Sleep came quickly to Lyse that evening, easier than previous attempts. He still felt tired, and spending the afternoon dancing certainly did not help the ache he had in his arms and legs. So, sleep felt welcomed with him.

Dreams of the past couple of nights melded together in his mind. He usually does not remember them, but they had always been horrifying, judging from the sweat he was covered in when he awoke. This dream, however, was a bit more vivid, and he doubted he would forget it soon. It was not one where he was aware, nor like the experience with the goddess. Everything felt too real, but for some reason, he could not figure out what was wrong. He was walking the forest once more, the same as he always had to clear his mind. A lantern in one hand, and a knife in the other, the only protection he took with him this time The silence of the forest was still as deafening, and his thoughts filled the void around him. The void, so comforting and easy to drift into when walking. However, something shattered it in an instant. A sharp cry that broke the strong silence of the forest.

"Lyse!"

He stopped in his tracks, motionless. He was unsure whether or not it was his sister or his mother, but the cry was desperate, too desperate. Without a second thought, he was running with all haste to the house. although he had been walking for an hour, he was back at the edge of the tree line in just half a minute. He did not know why, but he felt that he needed to be there, that something terrible was going to happen. And when he did finally stop, not out of breath, but unable to breathe, he was again motionless of what he saw. An entire battle seemingly waging on the village now. In the far distance, the silhouette of houses and towers danced in firelight, engulfing everything in sight, even to the walls. The cornfield was near to ashes now, as he saw men rushing through the crackling fame and towards the village proper, climbing through a hole in the wall that appeared to of been blasted open with tremendous force. All over the field, men battled one another. Knights fought against the dark figures, more falling than those slain by their steel swords. Squires fought too, friends that he even knew were among the faces; Albert, Inthus, Vennearam, Illissia. They all fought, their swords glowing and shouting the call of the empire, but the knights did not share their words. One by one, they were slaughtered. Always from a blind spot, or a misstep. Over striking, taking an ax to the back of the head. dodging to meet a ready blade piercing their heart, and bears mawed all those in its path. He saw his father, wielding a sword. He had seen his father handle blades, but never liked this. He moved with a glide, like practicing sword movements in front of a mirror. The dance flowed through all nearby enemies, severing heads, slitting throats, and piercing bellies in a ballot that made the other knights look clumsy. A lion was beside him, a lion with the face of his mother crudely sitting atop the large body, like a disfigured manticore or sphinx.

"Don't just stand there boy," the voice of his father ranged, but he never turned to him. "Fight them off. Hurry before they take your sister."

"My sister," the small words nearly whistled from his mouth. He turned back to the massive wall to see men on horses, dragging his unconscious sister by her waste to ready horses. The burly man he encountered in the forest staring back at him intently and smiling.

"Follow me, godslayer," he snarled deeply. "Meet your demise, showered in the liquid fire, and by steel and iron and cole. Your soul and power will be forfeited to us. Follow me."

Immediately, Lyse wished to move, to run. Either the fight or the horse, he did not know which, nor does he care. He just wanted to move, to help somehow. But his legs felt stiff, like held down by nails through the soles of his feet. He felt the pendant grow warmer in his shirt, heating his chest. The green and blue glow encased him as he struggled harder and harder, encasing every part of him. The green extended down, digging into the ground to spring up thick roots that wrapped around him, grapevines, and the nauseating scent of thick wind surrounding him. He heard the cries of battle grow louder and ever more present within his mind, nearly screaming at him till he could barely think of anything else.

A feminine voice, distant, began calling to him. "Your duty awaits you. Your enemy has reared its head. someone must stop her, or else the world will not stand. Rise, a hero among warriors, you must take up the blade in service to us. Awaken."

(X)

"Wake up, son."

