some instinctively moved aside, while others stood rooted in place, unable to tear their gazes away as the man led his warriors through the streets of Ceiala. His stride was purposeful, and his expression was resolute. His eyes briefly scanned the crowd, but his demeanor had no arrogance.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The air felt heavier in his presence, and those bold enough to meet his gaze experienced a flicker of something they had recently lost—hope.
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Ceiala’s Grand Council Building stood at the base of Ceiyr's Peak, its white walls reaching toward the heavens, adorned with carvings of ancient symbols. Light poured through stained glass windows, painting the marble floor in shimmering blue, gold, and green patterns. The Sacred Council and Avatars convened within the Sacred Hall.
The man’s warriors halted at the entrance, their watchful eyes scanning the room from beneath tribal masks. He stepped forward alone, his boots striking the marble with sharp echoes that carried through the chamber. The Sacred Council Members and the Avatars turned their attention to him.
As he approached the center, his gaze flicked to the empty seat designated for the Phoenix Avatar. His steps faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of pain creasing his face, but he quickly mastered it, hardening his expression.
The man stopped and bowed his head slightly in respect. His deep voice resonated through the hall. “I am Maddox A’Sakar, First Phoenix Ascendant and Head of the A'Sakar Clan. I thank you for granting me the honor of this audience.”
The Council members murmured among themselves, some skeptical, others intrigued.
Maddox continued, “I’ll be direct. Ceiala is rebuilding. Its strength and spirit are weakened. The A’Sakar Clan offers its military might as a shield while you regain your footing. We have defended the Realm once before and are prepared to do so again.”
The chamber buzzed with hushed whispers, a mix of reverence and doubt. Maddox let the murmurs hang for a moment before continuing.
“But this offer is not for Ceiala alone. The Sulis Tribe once protected all the Nations, and we intend to honor that legacy again. The Eldran Empire rises, and its ambitions threaten every corner of the Realm. If we stand divided, we will fall divided.”
The mention of the Eldran Empire silenced the room. Sade Valtari leaned forward, her sharp eyes narrowing. “What do you know of the Eldran Empire, Maddox A’Sakar?”
Maddox turned his gaze to her, his expression hard as steel. “I’ve been watching them for years. My warriors and I have repeatedly clashed with their forces, driving back their advances. Make no mistake—they are more dangerous than the Nether ever was. They bring not chaos, but order, methodical and calculated, with plans that stretch decades into the future.”
Idris A’Valei, the Hydra Avatar, broke his silence, his voice low and taut. “They’ve already taken half of my lands. Every day, they push further into the Wailing Forest. We fight, but they do not relent.”
Maddox nodded. “And they won’t stop. Their ambitions are endless. They don’t conquer for glory or greed—they conquer to survive.”
Dr. Jyro raised a hand, his calm demeanor drawing the council’s attention. “The Eldran Empire has been an isolated nation since its founding over a century ago,” he said. “Its emperor is not a warmonger. He is a man of vision and innovation who values his people above all else. Their expansion isn’t born of conquest for conquest’s sake. It is a matter of self-preservation. They see the Nations as resources to ensure their survival. And to them, survival justifies anything.”
Jyro’s words settled over the room.
Lucius A’Damos, the Golem Avatar, leaned forward. “They’ve already bled the Brahn Desert dry. A sacred territory of the Ta’rai, desecrated. They strip the land of every resource, leaving only ruin behind.”
Shuri A’Mal, the Griffin Avatar, spoke next, her words laced with warning. The Empire only honors its agreements when they benefit them. They are never satisfied; they always want more."
Sade’s piercing gaze locked onto Maddox. “You paint a grim picture, Maddox A’Sakar. But I must ask—why now? Your clan has stayed on the fringes for generations. Why step forward after all this time?”
The room stilled, the council waiting for Maddox’s answer. He met Sade’s gaze. “The A’Taro Clan and the A’Sakar Clan have been at odds for centuries, longer than anyone here has been alive. When the A’Taro Clan claimed the role of protectors, we stepped back. Not out of apathy but necessity. To intervene then would have fractured the Sulis Tribe beyond repair.”
His voice sharpened. “We used that time to build our strength. We prepared for the moment we would be needed most. That moment is now. With the A’Taro Clan all but destroyed, the Sulis Tribe must have leaders who can act. We are ready to be those leaders. We are ready to serve.”
Sade's glared at him. “You waited. You watched. And while the A’Taro Clan fell, you did nothing.”
Before Maddox could respond, Idris spoke. “What would you have them do? Create a power struggle amid a fractured Realm? No. They made the only choice that wouldn’t doom us all. Now, they offer the strength they’ve built. They’re not here to claim power but to fight.”
