A city stood. It was early morning with a bright beaming ball of light peeking out over the Valoshic Sea. Warm winds from the south helped renew the city folk hoping for another prosperous day. The well-polished stone of the main road began to see the beginnings of the days foot traffic. Merchants from a few towns over to an entire ocean league away began to set up shop for today’s market. A few Blacksmiths began to feel the crackling intensity of the heat from their furnaces. A husker was in the midst of selling consecrated bread to a leathermaking wife. Many more went about their day. Leathermakers, bankers, sailors, government officials. It was going to be quite the busy day for the city of Muror, a city that stood.
East and a bit away from this myriad hubbub, beheld Muror Castle. Bleak grey and black granite walls cored with wooden stabilizers and soft sandstone. While the walls held true, it was purely built for bureaucratic purposes. Few crenellations and no machicolations were manufactured onto the walls. It was here the duke and his wife managed the city and lands much further inland. But they took on a different job depending on the time. Every few decades, another Whilen Ray would be born among the populace. It was the Dukes duty given by his brother to raise these newborns into excellent territorial bureaucrats. One such was child was there now within the parties’ care, waking up for a very special day.
Daniel woke up in a not too well-mannered mood, likely due to an over extended amount of time spent reading the night before.
Damn, must take a break from reading ancient politics. perhaps head into town for once…
Throwing off the wool blanket and onto the carpeted floor, he grudgingly looked at the mess he made from the night before.
His current occupation was that of an avid reader in his hosts library. Along the many tables and upholstery spread out across the room was books. Books on books on books nearly towering up into the ceiling. When he became able enough to move around at three years old, he read night and day. It was the sweet Dahlila that helped in learning this strange language, idioms, and word. Days, months, years flew by while encompassing the knowledge held within the walls. Here the world stood on polished wood bounded by strips of leather. It was home, sanctuary. After a month recently of not leaving the room, the husband of Dahlila, Duke Leto, his honorable host as well as self-declared father, moved his bed to the room.
He had assimilated the knowledge held within at a pace of a short few years. He learned of his surroundings. The people, the era, and today he was apparently finding out his raison d’etre. The Duke, his current benefactor, gave no more clue into what could conclude today on his sixth birthday. But it was to be special evidently, a rite all Whilen Ray came to undertake. And pass he would with flying colors, it was beyond a fact.
6 years had passed. 6 long arduous years. Each one tempting further and further toward an already reached conclusion. Daniel, another adopted child among the many over the past century, was intelligent. Overwhelmingly so to the point that any hint of a child like persona was to be smashed and erased. Early on, it proved quite easily that toys nor children of similar age held him back. By the age of 3, the child was already learning the language of the Eternal Sun or simply Whit` in depth and by the year that marked his fourth year, no cradle of knowledge could be held back. This unending hunger that seemed to plague this child did not stop at the social agenda but proceeded to read voraciously through his own precious Kashan Library.
And because of all this Leto the duke was in a hurry, quite the hurry in fact. He had the servants wake him up shortly before dawn leaving his sweet Dahlia asleep. (DESCRIPTION OF CLOTHES AND BODY) And now it was time to move, act, to fully correct his suspicions. Leaving from the main bed chambers, Leto continued moving toward the destination. Today was a special day, a special birthday for all Whilen Ray. Today was the morning of the sixth birthday.
Leto’s eyes creased toward the brow, thinking about how the rest of the day might find itself. Today could in fact be a day filled with worthlessness. Nothing will change, the status quo held, and the child would move out at the age of 15. But… if not, if hope were to be found in this child, every Whilen in the land would have lives greatly altered. Passing along the numerous embrasures held throughout the stone hallway, memories moved forward and tow. He thought back to a time when these lands were still warm and prosperous. And he remembers the stories his father would tell him, one passed through word of mouth among every Whilen from generation to generation. It could not be written in the Word of Lith. Such a thing would flaunt hope to the oppressors, where it would be grinded, smashed, and ripped into oblivion and erased from memory.
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“O Holy Saviour, Friend unseen,
Since on Thine arm Thou bid'st us lean,
Help us throughout life's changing scene
By faith to cling to Thee.
When far from home, fatigued, oppressed,
In Thee we found our place of rest;
As exiles still, yet richly blest,
We cling, O Lord, to Thee.
What though the world deceitful prove,
And earthly friends and hopes remove!
With patient, uncomplaining love,
Still would we cling to Thee.
Though faith and hope are often tried,
We ask not, need not, ought beside;
So safe, so calm, so satisfied,
The soul that clings to Thee.
