The trip back home had Janir jittery, both anxious and curious about what his uncle had to say. Reimar had taken his carriage back; it was plainly decorated, and the paint was dull and old; it was unremarkable compared to what Nobels would ride on. Janir found Reimar strange; he was a blend of authoritative with decisions and a loyalist to ideas. He was quiet but firm in his voice at the council. Janir, for the first time, thought his uncle to be an enigma.
Janir wanted to ask him questions about the meeting and what had transpired. Janir wished to know if his uncle had been among the others who had decided on the fate of the Elyseens and their power over the council and sovereigns stripped so easily. Or even perhaps how he encountered the mystery figure they call Isandul. And the rumour he had heard from the terrains was that they were all related. Is Elthralme truly on the brink of ruins?
Finally, each carriage arrived at the gates of his estate. There were many questions to ask, but only one made its way out of Janir’s mouth.
“What business did you have with the Truthseeker?” Janir asked, his tone curious and inquisitive. Out of all the questions, this one seemed more manageable to ask.
Reimar looked confused before finally catching on. “Ah, you mean Illyia Rastiel? Well, she is,” he said, pausing and looking at Janir. Then he said, “Let’s continue this talk in your father’s study.” He looked up at one of the tall windows at the building entrance.
Janir found himself looking up there, too, only to find his mother’s ever-looming figure. Always watching. Whose eyes and gaze were ubiquitous.
There she stood tall and proud, two ladies in waiting framed at each side three steps back, like minions awaiting orders. She looked regal in her formal dress, though Janir had never seen her in anything but formal attire; everything she did, she did so meticulously. She looked at them as if she could read their minds. Maybe she could. After what felt like moments, she stepped away from the window with a proud turn of her chin held high as if they bore her. Her entourage followed suit, their gaze glued to their feet. Janir didn’t blame them; even he found it hard to stare at her probing eyes.
“Ah… yes, let’s”, janir answered, his eyes never wavering from his mother’s until she stepped away first. If he had looked away first, then he would have felt like he had lost the battle of nerves. It was silly, but still, he found ways to defy her dominance and control of him in any way he could, and for the most part, it was only through this he could have his small victories. Small or not, he’ll take it.
Once they found themselves in the study, Reimar dismissed the servants who dogged their every step. “You may take your leave of this study,” his voice was steady and assertive and not at all imperious. Janir thought he would have been a fine lord if not for his lack of talent in magic.
Janir blushed crimson when Reimar looked at him with furrowed brows. Maybe his thoughts clearly showed through his face a little too much. He’ll need to work on masking his emotions better in the future.
After a few moments of silence had passed, Janir broke the ice.
“Well, uncle?” he started in a question, “care to explain the chat between you and the Truthseeker?” He referred to Iyllia by her title. It seemed fitting as he knew very little about the woman in question, other stories told by the Common people, and the neverending gossip of the estates’ servants. Even if she was his own aunt, their connection was inconsequential.
Reimar studied him almost condescendingly. Perhaps he did not see it fit for the young lord to engage in such lowly activities as gossip. But nonetheless, he entertained the younger man’s curiosity by answering, “Illyia and I discussed… hmm,” he hummed as he searched for the right words, “an alliance of sorts.” Reimar did not elaborate further, peaking more curiosity from Janir rather than satisfaction.
“An alliance?” Janir asked, incredulous at the idea. What would their house gain from this? He ended up asking his uncle the question he thought of. “What for? We don’t need an alliance with the Rastiels. What will Father say about this! ” he asked question after question before the former could be answered. “We will lose face! What can we gain from this except for embarrassment!” his face was rosy from the rant.
Reimar’s eyes narrowed slightly at Janir’s questions, but his face remained calm, unyielding, a mask Janir had yet to crack. He turned away and strolled toward the bookshelves lining the study walls, fingers trailing along the spines as though he sought answers hidden in their dust-covered bindings. The silence stretched, tense and expectant, as Janir waited. Finally, Reimar spoke.
“It’s not about what our house gains, Janir. It’s about what we stand to lose.”
Janir stiffened, his mind racing to grasp the meaning behind those words. “Lose? What do you mean? Telram has stood for centuries. It has survived wars, famine, and the fall of kingdoms. You yourself remind me of that at every chance.”
Reimar turned back to face him, his gaze heavy, burdened by something Janir couldn’t quite place. “That is exactly the problem. We have become too complacent in our survival. We have withstood the waves of time, yes, but we have also anchored ourselves so deeply that we are blind to the storms gathering on the horizon.”
Janir’s brows furrowed. “You speak in riddles, Uncle.”
“Perhaps because the truth is best revealed in layers.” Reimar sighed and walked toward a small cabinet. He opened it, retrieving a slender, rolled-up scroll bound with a deep red ribbon. Janir’s eyes instinctively drew to it as though the scroll exuded a power of its own. His uncle placed it on the desk and unrolled it, revealing strange symbols and intricate markings that looked far older than anything Janir had ever seen. They pulsed faintly in the dim light of the study.
