Cold...

So cold....

Haven't I.....been here....

before?

The familiar sensation of iciness shackled his feet, or was it the smell of fearful nostalgia that rooted him?

The smell of rusted iron.

The smell of pee-and-hay, musky and heavy.

The smell of agony.

It all came back to him.

The boy moved his feet....shackled. Hell, why wouldn't his body budge? Darkness surrounded his senses. It engulfed him, it pressed on him....it frightened him.

He knew...he knew this damnable place. He's back again.

As what court officials close to the throne will discuss in hushed whispers, this place is "The Cell". A clandestine prison chamber hidden in the nation's underground dungeons.

Or as described appropriately by the Monarch, the "Room of Repentance".

Finally, the boy's ears picked up the lowest whisper.

"Zenvix..."

The whisper grew.

"Zenvix."

The voice came into sharp clarity, a voice that struck fear into his heart. A voice that dripped acid with every word.

"Father...?"

"Boy, I have given you fair warning. The rule of three mistakes, you will do well to remember it."

"One mistake - a warning, twice - a beating, and thrice...."

The King's voice trailed off.

"Yes, father," the boy croaked, his voice barely audible. He already knew what was coming.

"You are from a proud lineage, a bloodline that has once held vast empires in its grasp," the King continued.

"Mistakes are not tolerated, boy. The rule of three mistakes is your training, but one mistake on the battlefield may likely be your last..."

"And will become the last of the Nighvictorian legacy."

The King's strapping stature emerged into view. In his rugged hands held the long and sinister shape of a bullwhip.

"Our legacy." He finished.

The boy's eyes widened, his eyes darting frantically between the imposing figure and the savage tool in his hand.

"Father...please..."

He struggled.

His hands chafed against the manacles that held his limbs in an iron grip.

The boy tried to stand, but fell; his movements constricted by the unyielding clutches of cold, cruel steel.

No use...no use at all. The struggle is, has always been, in vain.

The King approached, raising the fearful whip up high.

Tears welled up within the child's eyes, as he raised both manacled hands to his dirt-streaked face.

As if by shielding his gaze, he can shield himself from the horror before him.

A moment's pause, and the whip is brought down in a flesh-rending crack.

The boy howled, a desperate plea that ravaged the surrounding silence - a plea for help that went unanswered.

Zenvix yelled and awoke from his fitful slumber, his raven hair in a state of disarray. Cupping his face with shaking hands, he wiped a stray tear off the corner of his right eye. It had to be subtly done; tough times called for tough men. And no tough men would follow a weakling.

"Your Highness...are you well? You were clawing your hair in sleep, and muttering...we thought you....."

The veteran knight broke off awkwardly, reeling in his words to avoid any blatant disrespect. His face was a picture of apprehension as he approached his lord, who until a few moments ago, was asleep beside the dying embers of their campfire.

Zenvix forced a smile at the commander of his small regiment. Sir Dylas had been the knight-commander for his group of men for as long as he remembered. The old but stout warrior was also Zenvix's mentor. He had taught Zenvix swordsmanship and the fabled codes of honour, among many other things. The veteran knight, amongst others, formed the reason why Zenvix held his duty as prince closely to his heart, even as he hated his father.

"Well enough, Sir Dylas. Nightmares feed little on one's health, much unlike the cooking of my dear guardswoman. That one can kill."

Sir Dylas, having scrutinised his lord's face closely during the conversation, broke out in a booming laugh which superseded his anxiety at once. The tension cracked as his fellow men joined in on the hilarity, their faces previously lined with alarm and caution for their lord's moment of anguish.

Laughter is good. It makes us forget our pain, even if only for a few moments.

"Oh I don't know about that Your Highness, a measly cook she may be, but a measly fighter she is not. Still remembered how she felled three of my best soldiers in close combat. That was no mean feat...reminded me of how I was when I was young...with my piping muscles..." Sir Dylas continued excitedly.

"I was a greenhorn knight back then in Nox - " The senior knight broke off awkwardly.

The mention of Nox was like a curse upon the air, as the atmosphere in the group dampened palpably. The sudden silence was telling.

"We're running out of food fast," Dylas said, changing the topic. "I've sent Lady Yaleheart with some men to hunt for food. Let me lead another with Sir Dani. There're many mouths to feed."

It had been more than a month since the fall of Nox. More than a month since the painful sacrifice of Lord-commander Michas and his Royal Guard to keep the aggressors off their tracks.

But the painful truth was, there was no such need. The spell, whatever that was, which Aderis used to bewitch the Bliatoners and drive them to bloodlusted insanity prevented them from straying beyond Nox once they conquered it. The Bliatoners now lay dead in the ruins of Nox, having long succumbed to hunger and the injuries inflicted on them during the battle.

But all these would end soon. They had been journeying towards Ceil on Jerius's plan, while Jerius himself headed to the Guild to warn them of the impending danger. According to him, Aderis Kilfir had sequentially targeted Ceil and the Guild next in his nefarious scheme.

