Murmurs and whispers pervaded the air as he strode purposefully toward the grandeur of the Imperial Throne Room. His determination was palpable, a fervent desire to make his voice resound stronger than it had ever been. Each step he took was swift, his iron-clad hands clenched in frustration, a sentiment etched across his face.
Eyes ablaze with intensity mirrored the fire within him, a reflection of mounting irritation at the dismissal of his requests, or simply the mere ignorance of it. The decision to address the matter in person seemed to be the best thing he could do, a resolve that lingered beneath the surface of his every fiber of his being.
Behind him, his loyal retainers trailed closely, offering counsel in hushed tones, attempting to dissuade him from what he was about to do.
“Please, Your Grace. This is unheard of,” one of them pleaded with him.
“He is right, My Prince. Maybe we could do this after the meeting is over?” another suggested.
But he ignored them both, as his steps echoed it. The resonance of his footfalls reverberated through the marbled halls of the Cors’Viridetauros Palace, a testament to the resolve he had brought with him. Sunlight streamed through expansive windows, casting an ethereal glow upon the ornate surroundings, highly decorated with royal regalia and treasures.
As he reached the imposing entrance to the Imperial throne room, the guards, startled, swiftly swung open the doors, revealing the assembly within—the esteemed Imperial Council and, notably, his father, King Madarick Lluch IV.
“I know you all are busy with your important meetings, but my appeal has remained unanswered. My request has been pending for quite some time now and it needs — for whatever reason — the Council’s approval to improve the irrigation of the southern quadrant of Barceneim.,” he asserted, striding toward the assembled councilors, who promptly rose and bowed in deference.
“Good afternoon, Prince Tamiron,” Menoich greeted, as he continued distributing papers among the remaining council members. “I regret the delay in addressing your request,” He then waved some papers. “I believe that they are here, though.”
He huffed, weary of the political machinations orchestrated by Menoich. “We’re discussing the livelihood of Barceneim, and you treat it like it does not affect you?” he protested, striding toward his father. “Father, surely you recognize its importance!”
Menoich and King Madarick, however, exchanged a silent gaze.
“What? Does the Imperial King require the Prime Minister’s permission?” he laughed at the absurdity.
“That’s not the case, Prince Tamiron,” King Madarick clarified. “There’s a more pressing matter demanding your attention. I instructed Menoich and the Council not to delve into it until your return.”
“So, you lured me here? What could be more pressing than safeguarding the Empire’s food supplies?” He scoffed at the report handed to him by Menoich. Reading it, he was taken aback. He was surprised at what he read at that time. He continued to read the report itself as the council began to leave, dismissed silently by King Madarick. “This can’t be right?” he remarked, then turned to his father. “How accurate is this?”
“Accurate enough for me to agree with His Majesty, my Prince,” Menoich said as he took his seat. “The Council and I, along with the Imperial King, request that you lead from the front. Immediately.”
Realizing the urgency, he looked at them and his father. “Promise me you’ll handle my request, then.”
Menoich bowed. “It will be done, I assure you.”
As he moved to leave the throne room, Menoich called out, “Wait, my Prince.”
Turning toward them, Menoich approached. “The Imperial King and I have one request before you go,” He spoke in a hushed tone.
He listened to their request and was disgusted with it. But at the time, he didn’t really have any choice but to go with it. With the current situation at hand, he can’t say for certain that the Tamiron Stone would cut it. So, his father and Menoich went ahead and requested him to use a different stone then.
He argued with his father, about the sheer absurdity of the request. That he’d been using the stone that was passed onto him by his father himself. But Menoich was able to convince his father to do so.
His armor, an heirloom of the House of Lluch, was passed down to him by his father as he wore it at the old war that brought the end of the Trodonar Empire. This symbolic armor, is reserved for the greatest warrior of the family. His father suddenly requesting him to wear a different one was serious to him.
The Tamiron Stone, once known as the Madarick Stone, had been passed down since before the formation of the Empire. It served as the great unifier of the Trasidars, and to cast it aside now in the face of an ancient threat raised questions about his father’s decision-making.
