Janir

Here and now.

Rumours were flying everywhere; Elthralme's magic was weakening, and those of the great houses scrambled to maintain the power that had upheld their positions. They had also started to spread the idea that the Drifters would have a chance to rule.

"As if" Janir could only mentally scoff at the ridiculous tales run by the council of Mestrayeh.

A council of nobodies. They wanted people to panic and cause a stir within his people's ranks. That in itself was laughable since it was impossible. No Drifter can compete with an Arucanian. It was a distinction between demigods and humans.

So these people made the Mestraye, a union that helped to civilise and unite the division between the two beings. It was a way for those who held no power to be heard, for most parts suffered by Drifters. Although the group mainly consisted of Drifters, the low-born Arucanains represented them in their own council. Did they genuinely have a say in how they were represented? Janir found himself pondering the irony.

It was fair to say that no righteous and noble blood would think to desecrate their honour and prestige by being associated with such unions. Low-born Arucanains were sometimes called Halflings by nobles and royalty, and this was all because they weren't born into nobility; it didn't matter that they wielded the power of The Reddarks—the true gods.

Although the Halflings' birth status indicates they were born with none, their abilities still separate them from the Drifters and how they are treated. This meant that with this power, they could climb the ranks of nobility. After all, titles can be earned, magic not so much.

Janir could not relate. How could he? He had lived his whole life as the sole heir of his family's title as one of the Pillars Adrovi. So why fight to climb when he was already at the top.

Arucanians had bodies and souls built to wield power to pull and bend the aether of their plane into magic. Transforming what needed to be changed, his people created the society to be what it was. An empire that could withstand a hundred thousand years and will do so for more.

Although most Arucanians would deny their linked ancestry with the Drifters to the first men, it was undeniably apparent that they were only lucky that when the war between the Reddark Gods and the Onhor Gods commenced, the Arucanians were on the winning side. And for this victory, they were awarded the powers of the heavens.

The Drifters, however, were abandoned, with nothing to defend themselves with and were left entirely mundane. No gift of strength or speed, their bodies decaying to mere sickness and disease before their eyes. Relying on food for sustenance, for they could not draw life from the aethers in the air they breathed or the ground they stood over. As a result, they were weak and vulnerable, easily oppressed by their lackings. The Arucanians ruled and flourished for centuries, assuming the place of the long-departed Gods. Men became gods that day.

But somehow, Janir could not help but think that they were free even in their pathetic state. Free to choose their life.

Though that word does not entirely define their situation, their freedom did not exactly exempt their struggles from their own circumstances, such as having lands and high societal rankings, giving the Arucanian privileges beyond imagination. Although this was true in hindsight, the Drifters were not bound to the responsibilities of being a power wielder. Because they, the Arucanians, much like the Drifters, are slaves, but to the power they hold.

The Drifters were free from these responsibilities that shackled the Arucanians. Apparently, even those with magic had trouble upholding their duties. At least, this was how it felt for Janir.

To maintain this power, they upheld themselves to the gods' standards, but they were only fools playing the game that was life. They laugh at the Drifters and the direness of being powerless, yet they are in constant war among other nations and empires for their people to remain on top. They have even turned on each other. The greatest Empire that Elthralme has ever known, Ardovi, was in a silent civil war among its rulers. Janir, although a young boy, had seen it over; even amongst his own family, this was an evident struggle.

Fathers killing their sons and brothers killing their brothers, mothers killing their healthy daughters whilst praying for another child, a son. So many families fall, and another rises in its wake. It does not matter who sits at the top; as long as there is a ladder, the rest climb and work to depose those who sit on top. These were the rules of their world, Ethralme, kill or be killed. And none, not even an Arucanian, could transgress against them.

It was a tiring cycle. One Janir intends to break out of. When Janir becomes a ruling lord, he plans to break this rigid cycle and become the Kaiser who rules not for years but for centuries to come. Then there will be no ladder for when he rules. There will only be him atop.

But before all that, he had to compete with the other eleven contenders. Twelve contenders, if the royal line was included in the mix, though, honestly, they were figureheads, merely there to submit to the true rulers of this Ardovi and the rest of Elthralme, the Twelve.

Janir would like to think that it was unfortunate that he had such tough competition replacing the eleven current sacred rulers, but honestly speaking, it made him even more excited. Winning the title of Kaiser is one thing, but to say that he beat out the most tenacious of all contenders in the tens of hundreds of generations that have participated will be his legacy. And it would make his father, the current Kaiser, leader of the Twelve, proud.

Janir could only smile as he thought of the future. The future that he hoped would come sooner rather than later. But he was only in his young teenage years. There will be more opportunities to show his skills, but for now, he must consider representing his family to the best of his abilities. If he must be cordial, he will be; if asked to bow to the elders, he shall.

