ã€ŠThe Weaver&#x27;s Wrathã€‹


 Prologue

    Caelris decided that today was a good day to die. Or at least that was how it seemed to the surrounding citizens of Valin¡¯s Crest. Likely this was due to the broad grin that seemed to be permanently plastered on his face as he gazed around the courtyard, seeming to suggest in a mere glance that the entire world surrounding him was nothing more than a joke, a farce on a scale far larger than anyone would imagine. Or maybe it was because as soon as the priest beside him began to speak to the crowd of the criminal¡¯s despicable actions Caelris began to laugh maniacally, uncaring of the indignant guard nearby nor the horrified expressions of the citizens scattered before him. Just as suddenly his laughter stopped and he cleared his throat.

    ¡°My apologies for interrupting you, I just remembered something somewhat funny,¡± he said, looking completely unapologetic as he attempted to reposition himself on the headsman¡¯s block.

    Glancing at the man, the priest continued as if he had never been interrupted. ¡°This man, this Caelris¡±, he sneered as if speaking of something unmentionably disgusting, ¡°is guilty of the murder of our town¡¯s beloved Lord, a man whose only desire was to aid in the welfare of the citizens of our fair town. How many among you know those who attracted the eye of our late Lord, and were personally escorted to his side so that he could ease their lives by making them a part of his household!¡± The priest exclaimed loudly to the fervent nods of the common folk standing below him.

    Caelris¡¯s face momentarily lost it¡¯s mad grin as a wave of despondency crashed over his shattered psyche. ¡°What a jest¡­¡± he muttered quietly, suddenly looking as if he had aged a thousand years and lived through countless sorrows.

    -\o/-

    ¡°Brother!¡± A young twelve year-old girl exclaimed happily as she rushed headlong into a decrepit one room shack which they had lived in since the death of their mother.

    ¡°Ithrin, I keep telling you that you need to be more careful when hanging around our home, you know how unsafe this place is,¡± Caelris chided as he shook his head in exasperation of his little sister¡¯s antics.

    ¡°Sorry Caelris, I was just so excited.¡± She attempted to explain hurriedly.

    Only slightly curious about what could have caused his half-sister to be so upbeat, Caelris questioned his sister in a somewhat uninterested fashion ¡°Oh, something good happen?¡± as he continued preparing the food for the day.

    ¡°I managed to get the position in Lord Valin¡¯s household as a junior housekeeper!¡± she exclaimed triumphantly, crossing her arms in a pose that bespoke of her great authority. Caelris was instantly ecstatic as they were in great financial straits after the death of their mother and Lord Valin was widely known to be a generous and benevolent Lord. The two seemed to have stars in their eyes as they spoke late throughout the night of what fantastic wonders the future would hold for them.

    A time after his sister had left in the morning following her announcement, Caelris was happily humming as he walked down the cobbled road towards the manor Ithrin had entered earlier in the day. In his hand he carried a basket containing the lunch his sister had absentmindedly left behind when she headed off for the Lord¡¯s manor in the morning.

    Arriving at the gates, Caelris continued to walk despite the forbidding presence of the guards.

    ¡°You may not enter without an invitation¡± the guard at the gate said whilst contemptuously looking down on the man before him who was dressed in tattered clothes which had obviously seen better days.

    ¡°I just want to deliver this to my sister, she¡¯s a new member of this household as of today¡± Caelris hurriedly explained. Snorting disdainfully, the guard continued to ignore the man in front of him until he finally turned to leave. Frustrated, Caelris walked away dejectedly until he was out the guard¡¯s sight, then in a few well practiced motions nimbly began to ascend the manor¡¯s surrounding wall. Landing gracefully, Caelris praised himself silently and continued on his way as if he had been invited properly.

    Glancing curiously at his surroundings as he entered the manor without incident, his previous caution disappeared as he seemed to be in the clear. Caelris leisurely rounded the corner as he wondered where in this lavish estate he could find his sister.

    ¡°Oomph!¡± He cried out, falling backwards to the floor as he inadvertently walked right into someone. Cringing, he looked upwards toward the man he had collided with, expecting to be questioned about his presence. However, rather than speaking out, the manservant just continued to look blankly forward, his eyes seeming to only contain a few remaining sparks of the last vestiges of a fading humanity.

    Tilting his head slightly to the side, Caelris couldn¡¯t help but be curious about how such an indifferent figure came about. ¡°Hel-¡± he began, but was interrupted  by the muffled sound of a girl¡¯s scream, followed by soon after by the echoes of wretched wheezing from a distance.

