The clamor of the crowd echoed through the air as winged men observed the intense spectacle unfolding in the central courtyard. Blades clashed, armored figures adorned in metal, leather, and fur engaged in a dance of combat, their wings also armored, casting a formidable presence.
In the midst of the battle, a lone figure stood, scantily covered, with nothing but a helmet featuring a prominent metal beak concealing his face. Encircled by his adversaries, he surveyed the menacing faces, ready to strike at any moment. With a defiant spirit, he unfurled his wings, inviting the impending confrontation.
The surrounding men exchanged glances, slowly advancing towards their prey. In a swift display of agility, he dodged an attack from behind, simultaneously blocking others. The onslaught intensified as all six assailants relentlessly launched assaults.
Dodging some strikes and deflecting others, he seized opportunities to counterattack, deploying his wings as both shield and weapon. As the skirmish unfolded, the numbers dwindled, leaving only three opponents standing.
Locking eyes, the remaining two coordinated their assault. With a calculated move, he utilized his wings to trip one adversary, effortlessly lifting him high into the air before forcefully slamming him to the ground.
Only one opponent remained.
Taunting the last man with a confident gesture, he goaded his adversary into a final, desperate attack.
He skillfully deflected the attack, and as his opponent pressed forward, he gracefully evaded another strike. Swiftly, he slid his dagger between the man’s right arm and head, positioning the blade against his neck. The challenger’s surprise was palpable, and exhaustion etched across his face. He halted in defeat, dropping his sword to the ground as he raised his arms.
A burst of glee erupted from the onlookers, satisfied by the spectacle that was presented. The victorious champion withdrew the dagger, returning it to the scabbard secured at his waist. Turning toward the defeated opponents, he addressed them with authority.
“Now, since all of you lost, and this one,” he gestured towards the fallen man, “the only one brave enough to stand in front of me, every one of you will have to do one hundred laps around the barracks!” The men scrambled to gather their belongings, taking flight to comply with his orders.
The valiant adversary rose to his feet, ready to depart, when the victorious champion halted him. Removing his helmet, he patted the brave man on the shoulders. “You, take a break. You’ve earned your rest.”
Expressing gratitude, the last man standing smiled, “Thank you, Your Highness.” With that, he hurried to his tent for a well-deserved rest.
A soldier, a messenger from the king, approached and knelt behind the champion. “Prince Aderon, the High King requires your presence immediately.”
Dismay shadowed Aderon’s face upon hearing the message. He meticulously cleaned his armlets, glancing up before turning around to face the urgent summons.
“Inform the King I will follow shortly. Go on ahead,” he replied in a resonant voice.
“Yes, Sire, at once.” The messenger promptly stood up and flew towards the castle.
Entering the barracks, he retrieved his armor. After a series of deep breaths, he donned the protective gear and emerged from his quarters and looked at the castle, barely visible because of the strong blizzard. He took a deep breath and then took flight towards the castle.
Through an open terrace crowning the castle gates, he soared inside. Pillars adorned with the history of their race welcomed him, and the castle was bathed in light streaming through open windows, each side adorned with the kingdom’s banner. Near the throne room, an open dome revealed a hole in the castle ceiling, and the floor gleamed with the symbol of their people.
He touched down in front of the king, who sat somewhat askew, wielding an enormous hammer and casting a cold gaze upon him. Meeting the king’s stare, he bowed respectfully before taking his seat on his father’s right. The grand doors swung open, and two guards, wings resting on their backs, entered the room.
“Announcing the arrival of Imperial Diplomats Moselei Faktu, Ferrier Ole, and Tolous Rham.” The trio entered, flanked by four guards of their own.
On the king’s left, his adviser rose and paced towards the diplomats, a displeased expression etched on his face as he maintained a certain distance.
“After all these years, you have the audacity to come here armed with guards and pets,” the adviser rebuked harshly.
“We came in peace and seek to engage in civil discourse. For this matter holds great importance,” Ferrier responded calmly.
The king, intrigued by the diplomat’s words, examined them closely.
He noticed his father and then cleared his throat. “Adviser, return to your seat,” he commanded.
The adviser turned towards the prince and sank back into his chair, a wave of humiliation washing over him. Eager to hear the diplomats, he removed his helmet, revealing his gray hair and eyes reminiscent of the vast winter sea. Placing the helmet on his seat, he rose again.
The three diplomats signaled their guards to stand down, prompting the winged guards to follow suit. Observing them closely, he noted Ferrier stepping forward, clutching a scroll adorned with an unfamiliar seal.
“Who sent you? Where is Imperial King Madarick Lluch?” inquired the king, his husky voice reverberating through the room.
The diplomats exchanged glances before Ferrier responded, “The Imperial King is currently ill and unable to rule. That’s why the prime minister—now Arch Chancellor—took control.”
