Sorry that it took so long in between chapters. I had been writing the day I posted the last chapter, but ended up getting slightly stuck on a small part in this chapter, as one of my biggest fears in writing is having the characters seem wooden, since without good characters, the story itself, no matter how good the rest, will fall flat.

Because of this, I decided to take a small break for the day, yet I didn't end up picking it up again until today.

I know there aren't really very many people that read this, but for those few of you that do, I just wanted to apologize for suddenly dropping the story for twenty days. Hopefully I will start to get better in this aspect.

The Arcelian Empire has a vast history, having been birthed prior to the Age of Man, all those thousands of years ago. It is only in recent times that this power has begun to decline due to unfortunate events. A few years past, on route to a diplomatic outing with the other Kingdoms of the continent at the neutral territory of the Celestia Mountains, the Arcelian Empire’s diplomatic entourage, which included both the Emperor’s heir, who was traveling in place of the Emperor in order to gain experience in interacting with the other Kingdoms, and the Empress, joining her son to better advise him in the matters he remained unfamiliar with, disappeared without a trace. Despite the large number of Luminescents, ordinary guardsmen, servants, and even a few fellow nobles, none were ever seen again.

Throughout the following year, chaos began to become more and more common within the Great Arcelian Empire, as the Emperor continued to feverishly search for his Wife and Son to no avail, eventually leading to his concession that they were dead and gone, leaving him a shell of the great man he had once been. Many of his loyalists encouraged him to take another wife in order to make a new heir for the Empire, as he was aging, and needed to produce a new heir. However, in his grief, he refused to find a new Wife, or even concubine.

The Noble Houses saw this as a chance to become the new rulers of Arcelia, causing their actions to become more and more domineering and tyrannical, as they did not fear the repercussions from an Emperor who had withdrawn into himself at the deaths of his loved ones. The previously comparably tame political atmosphere became a den of vipers as the Houses began to aim for the soon to be vacant position of Emperor, with each Noble House openly flaunting their wealth, the power of their Luminescents, and their status, all in hopes of gaining the greatest prize.

As the Arcelian Empire was in such dire straits, their only saving grace was, ironically, the Emperor who had all at once become a dim light that paled in comparison to his previous grandeur. For though he seemed to have become like ash to those who possessed a sense of avarice, just waiting to be swept away by the wind, his enemies, namely the other kingdoms which had previously attempted to strong arm him, feared the reawakening of the man. It was no coincidence that he was the Emperor of the largest nation within the continent, as despite his current ashen appearance, he had originally possessed a personal strength, both of heart and of body, that few could match. It was only due to this fact, and the fear that they might cause him to revert to his old self, that the Kingdoms of Pandia and Luan held back much of their greed during this time of turmoil, biding their time.

Sevrath awoke with a gasp, clutching his bedside in anxiousness. He listened intently to the soft pitter-patter of rainfall crashing against the wooden rooftop and the wind flying across the exterior of the wooden home, sending the shutters careening into their frames in excited abandon. Strangely enough, he thought he could hear the soft stomping of horses’ hooves on the muddy mire that had become of the ground outside due to the constant rain.

It was strange that anybody would be traveling at a time like this. Ordinarily, even were one to visit Carthal, a town on the outskirts of the empire, the roads to enter Carthal were on the far side of town; here, there were only small game trails for entering the forest his home laid next to.

The shrill squeal of poorly oiled hinges reverberated throughout the house, followed by the pained creaking of the floorboards as soft-soled feet sliding slowly across the floor. He cocked his head to the side, confused, wondering why his father had decided to go out so late at night during a rainstorm. He stood up from his bedside, only to echo his counterparts on the other side of the house as the wooden planks groaned and whined at his steps.

The sounds stopped. A momentary pause seemed to fill the air, as if even the wind and rain outside were holding their breath, waiting to see how things would unfold.

The silence was broken by the sudden sound of panicked feet losing their quiet approach, stomping across the house and clattering through doorways. Sevrath’s eyes lost their dazed look, widening in fear as panic began to set in.

That is not my father.