Aderis.

The name unleashed tendrils of rage and grief in his heart.

The man who pulled the strings.

The man behind the fall of Nox.

was his late father's own brethren.

A betrayal by none other than the man closest to the Throne.

The chief advisor of Nox.

As Zenvix extended his gaze out into the boundless horizons, he glimpsed the sun rising amidst orange-and-purple clouds‒a crimson-marigold sun.

A new day.

But somehow, in his mind's eye, that particular sun....

It reminded him of fire, and blood most of all.

Blood will be repaid with blood, Aderis. Blood will be repaid with blood.

⧪⧪⧪

"I heard my name. You were whispering to Dylas. You know how sharp my ears are. Say to my face, Zenvix. Were you talking shit on me?"

Yurisviel Yaleheart‒Zenvix Nighvicto's lady-retainer‒glared pointedly at her lord as she returned from her hunting trip with a small party of men from Zenvix's regiment. The same lady warrior who saved his life at least twice in the Battle of Nox.

He loved her high spirit even as he knew why she still had it. She did not mourn for Nox, like the rest of them did.

Just behind two other groups, this time formed by the civilians who survived and journeyed with them to Ceil, returned as well with harvested and hunted food.

Dismounting from her white mare with a gracefulness that belied her caustic tongue, Yurisviel drew attention from a small group of men seated nearby.

With rose-gold hair that fluttered elegantly at the middle of her toned back, a pleasant countenance, and a lithe body frame born from numerous years of training, Yurisviel had earned her nickname of Lady Yaleheart from many of Nox's soldiers, although she was never of royal bloodline.

Nox's enemies, on the other hand, had a different story to tell. Blood of the Valkyrie, they said, for her graceful ferocity on the battlefield. And so it had spread.

The young prince laughed as he unfolded his legs beside the burnt logs of his campfire.

"Overthinking things, are we? You can ask Sir Dylas, we had nothing but praise for your combat prowess."

Sir Dylas cleared his throat abruptly, but did not speak a word, as if to imply that he was in no position to comment further.

Having only a moment's notice to feel exasperated at the knight's rigid response, Zenvix re-oriented the conversation hastily.

"We are two days' ride from Ceil," he declared, as Yurisviel daggered him with narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, fair warning now if I hear more unwelcome words from you within those two days," Yurisviel warned.

"A fair warning given is a fair warning taken," Zenvix said, turning his face away from her and speaking to a group of men. Some broke off, after speaking in hushed, reverential tones, and made their way to the back where the civilians were resting.

Despite being Zenvix's retainer and battle-partner for the past year, the beautiful but brusque lady had no attachment towards Nox. It was not her origin. She was only bound in contract to serve. But she was not sure she could say the same regarding the sentiment she had towards her charge.

"By the way..." Yurisviel took a step closer to Zenvix and sniffed. "You stink. Bath when you can."

Zenvix rolled his eyes at the insensitive remark, instead choosing to refocus his thoughts on the trial ahead.

⧪⧪⧪

Gallyn stepped into the room where the Amok was detained. Amok was a name given to criminal magicians, or magicians who acted in a dangerous way, by the Guild. It was a loosely defined term, but served this magician who was brought here by noon from Mondeus Village, sixteen miles from here.

He semi-unsheathed the scabbarded sword, placed it on the right with the hilt facing him. He was outright about it. If the Amok did so much as to attempt a spell, he would cut his head off, enhanced protection or not. The sigils on his blade were made to interrupt magic, carved in by the mage-smiths. These smiths would use spells or command craft spirits to create the perfectly formed sigils for the highest quality.

The Amok seemed to understand the gesture, putting on a bright smile as he placed both palms on the table where they could be seen.

His face stern, Gallyn began, "I'm Gallyn, leader of the Guild Guardians. You're here because you attempted a sixth-rank spell in Mondeus Village, violating the Treaty of Sefa. What do you have to say for yourself? Depending on what it is, you may have your magic sealed and thrown into prison for further judgment."

The Treaty of Sefa. The Amok mused thoughtfully. It was the treaty made half a century ago between the Guild, the home to a population of mages, and the City-Nations of Elaria. The treaty defined that under no circumstances should any fourth-rank magic or above be cast in a radius of twenty miles around the Guild unless explicit consent was given by the Guild's representatives.

"I mean..." the Amok said. "I wouldn't have found the guild by myself. I must admit, the way the magic is layered to make what's effectively the size of a very large city disappear from sight is incredible. Do you think I can meet the sorcerers who did this...or the one in charge of this development? Surely with a sorcerer's lifespan, he's still alive and around."

Gallyn slammed the table hard, but the Amok barely flinched.

"You think this a joke? I can have you beheaded right now under the pretext of self-defence and no one will blink an eye. It's only because I'm a just man that I even think about hearing what you've to say."