Before the king could formulate a reply, Tolous interjected, “All of your questions will be answered by the message written in the scroll, King Aeros.”
King Aeros sighed, and he, curious as he was, stole glances at his father, gauging his reactions. “Very well, continue,” Aeros conceded.
The King looked towards the windows, the blizzard outside intensifying. The diplomats proceeded with their message, but he found himself distracted. He briefly turned his attention to his father, who clearly disapproved of the news. Meanwhile, the adviser scrambled and whispered urgently to his aides.
The High King and his adviser exchanged glances, their hushed conversation indicating their struggle to comprehend the unfolding situation.
King Aeros, scoffed. “It seems the Imperial Prince has become aware of the hypocrisy plaguing the empire,” the king remarked abruptly. “We’ve received scattered reports from passing merchants, here and there, over the past month. We thought nothing of it. Now suddenly, it’s confirmed.”
“That’s why this is an urgent matter that necessitates direct conversation, not messages sent from the distant mountains,” Tolous emphasized.
“You’re right to come straight to us, Tolous,” King Aeros acknowledged as he stood up. “However, I can’t blame your Prince for the decision he made.”
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“Your Highness, if we could—”
“If we could, what? Talk?” he interjected, pushing his hammer to the floor. Startled, everyone in the room, including the diplomats’ guards, had their attention drawn as the king’s booming voice filled the space.
“You claim to be the greatest empire on the continent, asserting that everyone under your rule enjoys a good life. Yet, we all know the truth. Balance can never be achieved with the sacrifice of the other side,” the king declared, standing directly in front of Moselei, his great white wings expanded.
“After all these years, you have the audacity to seek help from us? Again?” the king continued, unmoving as he watched his father intimidate the imperial delegates.
Suddenly, the king erupted into laughter, leaving the diplomats unsure of how to respond. Tolous signaled his guards to stand down.
“You should’ve seen your faces, you know,” the king remarked with a chuckle. He then approached the diplomats. “But I am right, you know. After all these bothersome years, you finally have the guts to show up. Yet, it does concern us all. We know that the Imperial Prince is the strongest, right before my son. Much to my dismay,” the king added, glancing at him. Even just for a second, he felt his icy stare. His fists clenched.
“Having an almost invincible army at his disposal is undeniably threatening,” the king mused, his expression souring. “Now, I ask you, what makes you think we would ever assist in the killing of another prince?”
The diplomats keenly sensed the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
“Or better yet, why would we aid Arch Chancellor Menoich Anarchu, of all people?” King Aeros questioned, pointing to the scar across his dead right eye. “We haven’t forgotten what he did to us, to me, and my people during the Old War. We’ve yet to hear any reconciliation from the Empire after the last chapters of the Old War were etched into the history books, inscribed with the ink of High Eagle blood. Do you honestly believe that we would answer the call of an old fool, the very man responsible for that?”
“With all due respect, your grace, King Madarick trusted the current Arch Chancellor. The Imperial Council vetted him, and—”
“How dare you!” King Aeros thundered, silencing Ferrier and the entire room. “My people suffered from your war, from killing your Red Prince,” he pointed at them. “You dared not show your faces here. And when another one comes bearing the same name, you come asking for the exact same thing? What makes you think I will let you survive this time? We have suffered enough,” King Aeros declared, staring down all three diplomats.
He walked away, opening his wings and turning to make his presence known to the diplomats. “What we would like to see is the fall of your empire. If that happens, the High Eagles will finally have the debt I owe it!” he yelled.
Anticipating his father’s response, he rubbed his forehead, anxiously waiting for the king’s next words. The king returned to his throne, fixing his gaze on the diplomats.
“So, my resounding answer to the call of the Golden Empire is an absolute no!” the king bellowed. “You may now depart Taloria and never return!” He emphatically slammed his fists on the handrest of his throne, prompting the Eagle guards to encircle the diplomats while the Magisters turned their attention toward the doors.
There, he realized something. He shot a quick glance to his father, then made his move. “Do not leave this room!” he suddenly shouted as he approached them. The diplomats turned immediately, meeting his father’s stern gaze.
He, in turn, maintained eye contact with his father as he walked down. “As my father has said, we felt betrayed and disrespected by the Empire for all these years. If you want me to consider, then our conditions — my conditions — need to be met.”
The diplomats exchanged glances, looking at each other before one stepped forward.
“What is your proposition?” Tolous asked.
“Currently, we seek greater access to your skies and lands. As you may have noticed, the High Kingdom is not conducive to agriculture. We would appreciate it if more of our people could settle in imperial lands without becoming Imperial subjects.”
“That request is impossible, Your Highness,” said Ferrier.