A stiff voice just next to him made him jump up in alarm. In an instant, he was atop his bed, sheets were thrown aside and his sword in hand, nearly unsheathed till he saw who was sitting on the chair next to his bed. It was the king himself, James Colton. His hard stiff voice reminded him of his father, full of command and confidence, like his orders will be followed, and his body responded just as quickly. He wasn't wearing his usual garbs, the silks and quilt-like patterns he normally associated him with, instead sporting a simple snow-white cotton shirt, a vest, and black, comfortable-looking pants tied at his ankles leading to fine leather shoes. They were still luxury items, the type worn for the best of festivals, but it was the most casual he had seen from the nobility. He sat on one of the small chairs, the chair looking even smaller under his tall frame, and his stony face seemed to be examining Lyse; his stance, the way he held his sword, and the fierce expression he dawned for only half a second. It made him want to straighten then.

This also made him acutely aware that he was standing on a bed looking upon him. Drawing a sword on the king? He thought. I am going mental now.

He quickly climbed back down to the floor, sheathing his blade and bowing his head, casting his eyes down to try and hide his embarrassment.

"Forgive me, my king," he said in a straight voice. "I didn't sense your presence, I . . ."

His voice trailed away with a sudden thought. He shot a quick glance to the shutters and his bedroom door. Both looked exactly as he left it, undisturbed and untampered with. The fact that the king could get in without him knowing, the fact he hadn't even sensed his presence was more than startling. After spending many months doing nothing but walking blindfolded with aura, he was able to sense mice beneath floorboards, and was acutely aware of how many people were in any given room. He never even heard of someone somehow escaping detection, how can you hide the very aura your soul expelled? Like hiding leaks in a cask. Yet, he was there, looking expectant to him as he rose from his bow, and began to speak.

"Be at ease," the king made a steady motion with his hand. "I wish only to talk. You made quite an uproar as of now, beating my record and defeating someone of noble blood. While I am somewhat proud, it was also incredibly idiotic if you're trying not too stand out."

Lyse blinked. Never had he imagine that he would be chastised for dancing and singing, much less so from the king himself. The king spoke as if criticizing a knight in his techniques, strict, yet supportive. Lyse didn't really know how to react to it completely, and it was plain in his posture and face. Lyse looked back up to him for a moment, his expression is unchanging, still thoughtful. It was an expression associated with a wise king, the kind that hundreds have had carved into statues. Seeing it in person was unnerving, pointed directly upon him, and not anything remotely vague.

"You plan on leaving today," the king said simply as if he just noticed a button on his shirt. "That's good, although I suggest you talk with Novia, bet the woman likes to know where her knights are off to. Are you traveling alone?"

Lyse slowly shook his head, more from disbelief than an answer. "My Lord, how do you . . . you know about me?"

The king gave him a curious look, as if the question was easily answered, so easily that Lyse question why he even asked.

"It is the most sensible thing," he snorted at that. "I suspected that Talin was moving once more, Makyra told me as much was true. I did not expect that Wilbur and Celia would be their first target. And for that, I am deeply saddened. Someone like Remmus, Lizbeth, or I should have been made an example of their cruelty."

The more the king talked, the more concerned Lyse became. It was obvious he was keeping tabs on Lyse the entire time throughout the last few days. He silently chastised himself than of not accounting for spies for the king himself. He wanted they're leaving to be, for the most part, in secret, to prevent Talin from tracking them so easily once they leave the safety of the walls. Then again, he took in the tone of the king's voice as he spoke. While it was rough and full of inner thought, it was clear that he meant Lyse to escape for some reason. Why? He had never known or heard a rumor of the king being so boorish. Appearing in his bedroom to speak was strange enough. And then there was the comment of his mother and father that made his tongue go dry.

"You called . . . you called my mother and father by their birth names," Lyse willed up the courage to speak with confidence. He found it hard to meet that gaze, eyes as dark as night. "Why is that, my lord?"

King James stared into Lyse's face as if trying to change something within Lyse with a simple thought. He sighed then, waving a dismissive hand around the room.