Blest is our lot, whate'er befall;
What can disturb or who appal?
Thou art our strength, our rock, our all,
Saviour, we cling to Thee.”
He had endured 6 years of waiting and it was time to hear the truth. Could this child be the one the save us all?
Finally reaching the precipice of Leto’s journey, the library had been reached. He took one final moment respite before knocking.
Inside he heard the child speak, “come in”, and without further ado, he did so.
After much shuffling around, tidying up books into their proper places, they both sat down before moving ahead. Leto thought it a little proper to dispose of the anxiety permeating from the boy.
“So, tell me boy, what did you read last night,” Leto queried with a beam in his smile.
A slight drop in tension Daniel felt from his shoulders over the light questioning. He responded chipper in mood, “I’m stuck reading about the continental Imperium’s again”, sighing. “These powers written down in the pages I have read, they’re fantastical. Last night, I became most fascinated with the battle of Downin. More than ever, this was the tipping point. Not simply regarding the Colored people of Agresh toppling the Willene empire but As well as-.”
“STOP BOY,” Leto screamed with fury. This child was jabbing at our ancestor’s failings all the while holding that blasted sunny-filled smile. “YOU DARE PRAISE OUR ENE- “.
Daniel rushed to stand up, arcing the chair against the far wall, plunging his hands against the worn wooden table. “Wait! Please father, I was not finished,” Daniel silently shouted, daring not to raise his voice, all the while holding a piercing gaze toward his father.
After a brief silent moment, Leto gladly took breathed out a sigh. The boy had never been like this before. Always too sharp, like a knife blade always at the ready. Always taking the correct steps ahead as if he were one of the ancient Diviners. No that would not be quite the adequate description.
Leto narrowed his eyes, breaking through the opposites piercing glare with one of his own.
Yes, a wolf disguised as sheep. A man disguised as child.
Of course, there was no way to know if his little hypothesis was correct. So, Leto simply indulged in giving the reigns to the conversation over, “continue”.
“Father, I know that I am different than most children. I am too intelligent, too mindful of my surroundings. You know this, I am too whole to act like a child,” Daniel explained with a tinge of melancholy followed by a brief lull of silence in the session.
Seeing the change in mood, Leto countered appropriately, “I know child, I know you have always been different. And I suspect you knew that today held meaning to that dissimilarity, as I hinted last night,” pausing while gaining a slight nod of confirmation from the boy. “Very well, I shall explain why our noble blood is treated with reverence on the sixth year of birth. A long time ago, when we still called ourselves an empire, there were the three Great Mothers, Sun, Hella, and Feris. With their blessings, they predicted our rise, and sadly our eventual fall by the Colors. It was fate they read and fate that in time came to pass. This you already know from what you have already voraciously studied” the man pointed out, gesturing toward the numerous books diffused throughout the room. “What you do not know was a secret prophecy passed on to us and kept secret to the general public. Given by the eldest Sun, she conveyed forth that a savior would be born centuries later. This child would bring the Whilen people out of the ashes and rot and bring about a nation more positively magnificent than any that had been built before. One strong enough to erase the Horde for good,” the duke said, grinning with the sheen of a madman.
This child,” with intensity and tone rising further, “would pulverize and demolish those Colored currently prospering in our lands!”
Fury had taken his father’s eyes hostage and spittle was moving out in droves from the mouth. Never had Daniel seen his adopted father this angry, than again most did avoid talking about the fall of the Empire. He thought back to what he had read, those blotched with shades of black, brown, and red. Difference not only in shades of hair but as well as Gods. They were truly blessed, with many being able to hold authority over supernatural energies. The God of Marco, fire. The God of Lavena, forest. And the God of Areoul, water. Through these authorities, could our own people be thrown out to the edge of the world.
The Duke took a solid breath of air and returned to look in Daniel’s eyes, poising for a question.
“They have hosted our lands through their dominions long enough, do you not think so child? Let me ask you,” taking a moment pause to clearly state the absolute magnitude of the question, are you this child, little bushkov.”
For a brief time, there was silence. Nothing could be heard. Not the sounds of the Valoshic sea waves crashing cold and fierce against the local beaches. Not the servants cleaning, drying, cooking, guarding, living the lives of those thousands of years before them. Only breathing was sanctified in this quietude. And through this action, was permitted thoughts. And these thoughts, like an avalanche slowly growing and growing for six long biding years, crumbled, into words.
“Yes, my duke, yes.”