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    Caelris froze, his heart stopping in his chest as the sound seemed to resonate far too clearly within his heart. Looking once more at the dead eyes of the man in front of him, Caelris¡¯s mind made a sudden leap and in a panic, he bounced back onto his feet and dashed towards where the noises had originated, fearing the worst.

    Quickly dashing around the hall, he entered a room and nearly stumbled to the floor in shock as his mind attempted to deny what he was seeing. At the far side of the room, Lord Valin stood with his arms raised upwards in a position of supplication, a look of sheer ecstasy on his face. Caelris¡¯s mind simply could not comprehend the scene in front of him. In fact, he could no longer think at all, for next to Lord Valin was Ithrin, her once mischievous and joyful expression replaced by one of horror as the ¡®benevolent¡¯ Lord of Valin¡¯s crest slit her throat, sending her blood cascading down the unfamiliar altar.

    Caelris¡¯s vision turned red as he saw his sister¡¯s lifeblood flow out before him, unable to do anything to save her. Taking the small kitchen knife out of the basket of food that would now no longer have the opportunity to be enjoyed, Caelris rushed forward and repeatedly drove the knife into the unsuspecting Valin, whose expression quickly changed from ecstasy into a look of astonishment as his own life left him too, further staining the surroundings in red.

    The deed done, Caelris stood up without bothering to look around and began to slowly stumble out of the manor, uncaring that his bloodied form would seen leaving the manor, implicating him in the Lord¡¯s death that would soon be discovered by the inhabitants of the manor and the city.

    Deep in the manor, Ithrin¡¯s blood slowly pooled across the altar, finally reaching a small moonstone that was placed nearby. As the blood reached towards the gem, seeming to have a life of its own, the surroundings momentarily took on an oppressive feel, shrouding the area in darkness. Afterwards, all that remained in the altar room was a small gemstone that gave off an ominous red aura, the light undulating to a rhythm much like that of a heartbeat.

    -\o/-

    Soon enough that mad grin descended once more as the priest began to extol the virtues of the deceased nobleman and curse the actions of the one who dared kill him and defile his good name.

    The excitement of the crowd rose to a peak as the priest finished his monologue, signalling for the headsman to begin his bloody work. A hush fell over the crowd as the moment they had been waiting for seemed to arrive. Just as the crowd quieted, a tearful voice broke out before the throng.

    ¡°The day will come soon when the corruption that is hiding in the shadows of this land will be thrust into the light and eradicated¡­. It¡¯s a pity I won¡¯t be there to see it.¡±

    The axe descended.

    -\o/-

    ¡°Umph!¡± A little boy cried out, as he stumbled suddenly, falling to the ground to the amusement of the squirrels which chittered happily at him in the tree above. He turned around angrily and glared at the ancient root before him as if it should feel ashamed for tripping him. Huffing loudly, he began to dust himself off before continuing on his adventure through the undergrowth.

    As he was about to leave, he paid a parting glare to the villainous root, daring it to attempt to subdue him again. It failed to respond, obviously terrified. While looking intently at the tree root, he noticed that he had dislodged it from its previous position, allowing him to see underneath the ancient fir. Curious as to what had caught his eye, he reached his immature hand into the crevice and pulled out what seemed to be  small orb-like stone. However, it did not seem to possess the same uniform slate gray colors that could be found among its neighboring rocks. Rather, it seemed to possess a strange iridescent quality.

    ¡°This is so cool!¡± he exclaimed excitedly as he brought the stone closer and closer in an attempt to gaze upon the wondrous object at a greater proximity. In childlike ecstasy, he peered at it so closely that it was nearly touching his eye itself. It continued to shift across all spectrums of color until suddenly it disappeared entirely.

    ¡°Aah!¡± he wailed when it vanished from his hand. Furrowing his brow, he frantically searched the ground for his precious find, but it seemed as if it never existed to begin with. Time passed and the child grew more and more frustrated due to being unable to figure out what happened to his new-found treasure.

    ¡°Sev, let¡¯s go play over there!¡± A girl the same age as him cried out as she walked near. Immediately, the boy¡¯s mind changed focus when he heard the word ¡°play¡±. The strange stone forgotten, he and the girl left to begin their next adventure.

 Chapter 1

    Sermon from the Church of Lumin:

    Take heed and obey! The power of our Great Goddess Selene has been sown among us, granting us, her children, blessings so that those she has gifted may protect us and keep us from the clutches of the Damned One¡¯s Servants. It is only right that in answer to this, they should possess an exalted position amongst our own, as they are heroes of no compare!

    <hr />

    The moonlight shone down upon the verdant hilltop, illuminating the surrounding area with an entrancing light. Sevrath watched the distant moon with a sort of reverence that, strangely enough, didn¡¯t seem out of place in this environment.