He vehemently argued that this was neither the right course of action nor the appropriate time to consider changing a long-held tradition. However, his father remained resolute, contending that the armor had never faced a substantial encounter with a full-fledged Xerxecian army.
While his father’s assertion held merit, doubts lingered in his mind about the Arvales Stone. Menoich explained its historical role as the vanquisher of Xerxecians, emphasizing its crucial significance.
Despite his anger, he found himself with no alternative. In the end, his armor was confiscated, and the Tamiron Stone was to be surrendered, a directive he intensely refused. Instead, he hid it himself to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.
With lingering suspicions about Menoich, he tasked his shadows then to follow and observe him, even having the stone hid by them instead of him. Despite their efforts, they found no suspicious doing from Menoich, which worried him even more then.
As he headed to the front, he donned the red armor, convinced by his father to forsake his traditional battle attire. The Arvales Stone was already in place, and despite the internal conflict with King Madarick and Menoich, he succumbed to their persuasion. He just didn’t know at the time, that it would prove to be his gravest mistake. A mistake that he thought cost thousands of lives.
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The weight on his shoulders was palpable, as if the armor itself was a form of punishment. Each day he donned it, the burden grew heavier, and with every wear, it felt as though a part of him was slipping away. Despite achieving victories in skirmishes at the front using the armor, each triumph only fueled his growing thirst for battle.
The anticipated day finally arrived, confirming the accuracy of the intelligence received six months prior. The Xerxecians had successfully organized themselves into a formidable army, a sight unseen on the Arumar continent in eons past.
Confronted for the first time with such a formidable force, he couldn’t suppress the emergence of doubts within him. However, attuned to the resonance of his armor and stone developed over months, he believed he could achieve more.
As the battle unfolded, he initially shifted the tides in their favor, fostering a sense of hope. He remained in control, unwilling to let himself unravel at that crucial moment. Until, unexpectedly, a bright red flash of light struck him.
His vision took on a red tint, and he sensed his inhibitions fade. His morality that had kept him in check, he felt them disappear. He was suddenly flooded with the thought of how he could help his people. How he could improve their lives. Everything he relied on to maintain composure—gone.
A concerned soldier approached, attempting to communicate, but he couldn’t hear the soldier or the surrounding battle. All he perceived was an airless vacuum, with sounds muffled and almost muted.
Attempting to respond, he discovered his inability to do so. Suddenly, his chest tightened, his vision blurred, and the red hue intensified. Horror engulfed him as he realized his own hands were now turned against his own troops.
He struggled desperately to halt the onslaught, but control over his own body eluded him. Screams echoed internally as he fought to reclaim dominance within the confines of his mind. Throughout the harrowing ordeal, a grim reality persisted — he couldn’t wrest control until it was too late.
After that, it became an unending nightmare. Each day seemed to be a battle to regain control; he was a mere spectator to the atrocities committed — by his own hands. There wasn’t a day that went by back then that he had not felt guilt and shame for what he had done. Haunting him daily for the devastation unleashed upon the Huertian countryside and the brutal Battle of the Gorge of Induris Daires.
The shame intensified every time he ended a Trasidian life, not just of a soldier, but of a man, a woman, and even a child. It left him seething with fury and a sense of powerlessness. He was furious at himself back then. Disgust overwhelmed him as he surveyed the lifeless bodies left in his wake, compounded by the shame mirrored in the eyes of the Great Tohoros of Go’Renhor. His response, a hollow smile, masked the turmoil within.
It was a blur after that, marked by an unending sense of shame. Helplessness enveloped him. His pride was gone, extinguished. His resolve was broken. His spirit shattered into pieces. All he could do was watch and bear witness to the horrors that he had unwillingly done.
Then came the pivotal day in Melgrace.
A day that encapsulated his greatest shame. He razed the city, nearly reducing it to rubble. Yet, in the aftermath, a semblance of control returned, but it wasn’t enough. All he was able to do was give out mercy to a husband and a wife. With the last ounce of his strength, he ordered for their child to be found and for the other children to be released, as he was afraid of what he might do next.
In the shadows of hope, he clung to the belief that some children, found alive, were granted freedom as he ordered them to do. How he wished he knew.
