Prologue

I

In a golden palace above the heavens a man shrouded in grey leisurely walked up a great stair towards a golden gate. The sound of his steps was the only thing that broke the silence, and his presence was a lonesome entity in these halls.

The man reached the great sunlit gate and pushed it open. Slowly, it creaked open and a stretching hallway began to glow with lights unnatural. Great stone pillars stood on either side of a rolling red and gold carpet that extended through the centre of the hall and towards another set of stairs.

Behind the man, who was now halfway across the hall, the gate closed by its own accord, and the many lights began to fade one by one. He reached the end of the hall and before him stood a small door made from oak and engraved with a yellow stone. He grasped the knob and opened it.

Now he stood in a small but cosy room, decorated with soft furs and landscape paintings, as well as a bunch of toys tucked away in a corner. In the middle of the room was a fine cradle with a small babe that silently slept.

The man in grey stepped forward but quickly stopped and grabbed his stomach. “Not now of all times,” he told himself as blood began to leak from an open wound. He tightened his great belt around his stomach and approached the cradle.

The child that slept there was wrapped in a silky white towel. He was a boy with golden hair and, once he opened them, honey-gold eyes. The man picked him up and carried him away in his arms. He went back the way he came, and the great gate opened before him, but no longer was he the only person walking through the palace.

Down the stairs, a woman with long silver hair and moonlit eyes walked with a stagger. Her eyes were barely open, her body, covered by a white robe, was nicked and bruised. She was in no state to move, yet she approached the man and, before his feet, collapsed unconscious.

“Already…?” he muttered out underneath his hood and walked past the woman. He could not help her. That was not meant to be.

He kept moving down the great stair and reached a large arch and the opposite side of the stair. His robes began to emanate flakes and a grey light obscured both him and the child. A moment later, they were gone from the palace.

Now he walked on a barely visible platform in a golden cylinder where no end or beginning could be seen. A whistling sound echoed throughout as massive rings spun in the abyss. Some turned slowly, others turned quickly, and a few did not turn at all. Sand appeared to leak from some parts of the ceiling, and the sound of sea waves could occasionally be heard.

The man, after some time had passed, stopped. “This is too early,” he said and groaned in pain. “But here’s where we’re staying. Sorry, little man,” he told the sleeping baby. The grey light obscured him once more, and a cold wind bit into him.

He appeared in the middle of a square. There were houses around him built from dark wood and covered in a light snow. It was seemingly empty, but a sound came from one of the larger houses – steel being struck. He walked towards that sound.

The door was open, so he walked inside. This was a smithy, and a tall man in an impeccably clean black coat with hair like flames and eyes of empty grey stood and watched as the hooded man approached.

“You are…” the man in grey began to speak.

“Aerin,” the smith interrupted him with a lie. “Mind explaining yourself?”

“I’ve come to give you this child, so that you may raise him here, in safety.”

“There are safer places and more capable people,” Aerin shrugged and turned around to face his forge. “Try someone else. Maybe a sheepherder, or a vintner.”

“No Sun glows above these skies, your home is safe from His eyes. Please, this is…”

“His eyes?” Aerin turned around. “Are you telling me you kidnapped Vren’s son?”

“I wouldn’t say kidnapped, but…”

“Why in the hell would you do that and bring him here?”

The man grunted, the pain in his stomach was getting worse. “Please, Aerin, I’ve not long. Take the child. The outcome will be… unfortunate, otherwise.”

Aerin sighed and walked towards the man. “Not like I have anything better to do, do I?” he gently grabbed the child. “I must raise him, no?”

“Raise him. And…” the man stopped for a brief moment. “In the hills to the east, there is a mine. In that mine is a gate. He must go there once he is old enough.”

“And behind the gate?”

“A Key for another gate.”

Aerin tittered. “Of course. And the other gate is where?”

“Beneath the guise of the Moon, in the green lands to the south.”

“Ah… that gate,” Aerin pondered for a moment. “Poor child.”

The man in grey began to cough harshly. “I will be leaving now…” he staggered backwards and leaned against the wall. “This is… a good outcome…” he faded through the wall and through the ground as if falling into a deep and chilling pool. And soon after, there was a darkness.

II

Searing iron was withdrawn from the forge of bricks and stones and placed atop an anvil. The smith started to strike with his hammer, shaping the burning chunk of metal, chipping off all the excess and useless material.

He hit the would-be blade over and over again. He struck true and steady, yet no matter how many times he swung his hammer, the iron remained imperfect, chipped and broken.

The smith threw the shattered pieces aside and placed new metals into the forge with his tongs. It would be successful this time, no? Which attempt was this even? Was it still below ten, or far above the hundreds? He could no longer tell.

“Uhm, Aerin?” the blond and youthful Visby came into the smithy. “Dinner’s gone cold. As has lunch, some time ago. Breakfast, too. You plan on eating?”

Aerin, drenched in sweat and covered in soot, turned towards him. “Not hungry,” he said, still holding the tongs inside the forge. “Did the boy eat?”

“Edwin ate, yes, and is now fast asleep,” Visby leant against the doorframe. “Want me to bring you some venison?”

“Told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“Still, you should…”

“Are the preparations for tomorrow’s feast going well?” he interrupted Visby.

Visby gave out a disappointed sigh. “Enough meat and ale for an army. Plenty of pastries and spirits to go about, too. As for the entertainment… Boden and Flen said ‘the drums drum right,’ so I assume they’re ready.”

“Good,” Aerin started to hammer the searing iron on top of the anvil.

“Why exactly are we hosting such a large feast for Edwin’s sixth birthday?” Visby asked, though the sound of Aerin hitting iron against iron did its best to deafen the room.

Aerin stopped for a moment. “Can’t miss a reason to drink.”

“But you drink almost daily without a reason.”

“Ah, but then I feel bad about it,” Aerin chuckled and then threw the iron to the ground. “Broken.”

“Plan on stopping now?”

“Might as well,” Aerin untied his apron and placed it on top a stone desk alongside his hammer and tongs. “I’ll go wash myself. Keep me company during dinner, would you?”

“Of course, chieftain,” Visby answered and left for the dining hall.

Aerin left his smithy and walked the dimly lit streets of his home underneath a night sky where no Moon or stars could be seen. It was cold outside, like it always was, and a cold wind constantly bit into his cheeks. His coat could only do so much to protect him against the harsh winter outside.