"Are you ready, my son?" A gentle voice interrupts his musing. He hadn't heard any knocking on his door.

He turned away from the grand windows of his room to face his mother; she was dressed in layers of soft silken chiton that draped past her skirt and billowed with the movements of the wind; she looked as polished as the cadence of her voice.

An angel descended from above. At least, that was how people have described her.

"I only need a moment, Lady Telram", he answered, his voice clipped and curt, maintaining a polite tone.

If it was not clear to anyone how close the two were, they would have guessed with how he greeted his mother with icy indifference. An indifference one gives not a stranger but an enemy or, perhaps even worse, a fouled friend.

She took another step forward towards Janir.

He stared hard at her approach. It mimicked a prey cornered by the predator. It was brief, but Janir saw it, her, smiling deeply. It reached up to her eyes, but it held no warmth that one would associate with mothers. His mouth turned downwards, and his brows furrowed. She, perhaps, was pleased at the discomfort she brought him.

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"I see that you have been out in town", she stated simply.

Janir held his breath, only letting it out once she stopped a couple of steps away from where he stood before changing her course of action and heading straight past him and towards the window where he stood before.

Janir stood frozen, trying to figure out how to respond. How did she know?

No one had seen him sneak out, and he had been back before anyone could enter his room, let alone be seen by his mother, whose primary residence was the west wing, a complete opposite from where he lived. A residence in which she never leaves, at least not to merely check up on her son's affairs.

"Ahem," Janir cleared his throat.

He was about to tell a fib, but the glacial gaze his mother had halted him from doing so, and instead, he decided to tell the truth or at least some of it, "Yes, I did; there have been rumours circulating-" He stated, gauging for her reaction. If she did react, then she made sure not to show it.

"- you, see, they were strange and damning to us, to our people." He stated. His voice sounded like the rambles of a child; he hated that.

Janir continued when she said nothing, "It's about the magic, the magic... our magi-"

"There are always rumours circulating, my dear", his mother elegantly remarked, interrupting his speech. "most are fabricated falsehoods people tell themselves to feel much better about their own situation," her eyes piercing grey regard, no emotions, not even contempt. Something she was used to showing him.

"Now," she paused and walked straight to him, stopping so they were face to face and only a few breaths away. The hairs on Janir's arm stood to attention, aware of every movement she took.

"I. Do. Not. Want. To. Hear of your explorations in the Sub-terrains, not from you, and especially not from outsiders, common nobodies of the Drachis estate. You are a member of the Twelve, so do not lower yourself and your name. That would be far more damning than anything you'll hear from the scurring mouths of rats and vermins."

The Twelve, Janir's lips curled in a slight scowl, angered by his mother's words and himself for his own continued ignorance.

It was both an honour and a stigma to carry such a title. Though only a select few in this world will be born an Arucanian, and even fewer can say they are of noble birth amongst the group, so to be one of the Twelve is, in a way, mystically rare. Rare enough that there are only twelve in this world, Janir reflected, embarrassed by his carelessness.

It is so arcane that only those bearing the Holy Artefacts can be part of this assembly.

They were the twelve original families who fought on the Reddark God's side. They were gifted with artefacts that held unique magic of their own and were passed down from generation to generation.

These have remained the same family throughout the hundreds of centuries that have gone and passed. Although he did not want to admit it, it was true what his mother had said; he could not tarnish his reputation without tarnishing that of his family and the Houses of the Twelve. He will be careful, Janir thought seriously. No, he will be cautious from now on. A simple slip can mean a huge downfall.

Janir's eyes narrowed as he nodded his head in agreement.

But it got him thinking about how he often sneaks out, and while he made his way to the centre of town, he used the abandoned wing of the Drachis estate to do so. It was the part of town no one ventured to as it was known to be cursed and doomed. But to Janir, it made for the perfect spot to hide his trails and sneak away without the prying eyes of others.

So, learning that his mother knew of his exploits in town made him weary of what else she knew about him. He thought about exactly where he had frolicked and explored. He hoped that her knowledge was only as deep as knowing that he had snuck away from their estate.

"Yes, mother," he simply answered, not wanting more lectures.

He'll have to find another way to get around, and he will not stop. His need to explore will not be deterred by this incident; he just needed to be more stealthy in his exploits. Janir was conniving enough that it didn't worry him too much, but he would have to be cautious of his mother's prying eyes, at least for a while.

A moment had passed before he noticed that his mother was no longer in his room and realised that she had been there to heed a warning, one he would be wise to follow.

Though Janir has been praised for his genius magic talents, many don't know that it was usually fuelled by his reckless ambitions to explore the unknown. The Sub-terrain and Drachis estate was part of the unknown, where strange dark arts are performed, and wild rumours fly. It was incredibly enticing to a curious young man like himself.

