The land of Hercia; the country of hope; the Council of Guardians; the Guardian Republic. It was where all the previous warriors of valour and chivalry came from. This was the land where the first Council of Guardians was formed. Beneath where Whil was, where Sallestre is, is the country Hymerr; and beneath Hymerr, across the ocean, is Hercia. 27th Ningdarr, Semdis, the date that many or any of the Guardian staff have waited. Not just staffs but even ambassadors of different countries, states and cities. From Sallestre, in the Eastern Geldar to Rhuddia, across the ocean in the Western Geldar, they were there to witness the miracle of machinery.

In the halls of the Council of Guardians, everyone was rushing to and fro somewhere to another. Everyone was enthusiastic to see the unravelling of the unknown. Many had readied themselves at the ‘testing field’ right behind the Council of Guardians building.

“11:23 a.m.…hmm. It’s nearly time,” a man wearing purple formal wear said while looking at his wristwatch. He stood in the middle of the hallway; stroking his white hair backwards and tapping his leg while looking left to right. “Waiting...waiting...waiting…”

The number of people rushing seemed to decrease immensely. From hundredth to tenth to only one left. He was still there, waiting.

“Where is this fool? He’s taking his sweet time!”

From the left end of the hallway a figure could be seen; walking towards the man in purple that stood and waited in the middle. He was in a grey robe, silky black hair and such beautiful face for a man.

“Hol naye,” said the man that approached the other.

“Good morrow? I need not your greetings, Thre’adil! Where have you been?”

“Dare you to disrespect me foul mortal! Remember your place, Esmir.”

“You’ve promised me that your people will come forth and declare their allegiance to the Guardians. I’ve waited and waited. None ever did come. I’ve promised the High Lord Dorin. Promising to him means promising the whole Republic. What am I to tell him now?” Gally Esmir, Mayor of the city, Garrion in Aldor, said with anger.

“I am a Thre’adil. Am I not enough to represent my people? What more do you need?” asked the ancient race to Gally. “I’ve lived hundreds of years. Can you not take my words as truth when I say that when I pledged allegiance to the Council, it means my people pledged as well.”

“That is simply not enough. You are not your ‘whole’ people. You are but a representative.”

“But is that not what we are all here? One represents Durad. One represents Joycelm. One represents Garture. Others represent their city or country. And one represents the Thre’adil. It is more than enough; it is more than fair as they only represent their own city and country while I represent my whole people that are scattered around the lands; in every ten countries.”

“It is not about what is fair or not! Your people are everywhere. Your job is to bring each and every leader of every tribe in every kingdom of your race to pledge individually. Each leader of your tribe, or at least one, must be here, not just you.”

“Mayor Gally. Lord Ebron.” A voice from afar called their name. They turned and looked at the caller. It was an old man; Mayor Gilmore Frendil of the City of Gurin in the high mountains of Zalrod of Hymerr; walking so very slowly towards them.

“Hol naye, Mayor Gilmore of Gurin.” Ebron Rothran greeted him.

“Hol naye, Raar Ebron. Why are not any of you at the field? The show is almost starting,” continued Gilmore.

“Yes, indeed.” Replied Gally. “We will be on our way then. We just need to stop by my office first, right, Lord Ebron?”

Ebron smirked and said, “Yes, Mayor Gally.”

Both Ebron and Gally walked away leaving Gilmore standing by himself. They walked quickly till they reached the end of the hallway. At the end, they make a sharp left and hid at the corner for a while.

“Rii ver faemyel un roodyen vom leb so fe yisyetimyesud.” said Gally.

“You will find at least one king to be represented,”

“Ae lumar franed rii imeneb.” Ebron replied Gally.

“I cannot promise you anything.”

“Me, rii ver! Rii nodyen!” Gally said with a hint of threat. He then left in haste.

“No, you will! You must!”

Ebron stood there; he looked at Gally walking away. He then took his leave. They both went their separate ways, but both still ended up at the ‘testing field’. Noticing each other from afar, they sneered and looked away. Every single staff and every single ambassadors of each country and representatives of each city were there to witness that historical day. They all waited in patience as the High Lord of the Council, High Lord Dorin Wenmer climbed up the stairs to the stage in front of the crowd. Behind him was his trusted advisors and guards, Sir Helvon and Lady Violet Shayne. Behind them, five scientists from the Achrillics Division followed in a straight line.

“Welcome everyone,” the High Lord greeted while the others took their seat behind him on the stage in front of something covered by a black veil. “I know that all of you are eager to see the unravelling of the draig. It has been announced before but never yet revealed. Today we all are here to witness history being made.” Thus, behind him the black veil was pulled from behind the stage. It was a one seated vehicle with a steering wheel and a nostril pointing outward in front of the vehicle. “Finally! I present to you, The Draig! Fully equipped with the phot-rifle! Both utterly new concept of peace and justice!”

Then, at that moment, a man climbed on the draig and activated it. It floated, hovered like a regular hover would. He then turned the nostril of the vehicle away from the crowd and towards the empty field.