    In fact, the moonlight on this particular night possessed an inherent magical quality that seemed to overshadow all else in the world. A wondrous world of night, which, in any other circumstances, would have seemed to be filled with countless horrors hiding among the shadowy pathways instead became a sight of beauty and magnificence as the full moon appeared to continuously send out its rays in pulsing waves, highlighting the night sky with its luminescent aurora.

    Though the moon when full had always been a distinct symbol of awe for the people of Dolunay, as it was the source of power for those blessed with the magic gifted to mankind by the Goddess of Creation, Selene, for Sevrath it had at some time unknown to him veered away from its previous state as a monolithic, godlike presence. Now, it seemed to radiate a sense of belonging and familiarity that would normally have been reserved for family members. And yet, it somehow did not seem curious to him that he would feel like this, that he would have some sort of intangible connection to this ineffable source of power which, even now, seemed to rejuvenate  everything its light fell upon.

    A twig snapped nearby. Dazed out of his reverie, Sevrath turned around languidly, seeming to sense that, on this night of all nights, no enemy could approach him under the watchful eye of the midnight sentinel in the sky.

    Before him a finely tailored girl with long, glossy chestnut brown hair which seemed to be perpetually bound in a messy tail slowly approached him with smooth, leisurely movements. Her unkempt hair and dirt-shrouded appearance appeared to belie what lay underneath; the young scion of a noble family. Yet even if she were not wearing clothes that seemed of far higher quality than those of other townsfolk, it would still be impossible for one to label her as a commoner, as she was far from common. Even in her bedraggled, dirt strewn state, it is impossible to not notice the palpable aura which seemed to radiate off of her at all times, a creation of general magnetism and a natural beauty that only seemed to become more noticeable in her current state, for even if one attempted to do so, it would be impossible to prevent the small glimpses of fair skin and mischievous eyes which would cause anyone to attempt to peer at her in admiration that would only grow as she aged further.

    Sitting down with a thump, the girl looked at him with an adorable pouting expression. ¡°Sevrath, what are you doing outside here so late at night? You know that your mother gets frantic when you do not return home when it becomes dark, what if you fell into danger?¡± She said maturely, pointedly ignoring the fact that she herself was guilty of the same crime.

    Glancing aside briefly before continuing to gaze longingly at the mysterious moon far above, he had to suppress the urge to snort at the supposition that he would run into trouble on a night like this. Looking askance, he asked in a mock-dejected tone, ¡°Who are you and where did my cute friend who would call me Sev and force me to join in her adventures when I was little disappear to?¡± while slowly dragging his finger across the ground, appearing to be suffering from extreme loneliness.

    ¡°She just turned twelve!¡± She answered haughtily, spreading her arms in a grandiose fashion, exceedingly proud that she had finally reached one of the most important ages in a person¡¯s life, a time that could forever alter the course of their life depending on their natural affinity. For, the age of twelve is the when those who have the potential to become one of the powerful Luminescents, those with the power to manipulate Lumin, are awakened to their pre-nascent abilities.

    ¡°Congratulations Katrine, you have managed to accomplish something which, if my guess is correct, anyone who is older than you has done before!¡± Sevrath exclaimed wryly, with a twitch of his nose.

    Katrine just looked at him with a stern expression for a few moments, causing him to start to feel a bit guilty for stomping on her exuberance. Her glare did not last in the face of her giddiness though, as she quickly once again broke out into an uncontrollable grin.

    ¡°Ah, this is true,¡± Katrine remarked sagely, nodding her head knowingly as a sparkle a mischief coalesced in her electric blue eyes. ¡°Oh, woe is me, for I have merely followed in the footsteps of our great leader, Sevrath the Aged!¡± she cried out mischievously, throwing her hands up in the air in a false display of praise. As her hands reached its zenith, the aurora which was raining down upon the two suddenly began to sway gently in answer, swirling around her upraised arms in accordance to her will.

    Sevrath merely stared in shock at the scene, unable to accept what he was seeing before him. Suddenly, his childhood friend had all at once become a potentially powerful existence in the world, something all children in the world yearned for when reaching their twelfth birthday, with him having not been an exception. Katrine had become a Luminescent, a wielder of Lumin, a weaver of moonlight.

    This awe-inducing display of magnificent power was quickly squashed, however, as Katrine began to giggle happily and dance around in triumph, demonstrating that, despite everything, she is still who she has always been; a twelve year-old girl.

    Feeling no small amount of envy, Sevrath still found it in his heart to be happy for his friend¡¯s talent before taking the chance to excuse himself to head home, as it was actually quite late. Heading in a direction opposite from Katrine, he began to dash through the grassy terrain as if running from his feelings of jealousy.