"Well, you're not the person I'm hoping to see after all," said the Amok, putting on another of his bright smiles.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. Let's redo this," the Amok said. "Let's start with a little introduction, shall we? I'm Jerius Lyvia, apprentice to Lady Lyvia, once a sorceress from the Guild. And no, I'm not her son but I took up her last name. Formerly the Prime Sorcerer of Nox, I'm here on a mission. And yes, I'm sure you heard about the fall of Nox, which ties to a dire reason that brings me here."

"Now you're talking. Continue."

"I had cast a spell to draw attention. A harmless one that disrupted the weather but caused no harm. My modus operandi is simple. I cannot find the guild's location after several days of exploration. It's well hidden, no doubt by powerful wards and illusionary magic. I triangulated the location with my tracker spells and paid a good amount of money for leads...but they were all for naught. Might as well do it the other way. Cast a harmless but flashy spell that violates the Treaty of Sefa, which draws the Guild's attention. Then someone will come for me. Mondeus Village is a mess, a chaos where the worst of men live. Weather changes will hardly distract them from their petty crimes of killing, raping and looting."

For a moment, silence reigned after Jerius stopped.

Gallyn clapped his hands. "I'm impressed. This is the first time someone attempted a sixth-rank spell so he didn't have to scout around to find the Guild. An easier way would be to request an official invitation at one of our halls in the cities, but whatever floats your boat, Lyvia. Now tell me‒"

Jerius put a palm up to stop Gallyn. "I know what you're thinking. I should have done it in a barren field, subjecting myself to lesser scrutiny and judgment. Well, the spell is as effortful as it is harmless. I need it to work the first time. Doing it in a village would trigger the sensors the guild set up in the towns and villages nearby. It would guarantee my arrest, where I can then be taken in and granted an audience with the Cabal. Simple."

"You think we'll permit any random magician, let alone an Amok, to meet the Cabal?"

"Nox might have fallen, but I'm still the Prime Sorcerer and the apprentice of Lady Lyvia, an archmagus of the Guild. Surely on these two accounts I can be granted an audience," Jerius snapped.

Gallyn regarded his facial features. "I do not know what tricks you play, but yes, you do resemble Lady Lyvia. At least the paintings of her. She's a famous enough figure. You won't fool me, Amok."

"Let me put it another way you can understand as a guardian. The guild's in danger," the former Prime Sorcerer finished.

Gallyn leaned forward, his teeth gritted. "Let me tell you what I think, Amok. You're a fraud. The destruction of Nox is known to all by now. You impersonated the late Prime Sorcerer and weaved a false tale to reap something from the guild. Though, I admit, you're a talented fraud seeing it was a sixth-rank spell you achieved, but a fraud no less."

Jerius watched in silence as Gallyn reached for his tea, then he continued. "It's the ninth time this month fraudsters came to one of the halls, claiming a prophecy that the guild's in danger and only they can help. Half of them wanted to join the guild and couldn't make it through the entrance exams with their half-assed talents, the other half were trying for some get-rich-quick schemes. A few were both, and insane. Do you know what happened to all of them?"

"I'm not interested in joining the guild."

"Death, or imprisonment. The Guild has strong laws, and we are her enforcers. A pity though. You would have made it through the exam with your talent. Plus with your command of magic, you could get rich working for any lord. Or are you looking for a rare item or knowledge only the guild has? Was it the Pearl of Dono, or the Black Ocean's Vial kept by the Order of Artefacts? Tell me, fraudster."

"You're not listening, Gallyn. You're not listening at all."

"I am. I heard you and drew my conclusion. You are a fraud. End of conversation," Gallyn said, toying with his sword, as the sorcerer on the other end stiffened a bit.

"Well, diplomacy's over," Jerius leaned back. "I'm waiting."

Gallyn stared, his face blank but slowly fury knitted his eyebrows together.

"Do you think I'm yours to command? I'm here to decide if you're to be expelled, imprisoned, executed now or later."

"That sword of yours can hurt a third-rate sorcerer but not me. I'm not a Prime Sorcerer in name only. Even the six-man squad standing outside will not be able to protect you from having your innards splattered against the wall, if I will it."

Gallyn froze, but then Jerius grinned the same bright smile he did earlier, just as the door was pushed open.

A ravishing lady in a robe walked in, flooding the room with the smell of fresh lavender. The long brunette hair that reached the small of her back contrasting with the fairest skin Jerius had seen made her beauty particularly enchanting. Drawing all eyes in the room to her, the lady scanned the room, affixing her large brown eyes at Jerius.

Gallyn stood up at once in attention. "Lady Mirayoung, what brings you here to the western Guardian's Keep?"

"You're Lyvia's apprentice?" Lady Mirayoung said, ignoring Gallyn. "That spell had her signature all over it. It...was beautiful."

"You're the one I'm waiting for," Jerius stood up and bowed. "I'm Jerius Lyvia, and I'm here to bring grave news to you."