He hardly had time for this thought to set in before an unfamiliar man opened the door to his room. Dripping from head to toe, he had the tired exterior of a man who had been living in the wilderness. Near Sevrath’s own height, he nevertheless had an unkempt beard and hair, each with snags and snarls throughout. His worn clothing only drew Sevrath’s attention for a moment before his gaze was drawn to the blade in his hand, its silvery steel glinting in the light from each successive crackle of lightning, followed by the deafening peal of thunder. A malevolent grin was on his face as he steadily creeped forward to his prey.

“Hello there. I will na hurt ya ‘less ya give me reason.” His maniacal grin seemed to belie his words as he inched forward with glee. “Nothing personal y’see, just business”

Sevrath’s whole body froze as the man approached. His mind screamed to move, to fight. He had practiced combat with his father and with Katrine for the last two years purely for this reason; to stand up to the injustices of the world, to protect his loved ones. There was no better time to do that than this, but for some reason, he could not take action.

The man took the final step towards him, closing the distance between the two as Sevrath stood there still.

Just as he was reaching towards him with his free hand, a length of steel sprouted from his chest and his eyes dulled. Sevrath stared in horror as the man died before him. The body slumped to the floor, lifeless.

“Son. Son.” He heard the snapping of fingers nearby and finally lifted his gaze. His father stood, sword in hand, blood dripping down its length in a slow, steady trickle.

“I need you to breathe for me.” Only then did Sevrath realize he had been holding his breath. “Good. Now stay by your mother. Judging by the sounds outside, he was not alone.”

Sevrath’s eyes widened and his breath caught as fear for his family began to coalesce in his very being. He took on a determined look, hiding his fear and worry, before grabbing the worn dagger he always kept near his bedside. Despite much of his training with his father consisting of swordplay, he was not at all unfamiliar with the weapon. Though he was not trained in its use, he had spent countless hours gazing at the blade, the only evidence of his heritage. He knew its balance by heart, he was familiar with the strange undulations spanning its length. Now, he imagined he could even feel it in his hand, seeming to possess a spirit of its own, begging him to use it as it was born to be used.

But the moment passed.

Sevrath shook himself out of his stupor, before hurriedly leaving the room to huddle nearby his mother, who, despite the obvious fear in her face, possessed a fierce glint in her eye and a determined lift in her chin. Hearing the clank of booted footsteps coming closer and closer, he clenched his weapon tighter, to the point where his knuckles turned white. Only when he saw his father’s head glance through the threshold of the room did he let loose a sigh of relief and loosen his grip.

Of course, this only lasted until he saw the concern hidden deep in his eyes, a look which had previously been absent.

His father let loose a slow sigh, before a sense of determination once again exuded from him. Sevrath did not fail to notice the change and found himself concerned. “There are at least five riders outside on the outskirts of our land. They must have only sent in one, while leaving the rest to make sure nobody noticed their presence. Obviously they did not know that I used to be a soldier in the Empire’s army, or they likely would not have sacrificed one of their group so easily. However, it will soon be clear to them that something went wrong if he does not come out soon with us.

Sevrath looked aghast at his father as his nervousness resurfaced. “They have the entire house surrounded though, so how will we leave?

A soft sigh filled the house, as his father momentarily paid a sorrowful glance to his son and wife. “We have no way of leaving without their notice, and even if they are not as skilled, their numbers make up for their disadvantages. There is little that we can do.”

“So there is nothing we can do?” Sevrath questioned. “We will just sit here and wait for them to kill us?”

His father’s countenance gained a hint of fierceness as he glared silently before answering. “We will allow them to hear what they wish to hear.”

-\o/-

“Whats takin’ Drake so long?” One of the men outside the house questioned his companion. They had arrived not long ago and immediately set up a perimeter before sending him to do the deed. Ordinarily, this kind of action would not be necessary, but today they had little choice but to act a bit more quietly than usual.

“He-” His companion only just began to answer as a woman’s shrill scream flew out into the night.

“Damn!” The man swore before spitting at the ground. “We told him to keep things quiet this time. The bastard can’t even keep it in his pants for a minute.” He grumbled as his entire group of five scrambled up to the house, knowing that their friend had already dealt with its inhabitants.

