Draven

Draven looked up at the sky as his brother led them through the wide castle doors. He had gotten used to following his steps, being covered by his shadow, getting "Improvise" as the only answer when he asked for a plan.

Draven could feel his desperation just by looking at his back, waiting for his next move. He set out on a mission that could get thousands killed but had to be done. Draven didn't really know what the mission was, nor did he really pay attention when his brother tried to tell him.

What Draven knew, though, was that it had something to do with magic. Magic that he shouldn't mess with.

He eyed the tail of his brother's navy blue coat as it was being pulled by the wind and the blue, crystalized aura that followed him as he entered the Great Hall of the Queen's castle. All Draven could do was watch as he gracefully marched inside, leaving him to inspect the men.

The castle stood like a sleeping stone giant in front of him, with the royal gardens expanding around it like a forest of colours surrounding a mountain that reached for the sky. Underneath his feet, a short pavement made out of cobblestone was lining the way to the only exit out of this beautiful yet lonely garden. The gigantic gates of the Great Hall.

Opposite of these gates, flowers emerged behind an enormous wall that lined the royal territory, and houses could be seen beyond that wall. Draven knew that beyond the wall was the market of Alexandria, with its shouting merchants and the children who attempted to steal from them. All because he used to be one of those children.

He could remember spending a few months of his childhood running down the main street with his sister, laughing and shouting while stealing apples from an old lady's carriage.

He could remember the wind rushing against his face and the taste of salt filling his mouth as they rushed down towards the docks. Docks which were filled with merchant ships from all over the continent, bringing with them exotic foods, silks, and beasts as well as men and slaves that were meant to serve the royals.

He was so young and full of life back then. Old Draven would resent Young Draven if they ever met. He was everything he despised about his past and everything people had marked with him in the future.

On this day, one of the most important days of the kingdom, the main street was almost empty and the harbour only seemed to host warships and galleys, filled with sailors that had been served with decades of war. Sailors that, if anything went wrong, he would have to fight against.

He looked up at the castle, with its tall towers and shiny colourful windows, made from different types of coloured glass. They were blue and green and red and every other colour that could ever be made and took the shapes of Dragons, Kings, Queens and knights.

On the castle, spiralled towers with ballistae on their tops were ready to defend their Queen from any threat that would dare approach her. If only they knew.

His eyes shifted onto a huge, black heart was sitting over the biggest tower, marking this as the castle of a holy dynasty of a god. A god he didn't believe in, yet a god that had proved his existence to him and his men time and time again, by joining their side in any battle that they had ever taken part in.

Turning around, Draven threw a look at his men, giving them the orders his brother implied he wanted to be given, as they collectively nodded and smiled. They, like him, were eager not to miss Aesther's attempt at a performance in front of the Queen before the inevitable fighting broke out. But only he could sense his desperation

They were few, no more than twenty, and they were only here to guard his brother, even though he didn't need protection. Men from the two neighbouring kingdoms, the Axemen clans and the Dwarven clans. And along with them was the girl. A single girl who never showed her face, or let them hear her voice. One who possessed the power of telepathy and invisibility.

They knew her as Saint, but they knew nothing more than that. Every time Draven tried to look at her he saw a reflection of his own silver hair and deep brown eyes. He saw a reflection of his armour with the golden shoulder pads that were carved like wings of giant eagles and the sword behind his back strapped and ready to help him cut down everything in his path.

Draven could have been one of the few people that had seen Saint's true form. And he might have been the only person that had caressed her skin in the middle of the night as she lay beside him. The only person other than Lucian, the turn-cloak Priest.

After all those years, he didn't really remember her appearance, except for those deep red eyes that still haunted him at night, calling for him in his dreams.

Draven turned around to see the outside of the castle one last time, before marching in and letting his men take the places of the guards inside like they were supposed to.

The walls of the Great Hall were painted with shapes of men and beasts that he knew nothing about. What he did know something about was the all-seeing eye of the kingdom's god being painted right above his brother, who stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes set on something he couldn't quite see.