Sade’s gaze flicked between Maddox and Idris, her skepticism evident. “And what guarantee do we have that the A’Sakar Clan will stabilize rather than disrupt?”
Shuri leaned forward. “Their offer speaks for itself. They’re not asking for control. They’re offering to protect the Nations. With the Eldran Empire advancing, we cannot afford to turn away allies.”
“We do not seek to rule Ceiala or any Nation," Maddox spoke. "We come to stand as a shield, as we once did. The Eldran Empire will not stop. With the Thunder God no longer here to deter them, their conquest will spread unchecked unless we act.”
He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping the room. “You all know the truth. They are methodical. Ruthless. Unified. If we remain fractured, the Realm will fall, one Nation at a time. But together, we can stop them. The A’Sakar Clan stands ready to lead the charge. We will not let the Realm be conquered.”
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An hour later, the infirmary was quiet, except for the soft hum of enchanted lights and the rhythmic beeping of devices monitoring Malik's fragile condition. Maddox's broad frame filled the doorway as he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling on Malik, who lay motionless on the bed. Malik appeared small against the pristine white sheets.
Maddox’s expression remained unchanged as he strode forward with measured steps. His presence immediately captured attention. Byron straightened from where he stood at Malik’s side, crossing his arms and hardening his expression.
“Maddox.” Byron’s voice was a warning. Kamari, seated nearby, looked up sharply, his weariness quickly fading.
Maddox stopped near the bed, his eyes fixed on Malik. After a long pause, he spoke. “He’s thinner than I remember.” His tone was calm, almost distant, as if the words were meant for himself. Then, his gaze shifted to Byron. “How long has he been like this?”
Byron ignored the question. “What do you want, Maddox?”
Maddox turned his sharp gaze to Byron. “I want to bring him back to Arkea. Our healers—”
“Not a chance,” Byron interrupted, his voice firm. “He’s not strong enough to travel that far. I’ve already arranged for him to be taken to Ahwahl.”
"Ahwahl? I wouldn't suggest—"
"You have no say in where he goes."
Maddox’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping. “No say? He’s my son.”
“Your son?” Byron snapped, his voice rising. “You waited this long to acknowledge that? Where were you when he needed you before, Maddox? You didn’t care about him then, and you don’t get to claim him now.”
Maddox didn’t flinch, his gaze steady. “The time wasn’t right before. But it is now.”
Byron stepped closer. “How convenient. After everything Malik has been through, you show up now?”
“I had my reasons. Ones you wouldn’t understand. What matters now is that I’m here.”
“Not for him, you’re not,” Byron shot back. “He’s under Ceiala’s care. Whatever you’re here for, it’s not Malik.”
Maddox shifted slightly, his gaze flicking to Kamari, who had remained silent. “You don’t trust me. That’s clear,” Maddox said. “But I’m not here to argue.” Maddox turned his attention fully to him, his piercing gaze unsettling. “You carry the Phoenix Core. Why haven’t you healed him yet?”
Kamari stiffened. “I tried,” he said, his voice quieter. “The Core healed his body but couldn’t bring him back. It’s beyond my power.”
Maddox’s expression was unreadable as he slowly stepped closer to Kamari. “Then you lack mastery over its power,” he said bluntly. “But that can change. Come with me to Arkea, and I’ll train you. You’ll learn to wield the Core fully—not just to heal Malik’s body, but his soul.”
Kamari blinked, clearly taken aback. He glanced at Malik, uncertainty flickering across his face. Byron, however, stepped between them.
“No,” Byron said firmly. “Kamari doesn’t need your help. I won't let you use him for one of your schemes.”
Maddox spread his hands in mock surrender. “This isn’t a scheme, Byron. It’s an opportunity. The Phoenix Core is a force beyond mortal comprehension. Without proper guidance, Kamari will never unlock its full potential. If he wants to help Malik, truly help him, he’ll need that power.”
Kamari stood slowly, his expression conflicted. “Even if that’s true,” he said, his voice steady but wary, “I’m not leaving Malik. Not now.”
Maddox’s eyes lingered on him. “Very well. But the offer stands. We leave for Arkea at the end of the week. Should you change your mind... I’ll be waiting.”
He turned to Malik and briefly stared at his unconscious form. His face was devoid of emotion, but the intensity of his gaze made Kamari shift uncomfortably.
Maddox’s eyes darted back to Kamari. “Don't let him down.” After saying this, he turned and strode out of the infirmary.
Byron exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Stay away from him, Kamari. He's plotting something and isn't to be trusted."
Kamari hesitated, glancing at Malik, then toward the door Maddox had exited. His voice was quiet but conflicted. “I know... but what if he’s right?”
“He’s not. Whatever he offers, it will come with a cost. And we will all pay for it.”