    All too soon, he arrived at the door of his family¡¯s home at the outskirts of the town, bordering the woods. He charged through the door and yelled out to his mother that he was back in order to stop her worrying. Suddenly feeling quite tired, he shut the door to his room and dropped down on his bed, head filled with youthful imaginings of saving princesses, single-handedly defeating evil armies, and, perhaps most fervently of all, of wielding the essence of the world in his hands, creating wondrous miracles throughout the world as a Luminescent, just like the heroes in stories.

    The flames of war rose and men fell in answer. Men and women wearing determined expressions stood resolute within the battered fortress walls, awaiting their eventual demise at the hands of the army banging at their gates, welcoming the hard-won freedom signified with each echo of the unceasing siege engines across the canyon walls. Despite the calling of death and worse at their doorstep, they did not fear, for they had long been living corpses, living and dying by the whims of others. Now however, things had changed. They may die today, but so be it, for it was of their own choosing.

    Deep within the recesses of the besieged fortress, a hasty contingent was formed of those unsuited or too sickly for warfare. Yet even among these few, a great purpose could be seen within their every step as they left through the tunnels deep beneath the ground in hopes of finding aid, wherever it may be found.

    Among these a woman could be seen holding a keris rife with rust. With an air of satisfaction, the weapon began to glow briefly underneath her fingertips, revealing strange and archaic runes. Smiling, she looked down dotingly at her stomach where her unborn baby stirred.

    ¡°Shh,¡± she whispered quietly, ¡°Mother will protect you.¡±

    Sevrath woke with a start to a cacophony of noise announcing the dawn of a particularly irritating day. Groaning in annoyance, he gave up on resuming the blissful state that is slumber after a few tosses and turns and dragged his feet clumsily across the worn oak floorboards, each squealing painfully in response to his trudging footsteps. Crossing the threshold of his room, his mood considerably brightened as the tantalizing aroma of morning breakfast drifted through the house, revitalizing his every step. Dashing into the kitchen at a speed which seemed to belie his earlier sluggishness, Sevrath was greeted by his mother¡¯s figure.

    ¡°Why is there so much noise outside?¡± He asked curiously as he began to scarf down his breakfast.

    ¡°The Lord of Carthal decided to have a holiday celebrating his daughter¡¯s ascension as a Luminescent, so preparations are being made.¡± his mother said jubilantly, excited for the upcoming festivities.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he was quite ecstatic to have an excuse to send Katrine away,¡± Sevrath said scornfully, knowing full well how little true interaction there was between her and her father. Her mother had been said to be an unmatched beauty who was deeply loved by the Lord; however, she died giving birth to Katrine. Because of this, Katrine¡¯s father only saw her as the murderer of his wife, the likely end of his lineage as she could not inherit, and, due to her likeness to his deceased wife, a stark reminder of what he has lost. It was due to this fact that Katrine had taken to escaping the suffocating manor and adventuring out into the forest and the surrounding hills, leading to her fated meeting with Sevrath. Since then, they had become inseparable, with her escaping the confines of her gilded cage with every opportunity, an action that was not prevented by her father despite the differences in their respective social statuses, since this would mean she would be out of his sight and mind. He even suspected that would it not damage his house¡¯s reputation, her father would gladly disown her for the sin of living.

    -\o/-

    Running through the forest on swift, silent feet that seemed to obscure all signs of passing, Sevrath stalked his prey. Since he lived next to the forest, his father had taken it upon himself to teach him woodcraft from an early age, drawing from the knowledge he had gained from his previous experience as a scout in the Imperial Army. Skills, from walking stealthily so as not to alert prey, to tracking through the signs of the forest, to marksmanship had all become second nature to Sevrath over time, as he grew more and more adept at traversing the woods. Even in times when he was not hunting for food, he could often be found wandering the forest, be it day or night, enchanted by wondrous imaginings as he ran across the ground and flew over the treetops. Today, as with many days before, he found himself running in the direction of the behemoth of the forest, an ancient fir with a size far surpassing its kin, with gnarled tree roots diving in and out of the ground like a pod of dolphins. With a size dwarfing its surroundings, it seemed to be a watchful mother, gazing upon her children from upon high. Entering the clearing, he couldn¡¯t help but have a sense of reverence for this mother of life, as birds trilled in numbers high in its branches, squirrels scampered on quick feet in play, foxes burrowed deep beneath its roots, and deer frolicked amid the leaf-strewn land.