The paintings depicted beasts of old like Dragons, Phoenixes and Thunderbirds, but they also featured a great variety of creatures that couldn't have existed. One of those caught Draven's attention more than the crowd of officers and diplomats that stood in front of him. It was a creature deep beneath the sea, with shiny grey scales and enormous teeth, that was trying to devour the moon.

He felt as if he had heard thunder drumming in the distance, a shiver rushing right through his spine before he took a few steps forward.

"Admiral," he said after he pushed as far as the crowd would let him and squeezed through a crowd of old officers and diplomats to get to his brother. "Admiral, the men are ready!"

"Are you? Because I am afraid, little brother, that I am not ready. Not while Cresselya wants to put a dagger through your heart", Aesther replied, his voice almost a whisper, like the cold winds of winter. His eyes were focused on a girl, around his age, with long brown hair and a pretty nose as well as a pair of sweet brown eyes, the colour of melted chocolate.

Her fruity lips seemed to have been redder than the ones of anyone else in the room, but this just tingled his curiosity, as he tried to understand her with his eyes. His eyes reached for her chest, as they had with any pretty woman he encountered, whore or not.

But then, his focus shifted from the inside of the clothes to the clothes themselves, clothes too bright and royally to ignore.

A beautiful white cloak covered the girl's golden armour which had been integrated into a pure white dress. Her boots made of black leather and marked with two swords clashing on her ankle.

In her hand, the girl had a shield with the sigil of the Darlean Empire, the Black Eagle with the gems around him. The Empire that had lost its namesake capital over a century ago to vandals of the North. Vandals like their ancestors.

His brother's green eyes were so focused on her that one would think he was lost in his own time and place while looking at her, but he knew very well that his brother was never lost like that, he was just merely admiring the wonders of nature, especially the female ones.

Draven attempted to muster an answer to his brother's question before the sound of trumpets echoed in the air and filled his surroundings. The trumpets were accompanied by a sudden clash of spears on the ground and many people bowing. His brother was not one of those people.

Almost as a reaction to the clash, a fair lady started walking out of the royal gates, walking between two series of trumpeters and towards the altar in front of the two men. Her golden hair was flying gracefully behind her, as a filthy maiden carried the tail of her dress above the ground.

The fair lady was the Queen, her shiny green eyes standing out above her pointy red nose. She looked tired and her cheeks were red as if she had recently drunk gallons of ale.

On the other hand, the maiden was looking at her feet. She wore a dress if you could call it that, which was a piece of breastplate with the flag of the kingdom, white with a golden crown in the middle, tied around her waist to hide her feet. She seemed embarrassed of what she was forced to do, as some of the generals pointed and laughed at her. How bad it must be for her to be a slave, Draven thought.

She had her fiery, wild, ginger hair loose, falling on the piece of armour that Draven presumed covered her naked body. This was a curious thought that brought a smile to his lips. As he investigated her he threw a quick glance into her eyes. And he was captivated. He realised that her enormous grey eyes had sprinkles of blue around them, making them seem like gigantic clouds, almost completely covering the blue sky. After he stopped staring at her eyes, he noticed her lips had a small cut across the bottom, indicating the presence of torture, probably caused by none other than her master.

He then promptly stopped thinking about the girl's naked body and looked at his brother. He had felt Aesther's fist tighten beside him, while he murmured something about justice and blood when he was finished with his mission. Draven knew very well not to talk to his brother at times like these. He knew to especially not provoke him when he was angered by the treatment of someone. Someone who looked like they were from the far North, just like them.

On the altar, he could see a dragon that was carved and charmed on the pure white marble by the best masons of the kingdom. The dragon was constantly shifting his form and moving around, growling and roaring a soundless roar, as if he thought he was real. On the altar sat a purple pillow, with a sigil he couldn't see from this angle, and a crown.

A crown of black, gold and green, with red and yellow gemstones engraved in it, radiating magical power. Next to this magnificent piece of jewellery sat a silver goblet, filled with the ashes of the former King. One who had died in battle against the noble rebels just a few moons ago, with news of this death reaching the kingdom's reach only a fortnight before this very day.

