Chapter 1

“Ah, Adalus you will look stunning before the princess of Safred.” The prince’s personal servant said, his name was Oswald, he was dark brown skinned and it seemed like his skin illuminated near light, he had hazel colored eyes with golden specks around his pupils, and was a tall fellow with nice curly hair, an athletic build who hunched his back anytime he shrugged. He wore glasses occasionally, but most of the time his bare face was all you needed to see to put you in a good mood. When asked why he wore glasses sometimes he would always reply with, “because it’s fun to make people speculate about worthless things.” Prince Adalus was a man, but a boy as well. He thought of himself in simple terms, “handsome, smart, funny, knowledgeable,” but if you asked anyone else what they thought of him, they had some choice words for the lad. “Dumb, useless, practically nonexistent, oxygen thief, weak, could be more useful but isn't," and many more. Now Adalus was aware of how other people viewed him, and how most people tolerated his presence solely because he was the prince, but he didn’t care because why care.

“I don’t know Oswald; I can’t marry someone I don’t love just because our country is weak. They're all pretentious nobles, they know the reason why we’re feeble, we lack resources to maintain a border across the mountain, quell a cultist threat, and defend against potential desert demons, ” Adalus said, “we don’t even know where our sacred weapon is.” He whispered. It was a contained issue that no one besides Oswald, the King, General Castavaros Colton, his son Edgar Colton, Anders the Judge and Adalus truly knew what happened to the kingdom’s sacred weapon. They just have a cheap imitation. The king walked in just as Oswald finished combing his curly hair, he bowed to the king and left the room.

“In just a while you will be off with the princess of Safred somewhere doing something ‘important’ I dare say,” said King Zavachi in his soft, yet stern voice. “Adalus, you must marry her to strengthen your country. You know our history, where the townsfolk originated from. The kingdom of Safred may unite with other countries to wipe us off the map for having heretics within our midst, and no. It is not just a tumbling fear that I have.” During the events of the 70 years war, there was a separate faction of heretics that did as the demons commanded, they gave up their women and children to the demons, fought alongside them, carried out sabotages for them, and did all they could to further the defeat of the Coalition. Many of those saboteurs and traitors were grandmothers and grandfathers of most of the residents of Lydon, but the current residents do not share the same affections towards demons as their ancestors did. At least thats what they say, whenever they are questioned.

“Yes father, I know,” Adalus said letting out a heavy sigh, his father frequently reminded him how much the common people were descendants of heretics, “they are ungodly people, they worshiped the demons and gave birth to half-demon babies, they gave human sacrifices to them and they are-”

“crooked.” King Zavachi finished “Low-class people are of no use to the kingdom except to provide basic income for our economy with their trades, and businesses, but when push comes to shove they can be meat-shields on the frontlines. Servant girl!” He shouted with a clap of his hands, “bring me some rum.” A small girl not much older than the prince scurried into the room and handed him his royal goblet--it was a golden chalice lined with golden mesh leaves--filled with the orange rum he loves so much, and left the same way she came in. Adalus always wondered why she was always prepared with the rum, so he stalked her one day. King Zavachi had given her and other servants their own wing in the castle, directly below Adalus and the second floor west wing. The palace was a two story fortress, on the outside it looked lovely, peaceful, and serene with its white stone pillars pointing guests and royalty towards the giant doors that open onto a dark red carpet that led to steps and stairs. The silver chandelier hovering above after stepping inside is reminiscent of a trap, but the rest of the decor is quite tame: no paintings, no portraits, no swords aligning the walls. Just a carpet and a chandelier, and doors. There were 30 rooms in the palace: four of those rooms were towers that protruded out the top of the four corner points of the palace, there were two wings, west and east and each wing had six rooms for both floors. The two remaining rooms were secret areas unknown to most. Adalus didn't know much about his father's kingship or how he came to power but he did envy his place. He saw him as unfit for the throne, he sometimes thought that his father was too stupid to be a king, 'he didn't know the basic art to being royalty. There is an artistic style to being a king, yet he lacks it all from outward appearances to inward structure. Some things have got to change, something had to be done.' After King Zavachi finishes his rum he pats his belly, gets up, and heads for his quarters.