“What is this?” Janir whispered, his voice betraying a trace of unease.
“The writings of the First Seers. A prophecy.” Reimar’s tone was calm, but the weight of his words made Janir’s stomach knot.
“Now, Janir, what I will reveal to you... It is unknown to many; only a handful of people have been bestowed this knowledge.” Reimar’s face was a mask of seriousness, and it unsettled Janir, who had only seen it once before, and that was only that very day during the council meeting.
“A prophecy? First Seer?” many questions were floating in Janir’s, his face scrunched up in confusion, “well?”
“Yes.” Reimar pointed to one of the lines etched in an ancient script. “It is written: When the First Light dims, shadows shall rise, and the blood of the Drifter’s Blade will burn through the land, marking the end of old houses and the dawn of the unnamed and damned. Darkness will loom, and only through the blood of old times will light come out. ”
Janir’s breath caught. “The Drifter’s Blade? Blood of Old Times?” Prophecies were tricky; they bound fates to a known and unknown path if it was even accurately deciphered.
“Isandul,” Reimar confirmed softly. “The Mestraye’s Messiah. Whether he is false or not, the truth no longer matters. His rise has begun, and the Elyseens’ fall has proven that the council cannot hold power over the tides of fate. The old ways are cracking, and Telram’s name alone will not shield us.”
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“How is the fall of the Elyseen connected to this prophecy, which was only decided today?” Janir asked, but something in the way Reimar avoided his eyes made him feel queasy and suspicious.
Janir’s heart pounded in his chest. “Does father know of this? Of what the First Seer’s prophesied, of everything?”
“Of course, your father is aware of it all; he is Kaiser, after all”, Reimar sighed as if the weight of it all was far too great to carry and now that he had spilled it, he could finally breathe.
“He does?” Janir could only whisper in disbelief.
“Janir, he…he was the one that first suggested that Elyseen be removed from the group,” Reimar spoke. There was a nervous pause, like this was a revelation he didn’t wish to reveal.
“He did?” Janir asked, shaking his head as he did so, “Then… why…why didn’t he tell me?”
“I’m sure he wanted —” Reimar tried to say but was interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter.” Janir’s eyes glinted despondently as if wounded, but only briefly before he collected and cooled his expression to neutrality.
“You’re aligning with Illyia Rastiel because you believe in this prophecy?” Janir pressed, wanting to shift focus, his voice trembling slightly though he fought to steady it. “You believe this… Isandul Relarke… will bring ruin to the houses?”
Reimar’s gaze hardened. “What I believe is irrelevant. What is relevant is that the world is shifting, Janir. And Telram must choose its place before we are forced into one.”
“But Telram is strong!” Janir blurted. “We are not some fledgling family to be swept aside! You said it yourself. Our house has withstood everything! This is no different.”
Reimar’s expression softened, but the faintest shadow of sorrow flickered across his face. “You speak with pride, Janir, and I respect that. But pride is often what blinds us before a fall.”
Janir opened his mouth to argue but stopped when he noticed his uncle’s hand trembling ever so slightly where it rested atop the ancient scroll patinated over the years. Reimar was afraid. The realisation struck Janir like a blow, rattling something abstruse inside him.
“Hem”, Reimar cleared his throat, filling the awkward silence. “Right, as I was saying the —”
Janir, who couldn’t contain himself, spoke simultaneously, “The First Seers, who are they?”
“They are —” Once again, Reimar, who had started to roll the ancient scroll, was interrupted.
“And can their prophecy be truly trusted?” Janir paced back and forth across the study. The afternoon light casts a flurry of dancing shadows across the shelves from his erratic movement.
Reimar looked at him, Janir not having noticed pace a few more rounds before he halted and faced his uncle with an expectant look. Reimar waited for a few more seconds.
“Will you interrupt again?” Reimar raised an eyebrow, his tone light and jest-like.
“No…” Janir’s arms folded in defence but ultimately let them drop to his sides as he bit his lips and shook his head to signal Reimar to continue.
“Firstly, the prophecy, yes, it is legitimate”, Reimar simply explained.
“Ah...”
As if already sensing the question, Reimar answered, “It is true because it was foretold by the First Seers. Now, as to who they are,… it is better to show you.”
Reimar returned the scroll to the shelves and took out a small leatherbound book. It was plain and nondescript except for the circle embossed on the front and what looked to be a pair of hands holding a gold-painted orb between them.
“This looks like the symbol…the sigil—in front of the Drachis estate.” The last few words were whispered. “This book…”
“This book once belonged to the Drachis, the First Seer, the thirteenth house bestowed powers by the Reddark Gods,” Reimar revealed.
“Thirteenth? What do you mean, uncle?” Janir asked
“Exactly what you think.” Was the simple reply Janir was given. “There was once a thirteenth house that helped Arucanians win the war. They have long perished, but their wisdom lived through the prophecy and this book.”