Once he left the centre of the town, barely any lights could be seen. Around him were only abandoned buildings, dilapidated and covered in snow. He walked up a small hill and reached a clearing with a deep lake. There was no ice in that lake, only still water, clean and chilling. Aerin kneeled before the lake and washed his face with the freezing waters, rubbing his eyes and accidentally wetting his long amber hair.

He stood up very suddenly once he heard the rustle of leaves to his left. He clenched his fists and, staring into the darkness whence the sound came, began to back off. Though it was far too dark to see anything, he could have sworn that he saw a pair of golden eyes staring at him with an unsettling glow. But instead of investigating, he retreated back to the town centre with a steady step.

Aerin entered the dining hall two buildings west of his smithy. It was small and cosy, nothing like the massive feasting hall on the opposite side of the town centre. Visby sat at the long spruce table, drinking from his cup and eyeing the contents within.

“The wash made you ten years younger,” Visby told Aerin as the latter sat across the table. “Want me to pour you some ale?”

“No,” Aerin responded and grabbed himself a brimming plate of venison steaks, sourdough bread, cabbages and other vegetables. He poured himself some akvavit and started to devour the food before him.

“You mentioned something about not being hungry?” Visby said whilst the smith gulped down chunks of meat. “I swear, what would you do without me?” he sipped on his drink.

After a short while, Aerin’s plate was clean and he downed his cup of liquor in one swift motion. “Venison was burnt.”

“I’m… aware. One side only, though.”

“You’re not cooking for the feast, are you?”

Visby sighed. “No, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Aerin burped loudly and poured himself more akvavit. “I’ll be helping around the preparations come morning.”

“Ah, you’ll actually stop hammering?” Visby smirked.

Aerin finished his cup. “Good night,” he said and started to walk away.

“Right, rest well,” Visby said and left as well.

Aerin left for his room, a spacious place with a soft and wide bed covered in warm furs but otherwise empty. It was on the floor just above his smithy and had a window facing east.

He removed his clothes and lay down on his side, peering into the darkness outside his window before shutting his eyes. He breathed calmly and reminisced. Memories helped him sleep. Soon enough, he became hazy and, just before being completely dragged into his dreams, rays of silver tickled his eyes. How strange, the Moon never stood in these skies, and yet there it was…

Aerin had spent most of the following morning helping with cooking, stopping every so often to take a swig of his alcohol, only to continue deftly grilling steaks and mixing stews. He enjoyed cooking somewhat, cleared his mind from thoughts. Not as much as smithing did, but there was a noticeable joy swelling within him, a certain smirk on his face as he worked his way around the kitchen.

Now, twilight was nearing. Everything was set on a singular large table inside the feasting hall. Though there were other smaller tables around the room, the amount of people that would come did not warrant their use. Still, there was plenty of room for those invited, and any company they took with them.

“You sober?” Visby came from behind.

“Sadly,” Aerin responded, observing the wide room before him. There was a great fire that they had lit in the middle of the room, warming the entire interior as well as providing light that was, in some corners and on some walls, dim and atmospheric. Not so much by the animal heads, specifically the bear heads. Those cast a frightful shadow.

“That reminds me; you never mentioned who was coming.”

“Those that left the village, some old friends and…” Aerin leant against a pillar that stood behind him. “Some people I need to talk to.”

“Are any of them aware that we’re celebrating your son’s birthday?”

“Nephew,” Aerin gave him a strange stare, as if slightly ticked off by something.

“He calls you father, though.”

“Doesn’t change a thing,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Where is Edwin, even?”

Visby sighed. “Sitting across the room. Staring at us. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Hm?” the smith looked straight ahead and saw his nephew sitting alone by the table half-asleep. His hair was a brilliant gold, never changing, as were his golden eyes that peered at the empty plate before him. Strangely enough, the boy had not been there moments ago. He must have snuck up. “Mind putting something on his plate? He’s hungry.”

“Shouldn’t… shouldn’t you do that? You know, father-nephew bonding and all that?”

Aerin stood up straight, a whole head taller than Visby, and stretched his arms. “No, I hear the guests calling outside. They can’t enter,” with a still face he mimicked people saying, ‘Let us in, let us in, it’s cold outside’ and then left through a side door to the east.

The moment he stepped outside, Aerin was greeted by the sight of two men. Darys, an awfully tall man in great grey robes and both hair and eyes the colour of a starless night sky. The other one was Bren, fair-haired and blue-eyed, with refined clothing containing three belts and a stark blue colour.

“It’s freezing outside, you know? Took you a while to open the door,” Bren said, smirking all the while.

“This is the side door,” Aerin told him. “There are people outside the main door. People that would’ve opened the door. Should’ve gone there. Hold on… how did you even get this far? There are people stationed by the main gate, as well. Did you sneak in? Why did you sneak in?”

“Not really, we just…”

“Young Bren wished to surprise you, so through our mighty efforts we have scaled the walls of your village,” Darys interrupted him and explained. “It seems our surprise worked. Partly.”

“I’m surprised by how dumb your idea was,” Aerin sighed. “And I know it was your idea, Darys, you’re the one who can’t stop being silly.”

“You are mistaken, brother. My demeanour is always one of utter seriousness,” he responded, not breaking a smile once. Darys was somewhat of a bigger brother to Aerin. Well, not somewhat. He was his older brother, though by a different mother. Bren, on the other hand, was their unrelated younger brother. Though they all looked to be in their late twenties, Bren was much younger than either of them.

“So, plan on letting us in?” Bren asked.

Aerin glanced towards the door. “I’d hoped to talk to you two where none can hear us.”

“Oh?” Darys exclaimed. “How very fitting. That was exactly what I was planning to do. As well as greet our… nephew,” he walked up closer to Aerin. “Golden hair and golden eyes – the son of Savren, is he?”

“Seems that way,” Aerin said. “The mother though… Savren hasn’t left his castle in nearly a millennia now. He’s been there completely alone, and if anyone left or came, we would’ve known.”

“And yet, the boy left,” Darys said.

“Without us knowing,” anytime someone left or came to Savren’s castle, a golden star would appear high up in the sky, yet no star had shined that day. “The person who brought him to me, a stranger in silver, also told me that there was a gate in the hills to the east. A gate that is, I would certainly hope, still locked.”

“What kind of gate are you talking about?” Bren asked.

“A Guardian Gate, as we’d grown to call them. They guard the passageways between lands from the unworthy. Right, Darys?”

“From those without Father’s blood. You know, Aerin, this private conversation can easily be overheard by literally anyone walking by or leaning against the door. Did you even close the door fully?” Darys complained.