“Father, wait,” Adalus shouted, rushing after him. He turned around and looked at him.

“What, what, what do you want?” He said irritably.

“Father, can I go into the town to see the people?” Adalus pleaded.

“I don’t know why you want to continue your little study of the people,” he said with much disgust. “fine, take some guards with you, you never know what those retarded bastards may do next.” This he said with a shake of his head. King Zavachi's distaste for his own people was directly related to his waning interactions with them over the years and the gossip going around about his endeavors.

There are constant rumors floating around the castle concerning the King such as rumors of how the King has an affair with one of the nobleman's wife, his friend the Duke of Easthound. They’ve said that Dolores, the King’s servant girl, has seen him leading the nobleman's wife to his quarters by her hand. Though most of them are tall tales, they carry a lot of weight, but the worst is what Edgar sometimes tells Adalus about what his father says. He told him that General Colton has been mentioning that the King secretly knows where the cloak is, and that he goes and plays with it. The two guards met the prince at the landing of the second floor, the two were the captain of the guard and his second in command, Samson and Barren respectively; Samson had dirty blonde hair, high cheekbones that always did him well with the ladies, strapping broad shoulders and dark blue eyes that mirrored the ocean. Barren, on the other hand, had braids of chestnut hair tied behind his neck, he had a triangular chin, brown eyes, and light brown skin.

“Prince Adalus, where are we going?” Barren asked, as they saddled up on their horses and rode the slope down into the city.

“Let’s head to that tavern we always go to. The Blue Bear.” The Blue Bear was a classy tavern where many people from nobles to simple gravediggers enjoyed it's music, it's food, and the alcohol.

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“You know, Prince Adalus, if there is something that is bothering you, we can discuss it.” He says while Samson nods his head.

“It’s nothing, nothing at all.” Adalus enjoyed spending his time with the men and their friends, but he valued alone time more than anything. After his unimaginable exodus from the Lydon Royal Academy, he took his one talent in conversion magic and has been honing his ability, while training in swordsmanship with the guards. Conversion magic is a give and take, while Illusion magic focuses on masking objects as other objects, conversion magic strives to trade the positions of objects. Usually the student would start off trading the places of a grain of rice, or a pebble until they can move up to trading places with space itself using just your voice proving a mastery of the magic, the downside to studying conversion magic is the massive drawback of consuming too much energy, making many vulnerable on the battlefield. They entered the tavern and took a table closest to the washroom. A server girl came over and asked them what they wanted to drink. Samson told her two grogs of mead and a cup of wine she nodded and walked off. Adalus wanted to spend time alone, and his guards knew he would sneak out, and they would just go along with it because he always made it back to the castle before nightfall.

“Samson, Barren, please excuse me. I must use the washroom.” Adalus said, getting up from the table.

“Alright then. Just call us if you need anything.” Barren said, the server girl came back with the drinks and plopped them on the table.

With that Adalus quickly walked off to the washroom which was conveniently next to a window. Adalus looked back watching Samson and Barren chugging their drinks and quickly got to the window, pushed open the window, he put hands on the windowsill and lifted his feet first up and out the window while the rest of his body followed. Adalus hastily ran past the stables into the dirty streets and hid in an alleyway with a good view of the tavern. He watched the tavern doors for a while and entered the shadow of the alley and made a left down the street. Right into another alley. Over a small bridge. Right. Left. He stopped once his mouth felt dry and his belly kept rumbling, he looked for a tavern which was hard to do because most of the buildings looked the same. Some were made of wood others out of stone, but they all had the same color of a dirty brown. Until he saw a mosaic of a raven with oil poured on it above one of the buildings, so he walked in. It was nothing compared to the Blue Bear; the paint was peeling in some places and very dull, the floor was made of wood, and some floorboards were cracked in some places and when he walked up to the counter all the voices stopped.