The woman’s screaming cut off abruptly. The bandits could only lament their luck, likely Drake had already had his fill, and left nothing for them. Grumpily, they entered the wooden house, finding it to have little visibility, other than that provided by the occasional flashes of light arcing across the night sky.

“Drake! Where are you?” The leader of the bandits questioned, as he could barely see. There was no answer, but they were hardly concerned, as they could still hear a rhythmic banging coming from the back of the house. The damn lech was ignoring them.

The five lost all semblance of caution as they began to become irritated by the lack of response and the incessant beat. Following the sound, they quickly came upon a closed door. Wrenching the door open, they filed in, only to stop in confusion. Where they thought they would find their lecherous friend, they only found an empty room, devoid of people and accompanied only by the rhythmic beating of the wooden window shutters slamming against the wall from the force of the wind.

The slight smell of smoke began to waft into their senses, dulled by the roaring winds. Soon the nearby bed set fire as the wind dashed a burning candle against its fabric. There was little time to linger on their confusion and panic, as they quickly heard a soft grunt, accompanied by the loud thud of a body hitting the wooden floorboards. They turned in shock, only to find a weathered man with a fierce glare standing over their fallen comrade. Immediately, they charged at the man, but could find little opportunity to kill him due to the cramped confines of the house restricting the movements of their swords and their large bodies crowding the hall.

Meanwhile, the man continued towards the rest of them, unabated. Holding a small dagger, he had no difficulty bringing his weapon to bear, as he needed far less space than them. In little time, though none of the wounds were grievous, each of the remaining four had numerous cuts along their bodies.

Forced into a desperate situation, with a fire building at their backs, and a far superior fighter blocking their escape, the four bandits simultaneously charged at the man, intent to bowl him over with brute force. They knew that there was a chance that attacking in this manner would end in their deaths, but it was a better option than their current possibilites - either being burned to death by the conflagration at their backs, or being slowly bled out onto the wooden floor through consecutive knife wounds.

A flash of surprise flashed across the man’s face before he retreated. Having fought in many battles previously, he knew well the sight when a man had accepted the possibility of death, aiming to cripple an opponent so that another may end his life. His current superiority in the face of their advantage of numbers was only due to the fact that they found themselves constricted due to the narrow hallway, preventing the use of their blades and causing them to lose much of the advantage found in numbers. Even with this, he could only previously hold them back due to the fact that men are much more hesitant to approach someone with a knife barehanded, especially as he had already demonstrated his skill and willingness to use it to maim and kill.

However, now that they found themselves facing the possibility of death, the four men lacked that previous fear. The man could only retreat backwards, knowing that even if he managed to defeat most of them, he would likely not finish them all. He was much more determined to delay them currently than to kill as many as he could. He had more important things to worry about.

He continued to back up towards the doorway of the house, blocking the only accessible entrance and exit. The men followed.

Suddenly hearing the sound of frantic footsteps, he spun worriedly, fear finding him once again as he realized that they were not yet gone. A sharp twang sung out over the whistling winds, before a shrill screech took to the air, and blood spattered across his face. However, he felt no injury.

The muffled squelch of a body crashing into the muddy ground sounded out before him, causing his eyes to widen in horror. His wife lay on the ground, her once brilliant blonde locks caked with mud, a pool of red slowly coloring the blackish-brown sludge. He had only a second to realise that his wife had taken an arrow meant for him, before he felt a sharp sting on his back, and a sudden weakness begin to pervade his body. Looking down in wonder, he noticed a bloodied blade sticking out of his chest from behind.

He clattered to his knees, unfeeling. Stepping out from the dark shadows beyond, a man calmly placed his bow across his shoulders, as if he had not murdered a woman, then watched a blade sprout out of her husband. Daniel only had time to notice a small signet ring, bearing a crest with an eagle gripping the moon in its claws before he toppled over lifeless, joining his beloved Anna in death.

“Dad! Mom” A mournful voice screamed out from a few yards away. However, he had no answer for his son, no quiet assurances, no last confidences. He was already dead.

“Remember our deal. This one is not to be killed. Once he is sold you will receive your rewards." A soft uncaring voice sounded out, quickly drowned by the screaming winds, the crashing rain, the crackling fire and the deafening thunder.