“In truth, I don’t care if anyone hears what we’re talking about, as long as it isn’t Edwin. Everyone else, after all, is…” Aerin stopped himself. “My words would be too cruel to say out loud.”

“You will have to come to terms with your words, one day,” Darys spoke. “This whole land of yours is, no matter how you look at it, a mere afterimage. I assume that the man who told you about the gate also told you that the boy should open it. Once that happens…”

“I understand,” Aerin stopped him. This world would end, he told himself. “The man also said that, behind the gate, is a key for a door beneath the Moon’s guise.”

“You are telling me that one of the Regalia is behind that gate?” Darys held his chin and pondered. “This is… a great turn of events.”

“Great? What are you…”

“The boy, once he grows up and collects the Regalia, must head south to the Garden. The Gate needs four keys to open, but I know of a man who might wish to seek them. He will assist our nephew in his journey,” Darys spoke, his lips forming a slight curve.

“And why should he head to this Garden, Darys?”

“To drink the Water of Life, of course. So that he may be marked by the World and begin the Ascent,” Darys looked Aerin dead in the eye. “There is a little over five hundred years left, Aerin. The contract that was signed with the World must be complete. Four with primordial will, four with manmade steel, three that beckon the land, and three that mark the sky. Fourteen lives that must be given, such was the contract.”

“…You want the boy to sign a death warrant?” Aerin gritted his teeth.

“Three that mark the sky – one is the Sun. Who else may bear this mark but him? Who knows if he has any siblings, and his father, like us, is not eligible to bear it… After all, we have our own contracts to fulfil. A dozen years left for yours, is that not right, Aerin?”

“You’re right,” he answered. “You’ve less time, haven’t you?”

“Ten years,” the slight smile he had was now gone, replaced with a sombre frown. “I will not be able to complete it. It was presumptuous of me to think that I would find the truth of reality in exchange for immortality. I am doomed, Aerin, and in a decade I will exist no longer.”

“…I am sorry, brother,” Aerin responded, shying away with his eyes. Bren’s reaction was indifferent, it seemed he had already known that Darys was soon to die.

“That is why I am glad that you invited me to a feast today, Aerin. I would have come some other time on my own, but at least now I will eat and drink in good company. Tomorrow morning, I will be gone. Though my death is near and certain… there are things I – no – we must change. All of us.”

“And those things are…?”

“You will see when the time comes,” Darys said and cleared his throat. “Now, would the host kindly let us in so that we may dine?”

“Yes yes, the two of you are free to come in,” Aerin said and looked at both of them. Then, as he opened the door in order to let the two of them in, he saw that a small figure hid behind Bren. A young girl, with brownish blonde hair and striking green eyes clutched to his leg. Had she been there the entire time? “Bren, is that your daughter stuck to your leg?” Darys had already entered the hall, choosing to ignore them.

“What?” he looked down and gave out a nervous chuckle. “Ah, this? I-I mean her. Her!” he coughed. “This… is Anise! That’s her name, I believe. Is that your name?” the girl gave a nod. “Well, erm, anywho, she is in quite the precarious situation, you see. She’s been living with a mercenary band these past ten years, but mercenaries are mercenaries and they’re all dead. There are also people who don’t want her alive, so they’re actively hounding her. Or were. They probably think she died with the mercenaries, but she didn’t! So…”

“Get to the point, Bren.”

“This is the only place that is both safe and has people I trust. The only place that’s left, at least. Please, take her in your care, at least until she can stand on her own two feet. Then you may kick her out! Or… no, don’t do that… I mean, do what you want with her. No, wait, that…”

“Is it that hard to ask me a simple question of whether I would take care of her or not?”

“I… would you take care of her?”

“Does this place look like an orphanage?”

Bren stopped for a moment, observing the building before him. “…yes?”

“Are you…”

“Please?”

Aerin gave a sigh of resignation. “…If she’ll be safe here, then I’ll raise her. At least I don’t have to teach her how to speak and write, right? She knows all that already, doesn’t she?”

“Uhm…” Bren looked downwards. “Do you know how to speak and write?”

“Aha,” she exclaimed.

“Great,” Aerin exhaled. “Come inside now. Plenty of food to eat,” he said and led them inside.

He closed the hall door and looked towards the other end of the room. Edwin sat there, eating cheerfully as he talked with the woman next to him. Her hair was a glittering silver, and her wide eyes like two moonlit gems.

Aerin shook his head and looked again. There was no such person there. There had never been such a person in this world. No child from the seas above, where the Moon sang and the Stars danced, sat there besides his nephew.

The smith shook his head again and looked at his nephew who called him father. Edwin was young, still. Very young. He wondered what kind of man his nephew would grow into. Wondered what he would accomplish in his life. Funny, he felt as if that boy was really his son, yet that could never be. He knew that, no matter what, he would never be a father again. That was not meant to be.

And yet, as he looked at the child in his care, who sat there and ate and enjoyed the drums that kept beating on and on, he could not help but feel water welling up in his eyes. The boy would die once he grew up. Not of old age or the like. He would sign his death warrant the moment he left his home. And there was no evading that fact. This world would be gone already by then, and Edwin would be far away, walking through the green hills in the south, in the land of Saarast.

III

A ship passed by the wide river bearing a great viridian flag with a golden crest alike a lion. This was a ship from Roddan, a small trader’s ship. Next came a larger ship with a three striped flag – two stripes, to the left and right, were crimson, while the one in the middle was yellow and accompanied by a black eagle sigil. This ship came from Konned. Or were the colours from Kyrmen… He must have mixed them up again.

The young boy, who sat by the grassy banks of river Roddiya just outside his city, seemingly forgot which country the flag belonged to. He slumped his shoulders in disappointment. After all, his tutor had been drilling the names and flags of both countries and families into his head for the past few months and, though he knew most of them, the flags of the lands to the east would often get mistaken for one another inside his mind. Still, he had promised himself he would know them all by the end of the year, and he had a whole half a year to go.

It was warm this late spring morning, and it would get warmer as the days rolled on, before becoming colder again, and once more warmer. The blue skies above were sparsely inhabited by the whitest of clouds, and the Sun smiled in its glory as it had slightly risen from the east.

The boy looked at the sky and saw lonesome birds flying and gliding. “If only I were as free as those birds,” the boy told himself, worried by all the obligations he had now, and the many more that would come once he grew up and became King of this land. After all, he was the son of High King Maryeal, the Prince Julius Alneal. A boy with a great future, yet a future he did not want.