They all stared right at him as if he was a dirty mangy rat walking all over their food. A dirty, scrawny, foul-smelling rat with beady eyes and mud covered paws. Adalus felt uncomfortable and looked at the tavern keeper's chin and said “Do you have any ale, and maybe some bread?” His throat was parched, and his lips were dry. The tavern keeper was initially cleaning a grog, but he threw the towel over his shoulder and placed both hands on the counter, clenched. He lowered his head so he was level with Adalus’ eyes.

“Why don't you go back to your castle and get some, leech! You people constantly raise the taxes, making it hard for us regular people to do something as simple as have food everyday!” He shouted and then a torrent of insults filled the tavern, one patron picked up his grog and threw it right into Adalus’ face. Which was confusing, because it was full. Adalus wiped his wet face with his hands and left the tavern, he slid into an alleyway to the side of the tavern. He stopped and put his ear to the wall to hear anything. He could hear an uproar of voices, but he was able to focus on a high-pitched voice closest to the wall; it was a small child asking a question over the sea of other voices.

“ -hat man?” he asked

“That man, rather boy, was Adalus Adair the prince of Lydon.” A woman who was probably their mother replied

“Why did they call him names?”

“What they said is all true. You’re old enough to understand, so I'll tell you more about this place: long ago before there was this king, this place used to be a wealthy kingdom called Lydon. We were friends with one demon in particular from the Valley of Woe, that demon is Vinnig the Demon of the East. He was a tri-.” Four black hooded figures crept up on Adalus, quickly binding his hands, placing a black hood over his head and a noose around his neck. A firm male voice told him to walk, and they pulled him and walked him for quite a long time.

“Stop.” he said, “Now, do ya ‘ave any weapons on ya body?’

“I don't know.” Adalus decided to be coy, the most he could surmise was that these people were part of a gang.

“ Is that a yes or no because I could slit your throat right now.” A female voice says. Someone yanks the hood off his head and he’s in a room with one light coming from a fireplace behind him, the noose is still around his neck, but it’s attached to a thick wooden beam above his head.

“Now we’re going to ask ya a coupl’a questions. If we think yur telling the truth we migh’ nah’ put a hah’ coal down yur trousers okay.” the guy from earlier says with a thick East Lydon dialect. “First off, wha’ is yur full name?”

“Darion Demicastor, and what is your name?”

“I said we were askin’ the questions, and our name don' concern ya.” He pokes Adalus in the chest with his fingers, his nails were quite sharp.

“Why did you do this?”

“Look ‘ere buddy boy,” he says and pulls out a knife he puts it right on Adalus’ nose. “I already explained to ya tha’ we will be askin’ the questions and ya can shu’ the ‘ell up. Ya got no power ‘ere, so if ya really jus’ wants ta’ die. I'll be ‘appy to oblige.” He says with a tap of his knife. The East Lydon Dialect is actually quite funny to hear sometimes because they skip certain letters and replace others, so Adalus couldn’t help, but let a little chuckle out.

“I don't want any trouble. I just want to know what you want. I promise I won’t tell my father.” He stammered out trying to hold his laugh.

“We’re getting nowhere, he’s probably doing this on purpose to stall for his guards to come find him.” The girl cuts in.

“Yur righ’, now you’re gonna ‘elp us. Before ya ask or say anything jus shut up and listen. See we received some news tha’ the Army of Lydon will be receiving some shipmens of weapons from the Kingdom of Safred so…-we both know where this is goin- you will use your status and we will take ‘em. If ya know wha’ I’m sayin. We leave when the moon is shining brigh’, so be ready it's almost time.”

“Why should I help you?” Adalus didn’t want to be sighted anywhere near a gang.

“Simple, because if you don' we’ll pull this rope till you’re gaspin’ for air.”

“This plan makes no sense, what would my presence accomplish?”

“You’re nah’ getting outta this.”

“See, even though I am a noble, I would need a written statement giving me permission to enter.”

“You’re a Demicasor, everyone knows ‘ow corrup’ Demicasor’s are, bribe ‘em!” They shut him up by quickly gagging him with a dirty rag, tying it with a rope to the back of his neck.