That was where rumours like magic dying and the powerful seats of the High lords crumbling started. Or at least that was what he had initially thought until he, himself, went and investigated.

Janir was far from superstitious, but as a magic wielder, he had long felt the strangeness of the sphere, and the infrequent surges and fluctuations of the magic flow were enough for him to investigate what was causing it.

He was sure it was not only him who had sought answers and clues as to why the strangeness started.

So far, he knew that this rumour had not come from the Drifters of the terrains or any Drifter, for that matter, but was instead started by a foreign Arucanian. Someone from outside of the Ardovi Empire.

A mystery man or woman of some sort. One that seeks to gain the power and authority of one of the Twelve. It was an incredulous idea by anyone's standard. Still, Janir knew he needed to be the one to solve this mystery because no one had ever been able to rally the Drifters and Arucanians, even if they were low-born, ever in their long-standing history. That feat alone was nothing to scoff at.

The line between those who wielded power and those who didn't was starting to blur with this alliance. Although Janir wasn't an elitist, he knew those social structures stood for something.

A society of anarchy is one full of chaos and madness. Two critical ingredients for a catastrophic war.

Perhaps if he could come up with answers, it would boost his reputation. A good reputation was one of the qualities that make you a Kaiser, so why not start there, he thought.

He must have stood there pondering and scheming about everything he learnt from the Sub-terrains before a clear baritone voice broke through the silence. Another intruder in Janir's space interrupted his pondering, and he was aggravated by the fact. He was the young master of his House. When will people respect that fact?

"My lord, the meeting will commence soon; it's best to leave now so we make it in time" A reminder rather than a command, his estates chief of commander, Eskir Stughfen, stated.

Eskir was a loyal subject of House Telram. He had ranked highly in the Fields of Woe during his squire days, and with that achievement, he had the honour of serving one of the twelve houses should they choose him. '

Janir's father, Jashas, had chosen him.

"And what about the duke, my father?" Janir asked, trying to sound nonchalant or even bored with his tone.

"His sire left the estate for urgent business in the Northern Alps," Eskir answered accordingly, composed with a calmness that comes from years of practice.

"And what of the meeting?" Janir asked the man, trying to sound mature and serious, his brows furrowing in confusion and slight panic.

He had been told just a few nights before the meeting. And the notice sent out from the Tower indicated the full presence of the Houses. That meant serious business. He could not afford to be late.

"Your uncle lord Reimar will attend for your father's sake." Eskir's tone grew more impatient with every minute wasted on the conversation.

This annoyed Janir, with the blunt man before his eyes, and he continued to study him for a good minute.

Eyeing him with eagle focus, then turning his eyes back to the lush gardens to his windows.

The man was of average height, but his build made up for his lack of height, for he was on the burly side. His limbs corded with tight muscles and imbued with protective tattoos marring his skin. For someone who was only three decades old, he looked much older. The years must not have been kind to him, Janir presumed, feeling better after the childish thought.

Even though he knew it was not Eskir's fault that his father had left for something else instead of accompanying Janir for his first meeting at the Tower, he wanted to direct his pettiness and disappointment somewhere. It just happened to be at another man's expense.

"I see," Janir remarked simply, unmoving from the ledge of his grand widow overlooking the east of the estate.

In the palm of Janir's hand, an orb of flaming red flares burst with life, floating up in a dance before dispersing back to the centre. He channelled the nervous energy that swirled from within his core with an extravagant display of power. He thought this would hide his nervous jitters from the observant man.

The power of the Reddark Gods flowed through Janir. He was one of the chosen ones, the lucky ones, born with the power to use the energy of the Soltice World where all powers reside, to bend and shift this energy into a force of nature, to shift matter into any form, or even willing it to take shape into a weapon lethal to others. This was all true, but why, then, was it so hard for Janir to feel anything but weak and useless?

Janir felt the other man shift from one foot to another, but he knew it was not from awe or intimidation but rather from impatience. This infuriated Janir further; however, this only proved that he lacked the skill and power.

Janir had schooled his expression to be neutral before he fully turned to Eskir. He could not show the discomfort that he feels when he is amongst his parents and their subordinates.

"Then we better go." He added, his tone resentful this time while a smile that was far too wide and far too forced was plastered across his face.

It was time to face the monsters of Elthralme, the ones whose words were law and magic, their power. Janir wanted to see - no, he needed to know what he needed to become to be one of those monsters.

To survive in this world, one must not fear the beast that lives inside them but rather embrace the monstrosity and let it grow stronger and fiercer than any other. If Janir knew nothing else in this world, he surely knew this fact.