A chilling breeze blew against Julius’ side. “Do birds fly because they are free, or because they must?” said a tall man with long brown hair and a face sheltered by shadow. Julius was startled at first, but the man stood still, gazing at the river with his hands in his pockets.

“…I don’t know,” said the Prince.

“A bird must fly to live, to hunt and escape. They are not free,” he said. “They are bound to fly, to live and then to die. But man is always free to renounce his future. Yet, free as he is, he will accept it,” the man turned to face Julius though his face was still obscured. “Fight, Julius. Your purpose is beyond that of a King.”

“What…?” the boy said and, as he blinked, the man was gone as if he had never been there. The Prince’s entire body shivered. What had he meant with his words? Julius was uncertain and, for one reason or the other, afraid. He believed it was time to go home, so he stood up and walked southwards where the great white walls of Dammrias stood. There was a large port on this side of town, and a gate by the river in front of which large azure flags flew. Beyond the gate were mansions and rich houses with colourful brick roofs and, in the distance, the castle of Terwall stood in all its glory with many floors and a large terrace that overlooked the city. Julius walked towards that castle and, judging by the Sun’s placement, it was just about time for breakfast.

He passed through the castle’s high and arched entrance, walked besides guards wearing grey plate with blue tabards and long halberds. Each guard he had previously encountered lightly bowed before him and continued their guarding, as did the two by the castle entrance.

Once he went inside, he was face to face with a grand silver statue of one of his forefathers which stood in the middle of a wall. That wall separated the entrance from the main hall and Julius had the choice to go either right or left. No matter his choice, he would reach the hallway where this castle’s throne was placed.

And in that hallway, that throne room which he now reached, were seven great pillars to either side that held up the tall ceiling and a rolling carpet of deep blue and gold that led up to three set of white stone stairs. Above those stairs was a throne of azure stone. Calling it a throne, though, might not have been the right word. It had a place to sit, true, but it was merely carved out. The throne was a large stone of incandescent blue and spread widely over a platform with appendages like tendrils that crawled over the nearest walls and floor. In the very middle of the stone, a seat was carved out and a cushion placed, and there was a green gem set into the stone at a place where one’s head may rest as he sat down.

“A beautiful thing, isn’t it, my lord?” said a familiar voice from behind. Julius turned to face the voice – a tall and lean man with tidy brown hair and hazel eyes. He was Faltieal, the castle steward and Julius’ tutor. “You often stare at the throne, are you eager to become king, prince Julius?”

“No… Honestly, I am afraid of becoming king,” he responded. “Should I be?”

“There’s nothing strange about fearing a coming burden. In time, you will stand brave with a crown atop your head,” Faltieal made a smile. “Now, you should go ahead and eat. Hunger doesn’t befit a prince, no?”

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Food,” the steward said. “Go and enjoy your meal. We shall see each other during our lesson,” Faltieal bowed and went west towards a set of stairs that led upwards.

Julius went towards the dining room which was to the east. In the middle of the room was a long, long table fit for around fifty or so people. And though it was made for a rather large group, a majority of the seats were empty. There were a few courtiers sitting by themselves, and the occasional servant that walked around and picked up any empty plates or cups. No servant ate here though, they knew their place.

The young Prince sat down at the very eastern end of the table and grabbed a plate of cheese and sirloin, some clear soup and rye bread, and a lemony drink. He looked around to see if anyone was watching him and, realizing that no one was, stuffed himself silly. After all, he did not need to mind his manners when no one saw him.

Some moments into his breakfast, a man who was in a great hurry walked in with unadjusted clothes and ruffled hair. That man was his uncle, Kyareal, who had an exhausted stare. He spread some butter on bread and placed a piece of ham on top before biting in. Then, with his teeth still biting into the bread, he gave Julius an acknowledging nod and left in the same hurry he came with.

Julius, once he was done with his meal, stood up and started to walk away. He felt unsettled here as a murmur of voices started, and the clinking of tableware became louder and louder. It was not pleasant to the ear, which was why he walked away. Rather quickly, it should be said.

He entered the throne room once more and turned north to leave upstairs, to his own room. But, once he attempted to leave, he saw his father quickly walking towards the same direction he was going to.

Julius stopped, and his father approached him. He was a large, strong man, with hair as brown as Julius’ and a stubby beard. His eyes were tired, sorrowful and filled with a colour akin to the deep sea. “Did you eat?” his father asked.

“I did.”

“Good,” he looked towards his son with a still, serious face. His expression had never really changed before. A constant stone-faced look. “Do you need something?”

“I… no, I don’t.”

“Alright,” he patted Julius’ wavy hair. “I’ll be having tea on the terrace. Visitors have arrived,” he said and walked up the stairs. The Prince watched his father walk up the stairs in his cloak which nearly dragged along the stone steps. Once he was out of sight, Julius walked upwards as well.

He then turned left where a balcony overlooking the throne room stood. One of the azure tendrils from the throne could be faintly seen touching the golden railing. There were also plenty of tapestries and paintings of landscapes and the like.

Julius headed north again and, once he reached a wall, headed east, though it did not matter if he went west since he would end up at another set of stairs the moment he turned south again. And up those stairs he went.

On this floor were rooms reserved for the house of Ethrios and any royal guests. His room was to the west, and though he walked westwards, he was not heading towards his room. The hallways he walked through were the most furnished in castle Terwall and there was not a blank space on any wall. The northern wall, and any wall next to the outside, was colonnaded with white-stone half columns and silver criss-cross fences in-between them, and above were curtains of a deep azure that hung from silver borders.

He was now in the very middle of the floor where, on the southern wall that separated him from his father’s room, stood a portrait that bore the name Ethrian Selenius and the years 44 – 78 SUY. This was the founding king of Dammrias, and the first high king of the Fatherlands which spanned the five kingdoms of northern Saarast. His hair and eyes were like Julius’, but the eyes drawn there were the same as his father’s. Empty, dead.

Julius walked past the portrait and moved further south where the most southern wall stood. In the middle of that wall was an archway that led to the terrace, and there were windows to either side. To the southeast and southwest were small rooms that stretched onto the terrace, and they had windows as well. The Prince went to the western one and saw his father sitting by a table with another man and a woman. These people were Duke Travos Avenn, of copper hair and eyes, and the black-haired and regal Duchess Elanna, his wife.

Travos raised his silver cup and sipped on the tea. “Bitter. Floral… this isn’t from Roddan, is it?” he asked.