    Startled by his sudden appearance, the wildlife froze momentarily before resuming their antics, unguarded despite his nearness. For Sevrath, this had been an event that had been occurring since early childhood, with creatures, even those with greater predatory instincts, not being frightened or aggressive unless provoked by him. Ironically enough, this very fact is what ended most of his hunts in failures, as he could often not bring himself to kill his prey when they didn¡¯t react in a negative manner to his presence. He felt grateful to be accorded this sense of companionship in a world where his only real companion was Katrine, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel bitter about this, as it was just one more thing that set him apart from those he knew.

    While most people within the Arcelian Empire possessed light skin tones with hair color tending to range from brown to blonde and eyes of typically bright colors, Sevrath had a naturally tan pigmentation. This alone did not set him apart greatly, as many others possessed this skin tone due to sun exposure. What showed him as obviously different was his black hair and gunmetal gray eyes. This, combined with his unknown parentage and being found at the edge of the Desolate Lands as an infant, a land where few can survive long due to constant turbulent storms and countless mysteries, caused many of the townsfolk to view him with superstition and disdain, a trait which was passed on to the younger generation. It was due to this that his only friend in Carthal was Katrine. It was also due to this friendship that his intellectual capacity and general musings were often more refined than most of his peers, as she would frequently force him to suffer with him whenever her tutors would manage to force her to study.

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    Resigning himself to the fact that he would once again fail to succeed in his hunt, he left the forest animals be and began to wander as he often did when stuck in his thoughts. After an unknown amount of time passed, Sevrath finally was startled out of his imaginings when struck by a fearsome sight. The trees of the forest seemed to thin out, as an aura of death seemed to exude from the surroundings, with dead and dying oaks stretching their limbs out in despair towards their companions. Beyond the rise could be seen a strange land, regarded with fear by the townsfolk. Constantly assailed by terrifying storms, shrieking winds which incited fear in any who heard, and fearsome howls elicited from the throats of what could only be demons, it was no surprise it was viewed as such. Multiple forays had been sent into this dying land over the centuries, and all that had been gleaned about its mysteries was that it was vast, strange, and brutal. Many adventurous folk who dared the dangers of this land found themselves succumbing to their final sleep, never to be seen again. Despite this, Sevrath could not help but feel a sense of curiosity and longing when looking out to the Desolate Lands. He could not help but wonder. Somewhere, out there in the depths of that dying land, might there be a people of his own?

    Sighing morosely, he turned his back on his homeland and began his journey back home, hopefully in time for the upcoming festival.

    -\o/-

    His head swiveled back and forth as he stared in wonder at the transformation the town had gone through for the festival. Jubilant expressions could be seen on many of the townspeople, as such celebrations were not that common and it was a good way to break up the monotony of average everyday life. As wonderful as the festivities were, Sevrath was a little disappointed since Katrine was not present, despite it supposedly being a celebration for her. More importantly to him, though admittedly selfish, was that because of that he had nobody to accompany him other than his parents.

    Feeling the same twinge of embarrassment every boy feels when with their parents rather than friends, Sevrath left them to continue perusing the merchants stalls while he himself went wandering about. Smelling the sweet smell of candied apple, he gave into the temptation and paid the vendor his remaining coppers and moved on content. Absorbed in his new snack, he found himself walking without direction, paying little attention to his surroundings. Relishing the sweet taste of caramel meshed with the juicy satisfaction of apple, he rounded a corner, slamming into a fleshy wall. Stumbling backwards, he lost his grip on his prize and slid into the mud-caked cobbles.

    ¡°What dah ya think yer doin¡¯!¡± the other boy yelled out indignantly before Sevrath had the chance to properly apologize. Grimacing at what was to come, he could only bite down on his lip to keep from showing his anger on his face.

    ¡°Oh it¡¯s da demon,¡± the older boy snorted derisively, ¡°why don¡¯tcha go back to the Desolate Lands? Maybe ye ken find yer parents out ther, wailin¡¯ at the sky.¡±

    Glaring angrily at the boy, Sevrath tried to stay composed at the implication that his family were not even human. While Sevrath was thin and wiry due to most of his exercising consisting of playing within the forest, Kyle was the son of the town blacksmith, and it showed. At fourteen, he was already quite muscular and was prone to proving his superiority to those he disliked.

    Perceiving his submissiveness as fear, Kyle relished the taste and decided to take it one step further as a cruel smile lighted his face. ¡°I reckon since someone already did the rest of us good folk a faver by puttin¡¯ down that demon mother o¡¯ yers, I-¡± he began to say, but was interrupted when the still figure suddenly stiffened before angrily slamming his shoulders into Kyle¡¯s stomach, taking him by surprise.