“How and why did they perish? Where are they now? How did I not know this? How does no one know about their existence, their part as one of the twelve - the thirteen? People should know about this! The prophecy and about the first seers.” Janir’s head spun from all the revelations, his breath caught as he flooded Reimar with questions and statements, overwhelmed by it all.
“This is something you and I shouldn’t even know about, let alone others.” Reimar grabbed Janir’s arms, holding him tightly. His tone was urgent and alarmed. “You cannot reveal any of this to anyone!”
“What?” Janir’s eyes were wide, his arms burning from the tight hold. “Why?”
“Your father revealed all of this to me only recently. That’s why he wanted you to attend today’s meeting to learn more about the world.” Reimar’s hold grew tighter, his eyes a piercing gaze drilling into Janir’s.
“My father wanted me to know?” Janir repeated, seemingly lost in the complexities of their conversation.
“He did. He wants you to know so we can prepare for what’s coming.” Reimar noticed the strained expression on Janir’s face and realised that he had still held him with an iron grip, so he loosened his hold.
Janir stood there for what seemed like hours, rubbing his arms as he felt tingles shoot up and down their lengths. Finally, he asked, “How did he come to have this?” He reached for the book from his uncle’s hand. “And the scroll, too?”
“The chosen Kaisar is bestowed these items during procession passing it down and keeping secret from the others but ensuring that they are prepared for when the time that the prophecy comes to life,” Reimar revealed.
“Why the secrecy?” Janir asked, finding himself drawn to the book. He flipped the cover and found that it was blank. “This has nothing written on it… what?”
“Jahas told me that this,” Reimar tapped the book in Janir’s hands. “It was bound with a special enchantment that only revealed its secret to each ruling Kaiser and binds them to silence about all the knowledge within. Same with the scroll.”
“Then how did I tell you about it? And you, me?” Janir quickly asked.
“I don’t know all the details, but he told me that the magic protecting the book weakened at one point, and he was able to break the enchantments that bound his silence, but the writings of the books have disappeared. Only what is written on the scroll remains.” Reimar pulled the chair from the desk and sat, his eyes vacant and glazed. “He believes that the magic weakening of it is related to the drifter’s messiah. And I, too, believe it.”
“You think so too…” It wasn’t a question, just a statement that made janir think deeper.
“Yes.” Reimar’s hand fisted tightly on top of the desk. His expression strained as beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his nostrils flared, and his cheeks flushed red. “There’s some I didn’t reveal to the council… the messiah.”
Janir clung to every word and urged, “Go on, uncle.”
“He spoke to me—well, he implanted a message in my mind. It was invasive, and it felt—” Reimar, seemingly lost in the messiah’s words, as it echoed again in his mind like a song. “ He said: It is the time that our world will be cleansed of darkness, and a new era shall begin with the fall of the great houses.”
Janir said nothing, walked towards the desk where Reimar sat, and pulled the chair in front. His head hung low as if in deep contemplation. And not for the first time, he felt that his uncle was someone he didn’t know well. He had dismissed him as a simple man, yet here he was, having gone through something profound.
“Deep inside, I know you feel it, too; something strange is happening in our world. We must prepare while the others continue their childish grasping for power.” Reimar’s voice caught at the end.
He added his tone to a solemn song, “If we do not, not only will we lose our powers, but we will also perish like the First Seers. And now the Elyseens.”
The house’s walls seemed to close in, the familiar creak of wood suddenly sinister, the faint sound of wind outside like the whisper of the prophecy itself. His thoughts spun in chaos: their proud house, the fake messiah, the Truthseeker’s cryptic involvement and now the prophecies of men who have long gone from their world.
Janir didn’t want to believe any of it. Believing in it gives it life and the power to come true as if his denials will halt its existence from coming true. Why, then, did his skin prickle at the thought? Why had he felt so scared?
“Uncle…” Janir spoke hesitantly. “You speak as if it is already too late to stop this. Is it?”
Reimar stared at him long before shaking his head, though his answer lacked conviction. “No, not yet. There is still time to prepare. Time to secure alliances. But make no mistake, Janir…”
He leaned closer, his voice lowering as though afraid the very walls might hear. Janir leaned in as well.
“…if we are not ready when the storm breaks, we will fall like all the others.”
Their House, Telram, was the first family to rebel and lead armies against the Drifter’s Gods. From this, they gained their name in history as the Sword of the First Light, and when the other houses were surmounted by other noble houses, they stood their ground. They showed the world their power and kept it throughout the centuries. Their house has withstood all, and it will not crumble, no, not to the threats of ancient words written by a fallen house or a messiah claiming to cleanse their world. Janir will not allow it. He could not allow it.
Janir swallowed hard, his mouth dry. For the first time, the proud legacy of House Telram felt like a shackle around his neck, and the weight of the future—of prophecies and wars—pressed down on his shoulders.
“What must we do?” Janir asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Reimar gave him a grim smile. “You must learn the truth of this world, Janir, and soon because they will come for you—for us—whether we are ready or not. But for now, let’s start with an alliance that will strengthen our house.”