“An import from the west. Green snail, they call it. Expensive, but worth it, to be sure,” Maryeal responded and leaned against his chair. “There’s also fermented tea, though that is for our other guest.”

Travos placed the cup down. “Mm, you mentioned that. Who is coming, exactly? Arraneme? Haven’t seen him in quite a few years…”

“Arraneme is still preoccupied in the west, and will be for some time. As to who is coming, I am sure you’ll be surprised.”

“Hah, I wonder who it could be…” Travos responded.

“Maybe Duke Richard? Or one of the Banns, hmm?” the Duchess wondered.

“Perhaps… but let’s not start guessing, elsewise we will count every noble of Saarast,” Travos chuckled. “Tell me, Mary, how is the prince? I trust his education is going well?”

“Faltieal is educating him on matters of state. He’s already learnt how to read and write, though his calligraphy could be better. He can bow properly, knows all greater houses, and… well, I’ve nothing bad to say.”

“A wonderful prince, then. I’ve no doubt that Jenna would be proud.”

The King was silent for a moment. He looked towards the southern sky and, without looking at the Duke, posed a question. “How is your daughter, Travos?”

Julius began to listen in more closely now. The daughter of Travos was, after all, a very dear friend to him and his betrothed. Though usually when the Duke came here, so did she, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Dearest Elynne is…” the Duke cleared his throat. “Well, you know of the Avenn family and our, shall we say, condition…”

“Do remind me,” Maryeal said.

“Thinner blood, lower sensitivity to heat, rare hallucinations and, once every few generations, a pronounced sense of the otherworldly,” Elanna said.

“And this sense became noticeable in Elynne, did it?”

“Well, I’ve been told by my grandfather how it usually is, but she’s, uh…”

“Her condition is much stronger than those that came before,” the Duchess finished his sentence.

“That’s right. She started to talk in her sleep, and had constant nightmares. At times she would see things that aren’t there, and speak to them,” Travos sighed. “In order to keep her safe, we put her under lord Frotho’s protection. Hopefully, in a decade or so, she should have complete control over her… issues.”

“I insisted that we keep her home, that…”

“Be quiet, would you, dear?” Travos interrupted his wife.

“Lord Frotho… baron of Fiosa, off the coast of Roddan, no?” Maryeal asked.

“That one. The one that refers to himself as Arch-Magus and helps noble children like Elynne,” Travos sighed once more. “A silly man, but grandfather told me that his father went there and it helped him. But all this talk of magic and thaumaturgy and witchcraft… silly, I say. People that think of these things have too much time on their hands.”

“Do you not believe in them, Travos?”

“When I was a young child, of course. But Elynne is merely sick, and Frotho is an excellent though eccentric doctor.”

“…I see,” Maryeal nodded. “What about you, Elanna?”

“Of course I believe,” she said.

“Women and the occult always go hand in hand,” Travos chuckled.

“Had you seen what I’ve seen, you would believe as well, Travos,” Maryeal said. “But you should consider yourself lucky. Few can claim there is no magic with conviction.”

Travos groaned. “Whatever the case may be – Elynne is in Fiosa now, and their marriage will be delayed by a few odd years,” he said and finished his tea.

Julius was startled when he heard the sound of metal steps and quickly hid away in a corner. Two men stood in front of the archway, though he could not see them. One of the men spoke to the other in a strange language and the other one nodded and stood still by the entrance. The first man then proceeded onto the terrace.

“Janus! I have come as invited!” the man shouted out in a cheery tone and raised his arms. He wore great white robes adorned with gold and a large pale cloak. His hair was brown and of medium length, and his expression the polar opposite of Julius’ father.

“You’ve arrived, Augustus,” Maryeal, who the man called Janus, said.

The man who arrived now was without a doubt the Emperor of Kyrione, Augustus Selenius, judging by both the language he had previously used and his clothing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have guessed the Emperor of all people would come,” Travos said.

“And a good day to you too, Travos. Lady Elanna,” he bowed his head and then proceeded to sit by the table. “Ah, fermented tea, is it? A wonderful gift, to be sure,” he said as one of the servants on standby began to pour it in the Emperor’s cup.

“You’ve told me you liked it, so I made sure to buy it,” Maryeal said. “I’m glad you could come.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he looked around for a moment. “I had half expected Arraneme to be here.”

“Your… faithful vassal is still in the lands to the west,” Maryeal spoke. “You ought to keep better track of them.”

The Emperor cackled. “I needn’t care for disloyal subordinates. They bark and bark, but will never bite. Of course, should he try to bite…” Augustus smirked. “Valorya often bred revolts for past rulers. Hopefully, as we are all friends, there will be none.”

“Arraneme is smart enough to realise that a rebellion during times like these would be less than optimal,” Maryeal sipped on his tea. “After all, there’s been no war in Saarast for a hundred years. Attacking a prospering empire is a horrible idea.”

“Prospering for now,” the Emperor drank his tea. “There will be a succession crisis once I’m gone. He’ll have his wish then.”

“Have you not married yet, noble Emperor?” Travos asked.

“No, and I’ve no plan to,” he leaned back against his chair. “The High Generals will have to figure out what to do. Maybe they’ll finally get their very own dictatorship. Or look for an heir of my dynasty… but the only other members of house Selenius are an illegitimate branch who control the other half of the continent. Right, Janus?”

“…Cousins? Distant cousins? Am I really your closest family?” Maryeal asked.

“That is correct,” he sipped his tea and gazed into the black liquid. “You could claim the throne after I am gone, to be sure. However, I couldn’t approve of such a thing, and neither could the rest of Kyrione. Then again…” he stared into the King’s eyes. “I will say this only once, Janus. Our peaceful days, surrounded by warm smiles and hope, are coming to an end. The die has been cast. I have come here today as your friend, but this is the last time we will be able to be as friends. Once I leave, I will no longer be a friend, but neither will I be an enemy. That is something you yourself will decide once the die stops rolling. The shackles will be broken, and the shape of this land will change forever,” he said and then returned to his tea. “Which is why this delicious tea should be savoured, to be sure.”

Everyone around the Emperor sat in silence before Maryeal ordered more tea to be poured. “I wonder which side the die will land on,” he said, watching the tea being poured. “But until then, let us enjoy our time.”

“Indeed,” the Emperor nodded, as did the Duke and Duchess. “Tell me, how is your son?” he asked.