He prayed fervently to Yor-Jod, hoping that the children had managed to escape the horrors he unwittingly unleashed.
The burden of guilt and self-loathing weighed on him relentlessly, yet a fragment of solace arrived when the Xerxecians reported that the children they discovered had been released. Relief, however small, washed over him upon learning that the child from the portrait, a gift from Marq, was safe in Trasidian hands.
In the midst of his despair, the knowledge that, despite his compromised state, he had saved some lives provided a measure of comfort. Greater relief followed when he discovered that Trasidians, led by one of his former deputies, had mobilized against him. He was eager to have it end right then and there; he was even more relieved to know that there was a group already ready to take him down. And along with them, was one of his closest friends, Everess.
They put up a good fight until she intervened. With Everess displaying a power and ferocity that took him by surprise. Each blow she dealt seemed to return control over his body, the red tint gradually faded after each blow Everess’ comrades did.
Grateful that his teacher assisted in subduing him, he sensed a slow return of his control over. But he knew it was already too late if that ever came to pass. Because he felt that Everess was ready to end him.
Yet, she didn’t.
He remembered now. All of it. Every detail etched in his memory; he now remembered it all. His life had been spared at the eleventh hour, the very moment his control over his body was restored. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the ground, with unknown symbols glowing pink and violet hues as it encircled him slowly. Kneeling on the ground, his hands bound by unseen forces, he faced earthly spears aimed menacingly at him.
He looked up at the sky, and saw only nothing but dark clouds. But he could tell by the stars that managed to sneak past the clouds, that it was evening.
He chuckled. They were prepared — too prepared, in case he went on his rampage once he awoke. The biting east winds carried the harsh reality of his condition—dirt and blood covered his body. Bruises testified to the aftermath of his destructive battle against Everess and her group. His actions had already caused his destruction, not just on the outside, but he didn’t feel the same anymore on the inside. The man he once was seemed lost, and the desire to end it all lingered within him.
“The Prince...”
A guard’s utterance pierced the air, drawing his attention. “The Prince is awake!”
The ensuing alarm bells rang, summoning a flood of soldiers to encircle him.
Though drained of energy, he sensed the pointed spears directed at him.
All he could hear was the soldier’s resolute stance. He trained them well. Or maybe it was his guidelines for it. Either way, this was a fitting end to a traitor like him.
“Brother?”
A voice once thought lost. A voice that he thought he would never hear again reached his ears. Raising his gaze, he beheld his dear sister, Tamara. Tears welled in her eyes as she cuffed her mouth with her hands, as she desperately tried to hold everything together. She slowly took a step forward but was repelled by an invisible pink field resonating around him, accompanied by earthly spears and chains of pure energy.
Summoning the strength to speak, he rasped, “Sister...”
Tamara wept, Emerys offering consolation. “Spears down now!” Emerys ordered, prompting the soldiers to lower their weapons.
Tamara, still in tears, turned and gestured upward. “He’s back! Bring down the restraints and the spears now!”
He followed her gaze and spotted his best friend, Everess, slowly descending within her protective bubble, her eyes aglow with a bright pinkish hue. A smile crept across his face, finding solace in her presence.
The moment, however, proved fleeting. The restraints tightened, chains pulled from opposite sides, and earth spears closed in as Everess entered his supposed prison.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Everess uttered, her voice carrying an unexpected coldness. Something felt off, both seen and sensed.
“Now, answer my only question right now. Depending on your answer,” Everess continued, a tear streaming down her face, “will your life be spared or not.”
“Everess, what are you doing?!” Tamara pleaded, but Everess didn’t even spare her a glance.
His eyes shifted to Tamara, and he could see the fear etched across her face.
Breath caught in his throat as he faced his would-be executioner. Was this to be his end? At the hands of his best friend—the person he cherished alongside his father, sister, and people?
“Tell me, Tamiron. Did you have my parents killed?”
As Everess confronted him with the unexpected question about her parents, the weight of the air seemed to shift. The surroundings echoed with silence, broken only by the distant sounds of soldiers preparing for whatever came next. His eyes locked onto Everess, searching for answers in her enigmatic gaze.
End of Chapter XXXII