“So, as to what you request,” He answered bluntly. He could feel his father’s piercing stare as he observed him. “Remember, Diplomat, you came to us. What you request will never happen under any other circumstances. The entire continent is wary of your power and strength. We placed our trust in you, even if undeserved when you requested to single-handedly keep the forces of Xerxecia at bay. We even permitted you to conscript some of our own soldiers to the point that they became Imperial subjects. You and your hubris are your own fault, the cause of your undoing. It is high time for us to demonstrate that with great respect.” He looked down at the diplomat.
“What you sought in the past was the lives of our people. Now, you make a similar request, but this time, it pertains to my life—an heir to this throne where the High King presides. You must agree to my terms. Our terms. Do you understand, Diplomat?” he added, keenly observing the hesitation etched on their faces. Glancing back at his father, who stared at him with dagger-like intensity, he pressed, “I need your answer now.”
Moselei walked forward, “We will work with the Imperial Council—”
His fist clenched. “I need an answer now. Am I not clear, Diplomat? Or did my—our request fall on deaf ears yet again?” he said with a booming voice, silencing Moselei.
Ferrier and Tolous nodded to Moselei. They were visibly shaken, yet they acknowledged they had no other choice. He was aware of it.
“We accept,” Moselei answered.
It was music to his ears at that point as he grinned.
“Good.” He turned and walked towards his seat. “I will go on behalf of the entire High Eagles. You may go now.”
The diplomats bowed.
Moselei then handed over a piece of paper to one of the Eagle guards. “That is the map to the location where all the warriors are being gathered,” Moselei said before fully leaving the throne room.
He examined the map as the door closed behind the diplomats.
“Are you mad?!” the king yelled as loud as the doors slammed.
He turned to his father, the room falling silent. He sported a devious smirk, relishing in what he just accomplished but further irritating his father.
“What are you thinking?” The king shouted at him.
“Father, don’t you see? This is the chance we’ve been waiting for,” he remarked.
The king took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. “Speak before I decide between breaking either your legs or your wings,” he threatened as he approached his son.
“Father, this is our opportunity to eliminate the Imperial Prince. It’s a chance to reclaim the glory we lost years ago. Now, while they are vulnerable, we can seize what is rightfully ours,” he sinisterly smiled at his father. The king, pleased with his son’s audacity, patted him on the shoulder.
“They didn’t mention anything about a trial. They would have done so, of all people. But from the Arch Chancellor’s message alone, it seems he’s not fully in control. I’m guessing the Imperial Council decided to skip the trial entirely,” he explained to his father. “We have an excuse and gain at least a breathing room for our people. After this, in the years ahead, we will reclaim our glory.”
His father smiled at him as he continued, “Father, we can dismantle the very pride the Trasidars have — Prince Tamiron.”
Aeros laughed loudly and looked at his son.
“Finally, a good use for you, Aderon. At least you can now make up for losing to him.” King Aeros laughed in glee, then he looked at him again. “Go now and prepare. Bring me his head,” the king chuckled.
“Yes, Father,” he answered, leaving the throne room and flying straight to his quarters.
He entered his room and gazed at himself in the mirror. The long-awaited opportunity had finally arrived—the chance to vanquish the Trasidian Prince. The act promised great honor, and they would hail him as the mightiest warrior on the entire continent. A grin spread across his face as he reached for his finest dual swords, hanging proudly on his wall.
His thoughts were consumed by the retribution he sought after the humiliation inflicted by Prince Tamiron. The vivid memory of being defeated during their visit to the Imperial Capital lingered in his mind. The sensation of a humiliating hand extended toward him when he was downed was etched into his memory.
His father, indifferent to his plight, had not even glanced in his direction ever since. All he saw was the retreating back of his father as he walked away with the Imperial King. What remained ingrained in his recollections was the silhouette of Tamiron attempting to assist him—a moment of great humiliation for him, resulting in the loss of his father’s respect. That day would forever remain unforgettable in his mind.
Opening another door within his room revealed an impressive collection of armor. His anticipation filled the air as he pondered which set of armor to choose. At the room’s end, he found it.
Encased in a large glass case was an armor recently crafted from the finest metal, Kra’enite. He opened the glass case and delicately traced his fingers over the exquisite design.
His servants assisted in donning the armor for him—deep blue and white, with two metal additions for his wings. Satisfied with the condition of his armor, he left his room.
Stepping onto his balcony, which lacked any rails, he surveyed the castle gates and the expansive valley below. He secured his helmet, featuring a large metal beak that functioned as a visor. Crouching, he propelled himself upward, taking flight.
Descending in front of the castle gates, where the diplomats, adviser, and king awaited, he landed gracefully and kneeled before the High King.
King Aeros observed him, then bowed for the last time before spreading his wings. With a powerful leap, he soared into the air, heading toward the designated meeting place.
A smile played on his lips as he contemplated the correction of his greatest humiliation. The day Prince Tamiron arrived remained etched in his memory—a humiliating loss he was determined to rectify. This was his chance to reclaim lost honor and, perhaps, earn the respect of his father at last.
End of Chapter XVI