A hand grabbed Julius’ shoulder. “I do not believe listening in to private conversations befits a prince,” Faltieal said. “After all, aren’t politics so very boring, my lord?”

“He said… will there be war, Faltieal?” Julius asked with a frightened look on his face.

“The future is unknown, my lord. But our days tell of peace, so war is… unlikely,” he said. “Come now, time for your lessons.”

“They… why are they drinking so peacefully?” Julius stared out the window. “They talk about war and revolts and just… shrug it off. Don’t they care?”

The steward stood quietly for a while. “They might not. But even if war comes, you will be safe and sound. At least take some solace in that.”

“…And if I am king by then?”

Faltieal sighed. “Then you will be the victor. That is assured,” he cleared his throat. “Come now, cast your worry aside. We’ve history lessons to start,” he said and started walking towards Julius’ room. Julius followed him closely.

The steward said not to worry, but how could he not? The Emperor said that the peaceful days are coming to an end… does that mean he would be dragged into a conflict alongside his father? He was scared. Afraid. And… what they said about Elynne… that she was sick? He wondered about her, wondered if he could come and visit her. Wondered if she would be alright in the castle of Fiosa.

IV

“Listen, listen and hear – what shape do your dreams take?” a young voice spoke in an autumn forest. Between falling leaves of red and gold, butterflies danced towards that voice.

“Listen, listen and hear – what dreams did your eyes see?” the young voice spoke again. The butterflies, many in both number and colour, followed the voice. They left a glitter behind them, colourful and pure.

“Listen, listen and hear – what do your eyes see before you?” the voice spoke once more and for the last time as the dancing rainbows joined together in front of it. They began to take a humanoid shape and, moments after, formed into a young girl with copper hair.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, gazing downwards towards her robed body. She was there. She was real. There was no doubt in her mind.

She then took a step forward on the fallen leaves. The ground was hard – the leaves were soft and crunchy. Everything was as everything should be.

“I exist,” she proclaimed. “I am Elynne Avenn – my flesh, mind and soul are my own,” she spoke, expecting an answer. But no voice other than hers could be heard. No person other than herself existed here.

Elynne looked around. There were but trees. Tall trees that had no end, but a constant stream of slow falling leaves kept coming.

She began to seethe in anger. Why was she all alone here? Why did she appear here, in a forest of tall trees without a soul? Out of frustration, she punched the leaf-covered floor. The leaves of red and gold were sent flying and were caught ablaze. The entire forest started to burn. Bark and twigs began to crackle and shatter, leaves turned to ash and everything was slowly enveloped in smoke.

Then, the smoke passed. Nothing remained – not even charred carcasses of trees. There was nothing. But, in that nothingness, she saw a pathway leading down from the hill where she now stood on. She walked on that luminescent path between a world painted onyx. And, at the end of that path stood a door. She put her small hand on the knob and slowly opened it…

She was in her room, sitting on her large, comfy bed. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the well-lit room and the colourful walls and furniture of stone came into view. Drawers and wardrobes, both numbering two, and cases filled with books small and large, thin and wide.

There was a table, as well, with a chair and an open book. She walked up to it. The page, opened somewhere in the middle under the chapter name Transposition VII, contained a number of warnings and precautions, and an odd circle and symbols. A circle that she had visualised on her bed, and symbols that she had translated inside her mind. Through this visualisation, she had transposed herself into her lonesome dream where she had been supposed to practice her willpower and mental endurance before eventually starting physical exercises.

She was, however, too young to start exercising her body and was for now required to train only the mind. This resulted in headaches, lesser or greater depending on the length and force of the exercise. And her headache would start any minute now. Considering how angry she had gotten and how she had burnt down an entire forest, fictional though it might have been, her pain would be… less than manageable.

As she slumped down in her chair, someone knocked on the door twice. That was followed by a voice saying, “May I come in?”

Elynne said yes, and in came her tutor and guardian, Lorros. He was a kind man, a tall man, at least compared to her. He had long white hair, the back of it was tied into a fluffy tail. His eyes were like faded gold – they still had a glint, but they were worn out. He was old, very old, and yet appeared to be a mere decade older than Elynne. This appearance was, as she had read in a book, the shared appearance of each and every person bearing the name Eryjanor, a dynasty as ancient as her own, if not older.

“I hope I am not intruding, lady Avenn.”

“No, I was just… practicing.”

Lorros nodded. “I felt it. Anger. What made you so angry, lady Avenn?”

“I was alone in my Dream, even though something was supposed to be with me…” she looked into her book and pointed towards one of the symbols.

“Ah, a familiar, lady Avenn?” her tutor looked at the book, standing next to her. “This is merely to form a hollow vessel. A vessel that won’t appear unless you put thoughts into it, or feelings, or a task.”

“How do I do that?”

Lorros straightened himself and looked towards the room’s centre. “Through time, we experience the thoughts, feelings, decisions and fates of others. Through time, we learn those things, we seal them into our memories and forget them. Then, when we decide to pour those memories into a vessel…” Lorros stretched his arm out with an open palm. A great, swirling wind came from his hand and his body appeared to shine with an immaculate glow. Sparks started to flow from his arm and bundled together in the middle of the room. The small lights started to shimmer and fade out, and out came a small furry creature alike a larger squirrel. “And then the memories of humanity become something inhuman altogether. Something that serves one purpose, be it to carry out a task or accompany you.”

The squirrel climbed on top of Lorros’ palm. Its appearance was translucent, crystal-like. And slowly, it faded away and back into Lorros’ open palm. “But they are as temporary as their given task.”

“Can’t they be permanent?” Elynne looked at his open palm, eyes still filled with youthful wonder.

“Through great effort, they can. Though, at this time, such a thing is far too complex for you.”

“And only little animals and things like that can be created?”

“Bigger creatures, as well. Beings of a higher plane may also answer your call, though for a short while nearly always.”

“What about a human?”

Lorros blushed. “I, ahem… I will explain that at a later date, you’re far too young, still…”

“I know how babies are made,” Elynne responded. “I meant… creating a human like a familiar.”

Her tutor gave out a sigh. “Such a thing is… frowned upon, to put it mildly. And not possible, as far as we know,” Lorros slowly walked towards the door, turned towards Elynne and cleared his throat. “You are young, so I know that you won’t heed my warning, but researching human creation is detrimental, especially to someone born with fire in their blood. Your fate is one of fire, so hone those flames,” Lorros grabbed the doorknob but turned around one last time. “Ah, right, I didn’t come here just to check up on you,” he took out a small box from his coat and handed it to Elynne.