    Sevrath knew that trying to contend with a boy far stronger than him would only end in his loss, but he could not help himself as he surrendered to his rage. Falling down after the boy he tackled, he weakly punched at the boy¡¯s face a couple of times, but was stopped when the muscular boy began to recover. The tables turned abruptly, as the shock wore off and the older boy began to demonstrate his superiority. Sevrath could only hope to block as much as possible, covering his stomach and face as he tried to escape the boy pinning him down. His vision began to blur as he lost strength with each successive blow, until finally he succumbed to sleep.

    Weakly, he opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a moonless night sky, pain which encompassed his whole body, and a deep, dull ache in the depths of his heart. He could not help but lament his weakness and that of his birth parents. Perhaps if he was stronger, the townspeople would not dare ridicule him for being different. Perhaps if they were stronger his parents would not have died, leaving him alone in a world in which he is a stranger. He was pulled from his melancholic broodings by the soft sound of familiar voices in the distance.

    ¡°sevrath! Sevrath! SEVRATH!¡± A despairing voice called out to the night, growing louder and more despairing with each successive cry. He responded by weakly coughing, finding it difficult to even speak, let alone shout back. Apparently his feeble pleas were heard, as he soon could see a pair of well worn leather boots rushing towards him. Sevrath¡¯s consciousness began to waver once more as he saw a pair of concerned blue orbs staring down at him from above. Rugged hands grasped his feeble body, walking steadily away from the blood-coated scene.

    Sevrath groaned as his consciousness returned, bringing with it a fierce headache and many stinging pains. Looking to the side of the bed he was laying on, he found himself in his bedroom. His family must have found him on the roadside. He could not help but feel a sense of helplessness at the thought that he was seen in such a wretched state. The floorboards groaned as heavy booted feet entered the room. Glancing towards the doorway, Sevrath could see his father, a man with a powerful figure built from years of battle. He could not help but be embarrassed at his failure when looking at him. Even if he was not his true father, it still hurt to be seen to be weak by one he looked up to. While his father¡¯s face was masked with anger, a hint of tenderness and worry could be spotted underneath.

    Looking at Sevrath sternly, he growled out in his low baritone, ¡°Are you going to explain why I found you in such a state? It seems you picked a fight with someone.¡± Sevrath looked down, too fearful that he might notice disappointment in his father¡¯s eyes. His fists began to clench in remembered anger and a surge of self-loathing began to erupt within him as his chin began to tremble fiercely. Tears began to well in his eyes as he answered.

    ¡°I accidentally ran into Kyle during the festival,¡± he began to speak, his eyes clouding with righteous anger, ¡°He started saying things about my birth parents. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn¡¯t help myself. So I hit him.¡± Sevrath refused to look at his father throughout his recounting of the events, shamed by his lack of control and even more ashamed of his inability.

    Silence lingered for a moment after he finished speaking. Curious as to why his father had nothing to say, he finally rose his head to look at him. His father seemed to be deep in thought, as his eyes had taken on a hazy look. Suddenly, he stood up and walked out of the room without a word. Sevrath could only sit there silently, waiting for whatever might come.

    ¡°Would you like to learn how to fight?¡± He suddenly heard, causing him to startle. He did not understand why he would offer him this chance, but Sevrath was anxious to take the opportunity, as the previous day kept repeating in his mind.

    Looking at his father with an expression of both delight and confusion, he saw that he was now holding something. He seemed to notice Sevrath¡¯s questioning eyes and began to speak.

    Throughout his life Daniel had found himself drawn to the forests. It was for this reason that, on a night after getting into a spat with Anna due to her depression when it was discovered she was unable to conceive, he ended up escaping into the darkness to wander and think. Roaming through the woods on silent feet, he found himself near the edge of the forest, where beyond he could see the roiling storms in the sky above the legendary Desolate Lands.

    He gazed at the strange sight momentarily before his fear of the unknown began to overwhelm him and he turned to head back to his home. Sparing one final glance back, he was shocked at the sight. Light flashed across the sky, illuminating the previously dark land. The dead and dying could be seen everywhere, as if the land itself were trying to destroy its inhabitants.

    Within that place of death, he could see movement. With his head filled with tales of demons and worse which supposedly inhabited the Desolate Lands, he forced himself to look harder at the sight. The vague silhouette of a woman could be seen slowly dragging itself across the ground with one hand.

    Alarmed, Daniel rushed towards the figure, momentarily forgetting his fear. By the time he had reached the figure, their weak struggles had nearly ceased as they panted despairingly for breath. Looking down at the pitiful figure, he could see hair black as night enshrouding the face of a woman, with blood pouring incessantly from many wounds all over her body. He could tell she was in her final moments. Saddened by his inability to change her fate, his face darkened. Contrarily, the woman¡¯s face, despite being so close to the brink of death brightened. She called out in a weak voice ¡°Please...help¡­¡± Daniel could only lament her fate, as she could only be saved by a Guardian at this rate, and he was far from that.