The soon-to-be Queen reached the altar and smiled at the maiden, before turning to her military officers to greet them. But she didn't, she cleared her throat and waited for the trumpets to stop blowing their song of pride and glory. But even when they stopped a loud whooshing noise echoed through the chamber, as an Angel flew down next to the Princess and eyed her up and down, without uttering a word.

The Princess and the Angel stood alike, yet they looked different. For the Angel was dressed in armour made of silver steel and had her black cloak over her white wings spread behind her back, ready to blow the Princess off her own feet.

But instead, she smiled as she looked at the Queen, a smile so beautiful, Draven thought he was falling in love with it. The Angel's long white hair fell upon her armour as she gave a knightly bow in front of her Princess. Her bright silver eyes were pinned on the patterns on the marble floor and her iron fist was crashing against it.

He had heard rumours about this Angel from his friend, Lucian. He said that she was one of the most manipulative 'Priests' he had ever known, rising from an apprentice of a lesser Angel to the second Counsel of the Kingdom.

As the Princess opened her mouth and tried to say something, a lonely, continuous chant fell upon her. Other Angels approached from the windows, dressed in white and gold, with their wings bestowing their grace upon the men that had fought through so much, yet still seemed worthless in front of the shadows of these graceful creatures. As the Angel stood high, she raised her sword in the air above the Queen and the chants grew louder as he finally understood that they were in a tongue Draven didn't speak.

His brother seemed to calculate their surroundings, as he looked at the Angels one by one, a force he warned Draven about. But he led the men here anyway, ready to show to them Royalists that nothing was over yet. He was going to show them that despite their recent advances against the Nobles, the People's Rebellion had only just begun.

Minutes passed as the Angels preached prayers to a god far away and Draven munched through his yawns. When the crown was placed on the Queen's head, that's when his brother actually did something.

He gave a slight clap, something that seemed retarded for such a situation. "General, be ready to defend the Queen," he told him, as he slowly walked forth, through the last line of officers in front the open area before the Queen, who turned around and stood up, as the chants started to collapse under their own weight.

Acting during ceremonies, without the permission of the Queen, was treason. Yet Aesther, rebellious as he was, was walking towards the Queen while clapping. Draven thought about all the possibilities of how the Queen would react but for a second, she didn't seem to notice.

She raised her hands in the air and opened her mouth to speak, ready to fill the hearts of her men with courage for the reign to come. Her nose seemed ever redder and, as near as she stood to Draven, she smelled of ale and wine. And there he was, expecting perfumes.

Before she could utter a single word of encouragement, a low whistling sound came from right in front of her, distracting her in a split second as his brother came forward, pulling with him a chilling wind, one that expelled the warmth of the summer in the air. Her warmth, her summer.

His coat followed behind him and his pointy hat held hid his jet black hair under it, making it seem as if he was trying to hide something about himself, something that Draven couldn't understand. Yet Aesther did it with such a collected grace that it still brought an uncomfortable smile to his face.

His arms spread as he walked towards the Queen and the Angel, his fingers trailing the air, pointing to the ground. They were extended and parted, with lines of ice following their movements.

"How dare say that Naem wills the death of your enemies?", a shadow ran across his face as he talked to the Angel. "How dare you say that he wills my death? When I have done no harm to his religion?"

The Angel seemed confused, puzzled as if it was the first time she heard someone translate her preachings and use them against her. And maybe it was the first time, Draven couldn't know.

The Queen now seemed to be shivering, the chilly air around her being stronger than the warmth of her elegant dress. "Guards! Seize that man!" she said before collapsing to the ground, a blueish colour covering her lips. He knew that this was all his brother's doing. The Ice, the collapsing and the tears that followed. But Aesther would deny enjoying it as much as Draven knew he did.

The guards attempted to do as they were told, drawing their swords and preparing to only fight one man, even if he was as terrifying as Draven's elder brother.