“What’s this?” she looked at the neat little box of metal. It had a lid on top and was as plain as it could be.

“A package, for you, lady Avenn. Came earlier today, though I do not know its contents,” he walked away once more. “Should you have further questions, I’ll be with the Arch-Magus. You may find me there,” he said and left.

Elynne placed the box atop her table and lifted the lid. Inside were two things – a rolled up letter and another box, though smaller and ornamental.

She took the letter which bore a crow with a spear in its mouth – the seal of House Avenn and the land of Devyr. The girl unsealed it and unrolled it, quickly scanning the contents inside. Then she did it a second time, and then a third time. She was… confused, to say the least. There was a circle inside, drawn perfectly with strange writing on the outside and inside. The writing inside differed from the one outside as they were written with different systems. There was also the head of what seemed to be a dragon coloured white and yellow, a crown tinted blue, an axe filled black and a knight’s helmet in red. In the very middle was more writing, this time in symbols she never saw before.

Still dumbfounded, she grabbed the intricate box which also had the Avenn seal embedded on the top. However, it had no visible way to open. It was made out of a pretty bronzish metal, not unlike her hair, and it slightly… stung upon being touched. Looking more closely, she found out that the seal on top of the box actually concealed a keyhole shaped like a rake. She had no such key. Perhaps she was given this by mistake? She thought about asking Lorros, so she put the small box and the letter into the larger box before leaving her room.

She left her room and walked around the stony hallway next to a number of windows that showed the calm sea outside. The Arch-Magus’ quarters were in the middle of the keep, so she proceeded there, strolling besides the many rooms, some vacant and some not. She went up a set of stairs that led very, very high up and walked towards the central spot of the castle. There was a door, large and wooden, with a golden bull’s head that had a ring made for knocking. So, she grabbed the ring and knocked thrice.

Lorros opened the door and faintly smiled at Elynne. “Um, I don’t think this was meant for me…” the girl said and handed the box over.

“Isn’t it?” Lorros asked with a raised brow.

“It is not,” said the Arch-Magus who sat up from his chair. “Come inside, close the door. Both of you.”

They entered the room which was circular and stretched tall as if it were a tower. There was a ton of books scattered about on the floor, table and cases, as well as apparatuses, jars and plants. The Arch-Magus, Frotho, walked up to Lorros and took the box into his hands, opening it and taking out its contents.

“It is understandable why you would think this belonged to young Elynne. After all, the seal of Avenn marks the insides. But this was undoubtedly meant for me. A message from an old friend, who used an old mark that is no longer his,” he took out a small key from his pocket and unlocked the copper box. A pungent smell came out and he quickly closed it, coughing.

“What the hell was that?” Lorros asked.

But all Frotho did was laugh. “That fool did it. He found a way to achieve our dream,” the Arch-Magus faced Lorros, scratching his shaggy beard. “An old friend will come to us in a few years. And there will be a…” he stopped himself and looked at Elynne. “The threads of fate truly weave in ways incomprehensible to us human fools. In less than a decade, after a period of time indescribable, another will take the second step towards true Reality. Lady Avenn, it seems you were born in the right time, under the right set of stars,” the Arch-Magus walked towards his table and sat down. “Now, leave me, I must conduct some research,” the grey eyed Frotho said and waved them away, not once stopping his smirk.

Elynne and Lorros left the room. The young girl looked at her tutor. “What was he talking about?” she asked, a mixture of worry and sincere wonder in her voice.

“There are… things that you cannot yet understand, lady Avenn. The functions of the world that are hard to understand. There will be an occurrence, soon enough,” Lorros knelt down before Elynne. “I want you to understand that that occurrence, though it may seem bad and irredeemable, will be something great. Once you fully understand, it will all come together. Slowly, but surely, every little detail will make sense.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You do not need to. Not yet,” Lorros stood up and shrugged his shoulders. With solemn silence, he walked off, leaving the young lady to stand in front of the great wooden gates alone. She stood there and thought and wondered. What was going to happen, and why?

V

No wind blew underneath the clear blue sky. No life moved near the Citadel of Dammrias. No sound echoed but the rhythmic beating of his heart and the cold sweat dropping down his brow. In front of him but far away were three linen targets stuffed with hay, tall as an average man and impaled on sticks. On a great bow, an arrow was nocked with a steady hand. The aim was true and the grip was tight – no matter what was in the arrow’s way, it would be hit. Pine eyes stared ahead and foretold of the arrow’s path. The arrow… was released. It connected. With more force, the doll’s head would have been torn off. If the target had been a man, it would have been a quick death.

The archer exhaled. He rested his arms and put the bow against a crate. The three targets on the other side of the range were all filled with ten arrows each, either to the head or the heart. The last shot was from a distance of, he wagered, at least three hundred yards.

He took off his glove and massaged his sore hand. His arms were in pain, as well. But pain was a sign of progress, or so he told himself. “But I can do better,” he said. “I will do better.”

As his focus began to fade and open up to the outside world, the clanking of swords became more apparent. After all, he was next to the Dammrian Citadel, where soldiers and guards trained daily. He trained here as much as he could, though with a bow most often. A sword at times, too, but his swordsmanship was lacking compared to his archery.

From the nearby crate he picked up his flask of water and took a large swig. Then, he stood up, grabbed his bow and went to grab his arrows.

“Allie!” shouted a man who came down the stairs next to the great Lion Dam. High King Maryeal walked up towards his son accompanied by a hooded person. The person, whoever it was, wore a wide and open crimson skirt above hardened leather trousers. A black cloak and wide hood obscured the face and torso.

Julius put his bow back down and walked up to his father. “You have need of me?” he asked and looked at the figure with them.

“I’ve come to introduce you to your new retainer,” he said and put his hand on the hooded person’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “Alneal, Dame Annea will serve as your guard.”

“Dame?” he asked, surprised by the fact that he would even be given a guard, but one that was a woman?

The knightess removed her hood and took of her cloak. With eyes brighter than the sky she stared at the prince, her hair like honey and lush and wild, tied into a tail with a foreign red ornament. She wore a cuirass of white plate with fine markings and a silver rising sun. Gauntlets that were more like extended bracers on leather gloves on her hands, and steel-plated boots on her feet. Whoever this Dame Annea was, she was not older than Julius, meaning at least sixteen. How she attained her title was, for now, a mystery to Julius.

Annea bowed. “Pleased to meet you – I will be your sword as ordained.”