    She extended her other arm out, which had previously been hidden by her shroud of hair. ¡°my...son.¡± She finished, as Daniel noticed a baby, free of wounds and somehow sleeping despite the situation. The baby was placed in his arms in a gentle fashion which seemed to belie her dying figure. She spoke once more, ¡°Please¡­ protect...Sevrath.¡± as she handed over one more thing, a blood-soaked keris which was surprisingly heavy.

    Grabbing the dagger, he noticed a set of old scars lining her wrists, as if something had been digging deep into her flesh for years. With all her worries evaporated now that her baby¡¯s life was safe, she fell to the ground limply, never to move again. Daniel was greatly moved by the love she obviously had for her son, as, despite her body rife with wounds from beasts, and a dagger coated in blood to match, the baby had escaped unscathed. The baby, which had been quietly sleeping until then, suddenly began to wail loudly, as if mourning the loss of his mother.

    Finished recounting the tale, Sevrath¡¯s father extended his hand and gave him the keris he was holding. Sevrath could only stare at the dagger with tears, as if he was looking at his deceased mother herself.

    ¡°Though the weapon itself is strange, with rust spanning its length and of a shape foreign to most I have seen, I thought that I should give you this as a memento of your mother. Assuming I teach you to fight, you must promise me that you will act as she did - to protect those who cannot protect themselves and those that you love.¡± He stated sternly, his eyes showing the seriousness of this matter. Sevrath could only look up with tears in his eyes and nod, his thoughts centered on the mother whom he had scorned in his weakness.

 Chapter 2

    Essay on Luminescents and Their Status:

    Luminescents are an interesting subject to dwell upon. Throughout the world, no matter where one is looking, countless different opinions and perspectives can be garnered from those they affect. To some, they are the Blessed, a select few who have inherited the blessings given by Selene through the Ages. To others, they are god-like beings who have fallen from grace, a relic of an ancient past, a reminder of what has been lost. Neither of these groups can deny this one thing: Luminescents possess power, and the inclination to wield it as they see fit.

    Among those who have the ability to control the flow of Lumin, perhaps the most renowned and envied are the Berserkers. Though the name would suggest otherwise, they are not merely warriors who dash through their enemies in a frenzy. The classification of Berserker is one that was created in the early days of Luminescents, when their purpose was definite: to defeat the creatures of Deimos that were encroaching on the land. Due to this, the abilities of the Luminescents, Berserkers included, were primarily focused on battle power. By absorbing Lumin into their bodies, they can enhance certain physical capabilities, such as strength, speed, pain tolerance, and the like. It was only until after the end of this warring era that other possibilities began to emerge, though those listed previously are the most common for Berserkers to learn even today. Due to their natural proclivity for Leadership due to their immense abilities in combat, they are often seen as Generals and Kings among men.

    Unlike Berserkers, who seem to be oriented towards combat through the temporary infusion of Lumin into their bodies, Guardians are able to draw upon Lumin to heal others. However, they are the rarest classification of Luminescent, and as such, coupled with their enviable abilities, they are often sequestered away, kept from the battlefields. Despite their abilities to help the common folk, they are often reserved for the upper echelon and live a life of decadence. However, throughout history some have made their mark, both on the battlefield and off.

    Artificers have the ability, through the formation of runes on objects, to Shape the World to their Will. Though possessing of far lesser status than other Luminescents due to their creations being usable by the other, more combat-oriented Luminescents, they are seen as extremely important to the development of Noble Houses, as their inventions can easily tip the scales in their House¡¯s favor.

    Skulking in the Shadows, the Weavers are among the deadliest and most important Luminescents for individual Kingdoms and Houses. Whereas the other classifications of Luminescents are able to use their power to infuse Lumin into their targets, be it animate or otherwise, Weavers are able to directly manipulate the Lumin in their surroundings.Their abilities to bend the light around themselves to go unnoticed and effects on the minds of their targets makes them natural Spymasters, Assassins, and Informants.

    However, despite these great abilities, Luminescents are not infallible and are far from invincible, with natural talent and individual training playing a decisive role in their capabilities.