"Here boy, there is no need for you to call me lord, nor king. I am simply James to you," James looked to him for his response. Reluctantly, Lyse nodded. "Good. At least you gained your mother's patience over your father's stubbornness. Ultimately, that will benefit you. As for your question, well, it has become clear that your mother and father were hiding many things. I send my regrets to you Lyse, for Wilbur was a man I had respected, may Fate smile upon him. He was a swordsman, a vagabond when I met him. Skilled enough that I made him one of my advisors. And you're mother wasn't even a captain, but was a skilled fighter nonetheless. However, they both made a name for themselves during the war. Both came from nowhere, displaying incredible potential as warriors on the battlefield as soldiers. It was said often that when one of them was fighting, even a thousand to one, they shall become victorious. This fame grew, till my father decided to rewards them both with the position of a captain and Wilbur the title of a knight."

As the king talked, Lyse's mouth grew steadier open. He tried to picture it, his calm mother and stubborn father on the battlefield, a sword in hand. Ordering men to fire arrows, close ranks, and advance. He tried to picture his mother in full Mirduu armor, turning into a lioness to barrel through several men, an unstoppable force equally as immovable. He simply could not imagine it, the thought too foreign to his view to imagine. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have believed it. Even if it came from his own father's mouth, not even then. But this was the king, who really had no real reason to lie to him, and the gleam in his eyes was genuine. However, he still flinched. How could his father be a knight? Then again, there was so little that he actually did know, and these filled in the gaps just a bit. He was merely seven when the war began, and he rarely remembers how often his mother tucked him into bed. For long times, it would just be him staying at someone else's house. The doctor, Mrs. Fyriel, a tailor, and even at the inn where he would wash dishes. He never questioned it. He never needed to question it. Until now, of course. When it is too late to speak with his father.

"I guess that during the war, my mother found this pendant," Lyse pulled out the faintly glowing pendant dangling from its gold chain. For a moment, he thought he saw a look of dread fall upon the king. But it was so brief, he could not tell if it was simply a twitch of the eye. "She gave it to me just two years after the war. . . . I just recently learned of its importance."

He then shot a curious eye to the king. "King . . .err-I mean James. What do you know of the pendant, are there others like it?"

The king gave a sure nod as if he was waiting for this question, possibly even before Lyse had appeared in the city. "Yes. Don't really trust the gods to tell you. They enjoy being vague and mysterious, which gives them that charm of a higher presence and all that. But yes, there are others. Five others, actually. What you and your mother wield, we call the Pendant of Nai. Then, there is Nekron, Theama, Mageia, Skotadi and Dynami. Named so after the first bearers of their power. This really is turning into a history lesson now. Anyway, I do trust that they told you they need to reassemble and used it again? Or perhaps they used words comparable."

The king's choppy line of thinking took time for Lyse to decipher, thinking for a moment as the question finally did indeed hit him. "Yes . . . James."

He nodded to this. "Interesting. No doubt they intend you to journey and find them now that Talin has revived itself now."

Even that name made him frown, and immediately Lyse wore a determined, yet controlled anger. "And of them? Who are they and what do they want?"

The king caught him in a steady, analytical gaze as he seemed to study his facial expression, like a farmer trying to determine the harvest at winter. Finally, he said with a small sigh. "They date back to the times before the clans were mere concepts." He gripped the armrest, the wood creaking as his voice tightened with deep distaste. "They wished before to tame ancient powers, summon them and use them They would channel the power of the gods into bodies, allowing them to create powerful weapons and warriors alike. We called them Plithos. the word for a host in the old tongue. Be thankful none such beings appeared to capture you so far. They ultimately wish to take the world. They even claim that they are the rightful heir, and we are all simply pretenders to true inhibitors. I say to the two moons that their tenacity is unmatched. I've been keeping close ears with Lupurious for any signs of them. Unfortunately, their force move was upon the most vulnerable of us. I wish I could have just done something. I-"

His voice quivered near the end, and his armchairs snapped off and nearly to kindling in his grasp. He frowned dejectedly at the two pieces of wood, then tossed them aside. He took a deep breath, as of meaning to continue, but Lyse had yet another question."