“Behold!” the High Lord bellowed.

Then, being the shout a signal, the man pulled the trigger to fire the phot-rifle. At the moment of the pull, the front of the draig exploded. The man flew backwards by the strong force of the explosion. The High Lord braced himself as his trusted guards covered him. The scientists jumped and lied flat on the stage while the rest of the crowd covered their faces for any debris that might come.

“Gasp! Oh, no!” went one of the crowd member aloud.

The High Lord pushed the two guards aside. “Dear Lord! This is disastrous. Someone get the medic!”

Among the crowd, Ebron stood and looked. “Mortals,” came upon his thought, “stubborn mortals.” He turned away from the tragedy and left the ‘testing field’. He walked fast but swiftly back inside the Council of Guardians building.

He walked and walked. He passed through several flight of stairs and a few corridors that seemed identical. As he walked through a corridor that was directly facing the ‘testing field’, he could see the people still panicking. He sniggered. At the end of the corridor was a room; a huge door was the entrance to another world, a world called, ‘Head of Thre’adil Division’, or so it said atop the door. Ebron went in and slammed the door shut. He then sat on the chair at a majestic desk. On the table was a plaque; on it written, ‘Ebron Rothran, Head of Thre’adil Division’. Upon seeing the plaque he turned his chair around facing the opposite direction; the window that was behind him.

“Vae so rii aarved sedseed ne? Ae naen thrur so laar tu huulil am rii vom se.” Ebron said as if talking to himself.

“Why do you always disturb me? I might have to call the guards on you one day.”

“I mean you no harm. Ae un thri so thodyen koo rii. Et tus ke yab?” asked the women that suddenly appeared behind Ebron.

“I am here to just see you. Is that so wrong?”

“Yeseem fyan vimyed rii lonud, vek! Ae thrur sirud rii vomyed umyel ae ver ke es uhim, ‘riikir four nukel et mar moolud’.” Ebron retaliated.

“Return from whence you came, witch! I have told you once and I will say it again, ‘your foul magic is not needed’.”

“Aekir Raar Ebron, rii mool mar fi ne. Ae uudyer rii emre so lumdesu aekir afu.” Added the witch despite Ebron’s clear rejection.

“My Lord Ebron, you need not fear me. I ask you only to consider my offer.”

“Emof! Roor ne fe nukel nol! Mou!” the witch angered Ebron. He said every word without even looking at her; showing her his disgust upon her presence.

“Enough! Leave me be foul muck! Now!”

“Ut rii veg aekir Raar. Fon so mar lon so ne vom se fudach faa vas thrur fem afuud umyel yekilyesud. Aekir laemyesird ruudyenel suse umyel suse emre. Feivir.” The witch warned Ebron Rothran as if she hoped it might have changed his mind.

“As you wish my Lord. But do not come to me one day begging for what have been offered and rejected. My kindness lasts today and today only. Farewell.”

“So mar frusu riikirkiryef.” Ebron had the final blow.

“Do not flatter yourself.”

Ebron peeked over his shoulder a little to see whether she had left. ‘Gone’, he thought. A slight sigh accompanied his relief. Not even a moment of relaxation, a knock on the door was heard. Ebron quickly responded;

“Lon em.”

“Come in.”

The door was opened and a young lady entered.

“Hol naye, Raar Ebron. High Lord Dorin has requested your presence in the High Council in 15 minutes. He said it is urgent.” Said the lady.

“If it is urgent, why not now?”

“I don’t know, Lord Ebron. I am but a messenger.”

“Now, now…” Ebron smiled, still looking out the window, “a messenger is all important. Never underestimate your duty. You may leave.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

The lady left and shut the door once more. So many door shutting today; thought Ebron. So many thoughts passing as well; he thought again.

“I had better be on my way now,” he thought aloud.

--------------------

“Be it as it may, I want this settled soon. I was in such embarrassment. You promised me that it would be ready. What happened; what everyone saw was not ‘ready’. Far from ready, that’s what it is.” Ranted the old High Lord towards the Head of Achrillics Division, Professor Fergus Leon, son of Orris Leon. “Your father delivered, make sure that you do. It will be quite a shame if you are to fail him.”

“Yes, of course, High Lord Dorin. I will see to it immediately.” Fergus replied.

“Good. Be on your way now. Come Helvon, Violet. We make for the High Council.”

“High Lord Dorin. Salutations.” Suddenly a greeting from a familiar voice.

“Ah! Mayor Gally of Garrion. Come, we were about to take our leave to the High Council.”

“Ah, yes. Let us be on our way then.”

In the heart of the Council of Guardians lies a great hall known as the Hall of The High Council. Every high positioned lords were there sitting in the circular hall.

“Announcing the arrival of High Lord Dorin Wenmer of Hercia and Mayor Gally Esmir of Garrion. The High Council will begin with the attendance.” Announced the Hall Keeper. He then continued with rereading the attendance from the High Lord of a country following the Lords of the states and then Mayors of cities.