The Angel extended her arm to give to the Queen, but a loud noise, one that he had heard throughout this military campaign and had marked his soul as the only known Rebel advantage against the Royals, broke in the air. It was a noise that shook the castle around them. It was a sound that let everything erupt into chaos and one which prompted the Angel to stop and pull her blade. It was the sound of a cannon.

His men did so as well, preparing to blend in and cut down the generals who thought they were superior. The diplomat from Darlan pulled a small dagger out. She was trying to compensate for her lack of a weapon by pulling her shield in front of her face and rushing towards the Queen, ready to protect her with her life.

The guards gathered their morale and attempted to cut Aesther down, but before they could even reach him, he punched in the direction of the ground, making pillars of stiff and steady ice encircle him, the Queen and the Diplomat. This circle of ice well stabbed a man through the stomach, easily cutting through his armour and making him throw his pike on the ground, as his screams began echoing in the cold chamber that had been a holy place just a moment ago. The man's blood fell on the ground in the shape of red rivers upon a miniature frozen mountain.

A second of these sounds shook the ground and the citadel as his brother pulled his makeshift weapon out. It was one he called a pistol and he was pointing it to the Angel with his finger on the trigger.

He seemed to say something to the three women, but he was too far away to be heard. Instead, he focused on the generals, who had drawn their swords and prepared themselves to charge out and meet their enemy outside.

That's when his men did their job. Eighteen of them created a shield wall in front of the gate, keeping the generals where they were, to be dealt with by their leader, but he seemed to have other plans. Draven pulled his sword out and prepared for an engagement.

Nobody was fighting, but everyone was holding their swords, pikes, shields and crossbows in the air, not sure what to do, even his own men remained idle, as they watched everything unfold so dramatically before their eyes.

The first duel that broke out was between Saint and an angel, an angel with nothing but a harp as her weapon. Saint, through what seemed a reflection of himself casting a spell of Darkness magic, was soon nowhere to be found with only a dark cloud of purple mist filling the area where she had been a mere moment ago.

Draven remained idle for another one of those moments, which was only a fraction of the time that he had spent thinking about what could have gone wrong and why the ship would have fired the cannons.

But before he could really think about it, he raised his sword and charged at a Royalist. His blows were following each other in quick succession as he took the man by surprise, slaughtering him in front of his comrades and letting his blood fall onto his own silver hair as the heavy blade tore the black and gold armour of the general.

The general himself couldn't have been more than a young man, just like himself, but he had a lack of true fighting experience, as many nobles in that room did. The man had tried to resist, but Draven couldn't be stopped by a combat rookie, even if he was a proclaimed general.

After he finished with the boy a few of the officers surrounded him. Others tried to push through the shield wall, to break it as well as the morale of the men behind it.

The guards that had once tried to attack Aesther were now onto Saint. But then, the maiden who had carried the Queen's dress raised a crossbow and shot a guard in the neck.

This gave one of the members of the crew, an Axeman whose name he had forgotten, a chance for a breakthrough, which he took.

The Axeman rushed to him and cast a spell on 3 of the officers while screaming "NAESHA", which Draven guessed was the name of the spell. He had never bothered learning spell names but this one, he was going to remember. It consisted of a series of purple lights that trapped the three officers inside them, letting them die while clawing at their necks letting no air fill their lungs.

Draven held his sword high and banded with his soldier to counter what seemed like a dozen generals. And he was quite sure that they could make it.

"Ready?" asked the Axeman, his voice mocking him with every movement of his tongue as he grasped his mace tightly, his black hair falling over his eyes like a shadow.

"Always!" Draven gave a slight grin and with a charge that seemed to be the focus of a tale, the two men rushed toward their enemies, their faces masked with bravery and their souls with bloodlust.

At this moment, he remembered holding the very same sword, Darkstar, in his hand for the first time and trying to slice at his sister, only to be beaten by her. He was determined to not be beaten this time.

In a flash of swords, axes, and bravery, this thought could have been his last one. The thought of his sister beating him in combat.