“Y-yes, pleased to meet you…” he turned towards his father. “I appreciate the gesture, but why?”

“A promise,” he said and looked towards a number of knights in the distance. “Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” he hailed one of the knights in green.

“A demonstration? Hold on,” he looked at the knight. Sir Willem of Roddan, who was well-trained and in his thirties. “What if she gets hurt? Father, what are you thinking?”

“If she wasn’t capable of fighting him, she wouldn’t be here. Besides, I’d rather get rid of knights like him. Waste of resources and useless on the battlefield. If a pike won’t kill him, then a cannon will. And if a cannon won’t, then one of those… guns, as they call them, will.”

“And if you want to get rid of knights, why exactly did you give me one?”

“She can avoid pikes. Probably cannonballs, too,” he looked at the knight who now approached them and bowed. “Ah, Sir Willem, put on your helmet and get inside the duelling ring.”

“Who will I be fighting, your Grace?”

“You will learn of your opponent soon enough,” Maryeal said and the knight entered the ring brandishing his longsword. Then, the King gestured Annea to enter.

The girl jumped into the ring on the opposite side with blade in tow. It was a beautiful blade that she had hidden up till now. Long and white with small writing near the rain-guard. The grip was encased in leather, and the pommel was gold and decorated with a chain that held a crescent moon.

She now stood in front of the Roddani knight in perfect form with the blade pointed towards his throat. However, Willem took his helmet off in protest and looked towards the King with a bewildered face. “Your Grace, this must be a joke! I refuse to fight a little girl!”

Maryeal put his hands on the ring’s fence. “Sir Willem, you speak as if you have the choice to refuse. Fight with all your might, fight for your life, or your status will be revoked.”

The knight spat on the ground and put his helmet back on. The man was positively seething with rage, Julius could tell that much just by the unsteady breathing. However, it seemed like this time there would be no objections.

The knight brandished his sword and then entered a stance. Annea was already prepared, and she was disadvantaged. She had no helmet, and she was somewhat smaller than the knight. Still, Julius did not know what to expect.

She made the first step. A downwards swing. Willem parried, quickly. Another swing, another parry. Willem was getting pushed back. Swing, parry, swing, parry, swing, parry. She moved around with quick and elegant steps, circling the knight. Beautiful strikes without fail. Precise thrusts narrowly avoided. Willem could not fight back.

Each strike, each step, quicker and quicker. It seemed exhausting, and yet her breathing was fine, and her movement faster than before. The knight became sluggish, tired from the onslaught. Then, in an act of desperation, he swung his blade sideways in a wide arc. Annea fluttered by. She closed in. With a furious yet silent swing, her blade bit into the knight’s neck. She retracted the blade. Willem fell down, lifeless and headless.

She turned around towards a group of knights that watched the duel. Surprise was an understatement. Their jaws were hanging wide open. And the girl did not even crack a smile. She had just killed a man twice her age and experience, and she did not smile or frown. No, she merely walked up to the King and Prince and wiped her blade with a cloth. She sheathed her sword and then, to Julius’ surprise, she gave the Prince a warm smile. “I’ve won.”

Maryeal chuckled. “We’ve lost an unwelcome flea, and gained a weapon to be reckoned with,” he looked at Julius. “Or should I say, you’ve gained a weapon.”

“I…” he looked back at the corpse. Was his reaction abnormal, or was his the only normal one? Why were the two people in front of him so calm? And yet, though the girl afore him just killed someone, he cracked a smile. “I welcome you, Annea,” he extended his hand, and the knightess shook it.

“Good. I will retreat to the terrace, then,” Maryeal said. “Julius,” he looked into his son’s eyes. Then, he appeared to open his mouth, but turned his gaze away. “Never mind. I… will tell you why some other time,” and he walked away.

Julius turned back towards Annea, who stood there, one hand on her hip. “You must be tired,” he said.

Annea shook her head. “Forgive me, my Lord, but I may not tire under your command.”

“Uhm…” Julius scratched the back of his head. “Could you be less formal? I prefer when people talk to me more… casually, should I say.”

She smiled once more. “I’m starving, my Lord.”

The two sat near a window in castle Terwall, in one of the smaller parlours. Servants had brought them a pitcher of white Konaddan wine, alongside fresh bread, tender beef, vegetables from the southern earldom of Grainweald, and, Julius’ favourite meal; Valoryan pork steak in garlic sauce.

The way Annea ate and drank was refined. She was highborn, though that was already obvious since she was knighted. However, he had never head of female knights, not in Dammrias, at least. Though they did exist in the west, as well as in Valorya which was not too far south from Dammrias. “So,” Julius asked, “where are you from, exactly?”

Annea raised her hand, asking to wait a moment, as she was chewing her food. Then, she lowered her hand and began to speak. “Kyrmen, the principality of Wilark, my Lord. The city of Rugge, to be exact.”

“And you are nobility, no? I mean, the fact that you are a knight means you are, but what about your House?”

Annea went quiet for a moment. “Your… father, took me in when I was a baby, my Lord. My House no longer exists, neither do I know which one I belonged to.”

“My father took you in? Why?”

“I mean, one of his servants did. On his orders. Probably.”

“Well, my father is unpredictable at times. And that is putting it mildly,” he took a sip of wine. “Oh, where did you learn to fight, by the by? I was impressed.”

“I’ve been practicing since I could stand. Different trainers, different styles. I guess the way I fight is a mix of different techniques that I’ve learnt. Though I also understood that the easiest way to win is to be relentless. If your opponent is stuck on the defensive, then he can’t fight back. And then he’ll lose.”

“Would you not tire quickly that way?”

“I do tire, my lord. But I power through. Winning makes me excited, so if it is within my grasp, I don’t stop. And the rush I get when I win is… priceless.”

Julius gave a nervous chuckle and sipped on his wine. Her belief was scary, in a way. But commendable, as well. “How come you did not wear a helmet?”

“I don’t wear helmets. Most men get distracted when I don’t.”

“Ah, I understand your reasoning,” Julius leaned back in his chair. “Well, I have eaten my fill. Are you still hungry, per chance?”

“I… yes, my lord.”

“Alright, I will wait for you to finish and then I can show you around the castle, hm?”

Annea nodded. Julius kept watching the girl eat. There was, without a doubt, another reason why she was here. And he felt as if she had told him lies. But it was just a feeling, and whether she was lying or not was up for debate. However, he was certain in one thing. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a certain coldness, loneliness. He confined himself to finding out the truth of her being here, and who she was.