“We’ll begin with Sallestre.

High Lord Mordell Heim of Sallestre.”

“Ai.”

“Lord Carlile Trestin of Gallenhied.”

“Ai.”

“Lord Froger Amon of Farbos.”

“Ai.”

“Mayor Novelant Urich of Joycelm.”

“Ai.”

“Mayor Seserro Volt of Forseed.”

“Ai.”

“Mayor Zekiel Adimiah of Flourous.”

“Ai.”

The attendance went on for about thirty to forty minutes usually. Every one of them waited patiently for their name to be called. After their name were called, they waited patiently for other High Lords, Lords and Mayors to be called. Protocol is never not tiring and tedious. Some went sighing and some nodding, falling asleep. All ten countries was to be called, and at the moment three was done; Sallestre, Tamasca and Hercia.

“Helvon. Violet. Tell me what do you see?” Asked High Lord Dorin while waiting.

“Leaders of the world, My Lord?” Answered Helvon in a question.

“Faces of the people, My Lord.” Answered Violet more confidently than her husband.

“Well, I just see a bunch of sad people. Sad mothers and fathers that want to go back home to their children, their wife, their husband.” High Lord Dorin gave his own answer. “These people are here by the sense of duty. It’s just sad that their duty for their country comes first and family after. Life is harsh. Not everyone is as lucky as the two of you. Married couple working together as my advisors and my trusted knights.”

“That maybe. But still, having a child may never happen for us. The risk of it is unbearable.” Added Violet.

“Yes. Life is harsh.” Ended Dorin.

After that, they went quiet, still waiting for the Hall Keeper to be done. They started to fiddle around with their fingers; looked up the ceiling; groping about under the desk; and some already sleeping. Finally, the Hall Keeper was done.

“Lastly, Lord Ebron Rothran of the Thre’adil.”

“Ai.”

“Now, the Council will commence with High Lord Dorin.”

“Finally. Welcome High Lords, Lords, and Mayors of honour. I brought you all today to reveal the draig but with no luck. Never mind. Now let’s get on with this meeting. I’ll start with the first agenda. May I call upon Lord Ebron to step forth to the middle of the hall?”

Ebron was not even surprised to be called forward in the council. He stood up with poise and marched swiftly towards the middle of the hall.

“So vas so ae e tu frorimu?” asked Ebron as he reached the middle.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Lord Ebron, I noticed that you are the only representative of your people.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“From which city or kingdom do you represent?”

“All of it.”

“See, there lies our problem. Thre’adil are just like us all humans. They have separate kingdoms and different kings that rule each place. You cannot be representing every single kingdom there are out there. If so, the whole world should just be represented by me. That wouldn’t be fair now would it?”

“No, My Lord. Even so, I cannot get any of them to come forth. They are too dwelled up in their own world, their own plain of existence, as if the rest of Geldar does not exist.”

Suddenly, a man wearing a pinkish robe with a curly hair till his shoulders approached High Lord Dorin and whispered something to his left ear. Then, the High Lord spoke, “Lord Ebron, you are now ordered to leave the Council of Guardians, effective immediately.”

A shock could be seen on everyone’s face, but was shown very little on Ebron. He was hiding his emotions quite well. “May I ask why, My Lord?”

“It has come to light that you cannot represent any of your people. You, as my messenger put it, were banished by your father, Lord Mirill Drogan, King of Drainrock.” The High Lord replied. “Am I right, Prince Thornwell Drogan?”

Ebron, who he was, now Thornwell, looked down for a moment. The whole hall was silent. He looked back at the High Lord and answered, “Yes.” He took a quick turn and exit the hall in a hasty march.

“Well, what an ordeal that was. Now, to continue on with the session we invite High Lord Edward to speak of this burglary issue that everyone has been hearing about.” High Lord Dorin continued the meeting.

Right outside the hall, Thornwell was standing right in front of the door. He was baffled. For nearly a year he represented the Thre’adil and within that time no one had ever knew. He thought that they will never find out, but he thought wrong. He looked to his right; there he was, the pink messenger.

“You! Wait!”

The pink messenger stopped and turned around. Thornwell got closer to him and started to ask questions.

“How did you come by this information? Who told you? Where is he now?”

“I'm sorry My Prince, but the information was sent to me. It was in a letter from your father.” He handed the letter to Thornwell. “And His Majesty requested that you would come home soon.”

“I see. Thank you. Be on your way now.”

Thornwell opened the letter and read it;

To whoever that come to possess this letter in the Council of Guardians, you are to tell my son to return to Drainrock soon. Make sure he is to return by any means necessary.

To my son that might read this, I took back my banishment upon you. You have been forgiven.

Lord Mirill Drogan

Oddly, his father had written quite a short letter; somewhat like a note. He folded the letter and slipped it into his robe. “Back home I suppose,” he thought. He had one last look at the door to the High Council, then, he left.

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