"I felt the power from this before," Lyse pulled the pendant into his grasp. "I can feel it pulsing, my lord. Like a heartbeat. Sometimes, it calls to me. But I don't know how to guide its power. Why can't you use it to stop them? Surely you have far more experience, right?"

Lyse's voice sounded more pleading than he meant to, but the meaning was all the same despite his tone. The king, just for a moment, seemed heavily considerate, his eyebrows drooped as if coming to avid thought, and his eyes locking onto the glowing pendant. Then, he looked down at his own neck, and for then, Lyse was startled. He looked down to the king's neck, an assortment of golden chains, wires, and necklaces that could pay for three villages on their own. In the midst of them, Lyse's pendant would be unnoticeable among the collection of rubies and sapphires. But one gem was peculiar among them, however. It seemed to faintly shine with a soft yellow light. At a casual glance, it would appear that it was a mere trick of the light, or perhaps the candlelight playing tricks. But Lyse recognizes that seizing feeling almost immediately as he made direct eye contact. It was another pendant, a yellow Diamond covered in gold floral design, and a golden cord wrapping around King Jame's neck.

"No," he said finally, a little forced. "We are all tied to these pendants and these pendants alone. I could not wield it even if I tried. It would even kill me perhaps. On the same key, no other person can wield this power. But, I am unable to even use my own."

Lyse gave him a curious, almost frustrated look. "Why?"

The king held out his arms. He began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and then taking off his gloves that covered his forearm. Lyse nearly recoiled at the sight of their bare arm covered in ulcers and black veins running up its length. His entire hand was black and seemed nearly rotting, and Lyse notices the slight hesitation in the king's movements. Angry and old wounds were still present and left the inside of the glove a dark mess that Lyse wished not to fathom.

"I have my reason, lad," he told him. Lyse couldn't take his eyes off his arms till the king pulled back up the gloves, and rolled down his sleeves.

"What happened," Lyse asked, and was a little afraid of an answer.

"The price of using too much of this power, without fully recognizing the consequences," he sighed. "If I had a choice, I would sit you down for long lessons and notes of how these pendants function. Perhaps your mother shall lecture you instead. But know that you are an empty bottle to it. And just like a bottle, you can burst. It's because of that, I am no longer in the prime of my capabilities, especially as a knight."

He sighed. No doubt you will be forced to use its power. There is no stopping it. It will continue to grow in pressure until you can master it. And it may very well drive you insane if you allow it. That is why you must find those pendants. Even if another can do it, we must keep it out of the hands of Talin."

The king stood then. Lyse was now staring down at his own pendant, these words echoing in his mind again and again. It feels as if someone suddenly put weights upon his shoulders, and tied bags of gravel to his ankle, and expected him to climb the very mountain itself. Even more so, he had already allowed burden upon him. This journey started with finding his sister, and that is what intends to do. All this about gods and ancient power were all secondary causes in that regard. That being said, how could he ignore this call to action. Calling him from every corner of his life at that moment. He has only two options, as he saw it. Either give up, give them what they want in the hope they return his sister, or fight them till either he or his sister died. His sister could die.

His fist closed around the pendant as the anguish of no answer came to mind. It took a moment for him to realize that the gems were in fact responding to him then. He hadn't realized the power that had enclosed him, trapped him, and fed him. His matters suddenly growing with thick vines, flowers popping up through his floorboards and down through the rafters. He panicked, seeing his, and tried to concentrate on releasing this power. With an effort, it did let go, and the pendant ceased its glowing. The king's hand had just touched the handle of his door when he stopped to stare, then gave Lyse a sad look.

"I shall keep the pendant here," the king told him. "It will be far safer than with you, at the moment. Be careful. Who knows what atrocities your mother shall commit if she finds that I allowed you to leave and chase after Talin. But I can not show you particular care because you're their son, can I?"