    <hr />

    Sweat ran down his brow in rivulets as he glared fiercely at his opposition. Momentarily losing focus as his eyes began to sting, he wiped his face with the back on his hand hurriedly. In the time it took to perform this action, he had already lost. Mercilessly charging forward on swift feet, the enemy took the opportunity to press the advantage, as Sevrath was currently off balance and ill-prepared for his strike. A resounding crack sounded through the clearing as the wooden sword was poorly blocked, causing Sevrath to lose his grip. Abandoning his sword as a lost cause, he stepped in close, getting inside the guard of his father¡¯s own sword. Shocked by the sudden loss of resistance, Daniel found himself slightly off-balance due to the sword¡¯s swing. Seeing his opportunity, Sevrath kicked off with his booted feet, leaving the ground and performing a sweeping butterfly kick. He felt impressed with himself when he thought about how long he had spent in secret trying to learn how to surprise his father this way. That is, until he found himself laid out flat on the ground, with his whole body stinging from the force of the counterattack.

    ¡°How many times have I told you that leaving your feet during a fight is often a fatal mistake? Once you have committed, there is no going back, and you cannot change directions. Any competent warrior would easily take advantage of the opportunity to defeat you,¡± Daniel said scoldingly, looking down at his son who had been thoroughly trounced. Sevrath could not help but sulk at the thought. He understood that it might not necessarily be the best idea for actual combat, but it was just so cool!

    However, he knew he couldn¡¯t say this out loud, since his father would not appreciate the sentiment. Standing up and dusting off his shirt, he once again stepped into a ready stance. Rather than be on the defensive, this time he decided to force Daniel to react, pressing forward. Feinting left, he struck high towards his father¡¯s shoulder, attempting to weaken his opponent¡¯s hold on his weapon. He knew that if he didn¡¯t press forward, he would quickly find himself overwhelmed by the difference in skill.

    His ruse was clearly perceived by the more experienced opponent, who deflected it along its length with the flat of his blade before beginning his own counterattack. Pressured by the overbearing skill of his father, he found himself once more on the defensive despite his attempts to prevent it. He could only barely hold on to his sword as he was forced to block, parry, and deflect a slew of attacks. Staggering backwards, he berated himself for not paying attention to his footwork while in a panic.

    Setting his feet beneath him, he recovered his balance and prepared for his father¡¯s follow-up attack. Deflecting the sword up with his own weapon, he found himself once again inside the range of his father; however this time he was on the receiving end. His legs were swept out from beneath him and he found himself once again flat on the ground, this time with the tip of his father¡¯s makeshift blade at his throat.

    ¡°Kicks have their place, but in actual fights the ones most likely to succeed and aid your fight will be those below the waist like I just did¡± Daniel instructed.

    Sevrath seemed to be deaf to the words coming from his father. He clucked his tongue loudly and looked away, sulking.

    ¡°The first kick looked so much cooler.¡±

    ¡°Sevrath! I see you are still getting pounded to the floor by your father!¡± A too cheerful voice echoed through the clearing. Though the tone and words themselves were mocking, he could not find it in himself to be angered by what was said. Faking indignance, he turned to his head towards the newcomer. Dressed in a beautiful gown which seemed far more appropriate for social functions than for wandering, Katrine still managed to exude an aura of grace while gliding over dirt-strewn pathways in place of gilded ballroom floors.

    Despite the incongruity of her appearance and her surroundings, Sevrath paid it no mind.

    ¡°I see you have abandoned your post yet again,¡± he said with a smirk to the absentee noble¡¯s daughter. She often complained of how much she had abhorred the past two years¡¯ constant dealings with nobles wishing to curry favor with her father in order to gain the right to treat her as, in her words, a glorified broodmare. He found it hard to disagree with this viewpoint, seeing as she herself had little say in the matter and likely the only reason she was not already sold off was because, despite her father¡¯s lack of care for her, he was not a stupid man. No, he would milk her for all she was worth before essentially disposing of her. Due to her possessing the powers of a Weaver, her existence turned him from an unimportant Lord of a dying house at the edges of the Empire to someone that many nobles saw the need to curry favor with, if for nothing else than to claim his daughter to ensure future Luminescent children. Though many of the greater houses and even the lesser ones were not lacking in Luminescents, the acquisition of another bloodline of Luminescents was not something to scoff at; at best, it potentially increased their strength and at worst prevented rival houses from gaining more power in the future through any heirs that might be borne from her.

    So she was forced to endure seemingly ceaseless interactions with a great many self-important nobles, who would curry favor when in her father¡¯s company so that they may take his holdings through his only daughter, all the while just waiting for the man to die. But pomp and circumstance were never her her favorite pastimes and with the addition of politics to that list, Sevrath seemed to find her escaping the confines of her manor with more and more frequency.

    ¡°Like you didn¡¯t miss me,¡± she teased with a grin, walking the rest of the distance towards him and his father, paying little mind to the train of her dress dragging on the ground.

    ¡°My Lady, my heart aches as always in your absence,¡± he began playfully. ¡°Might you inform us of how you escaped your suitors on this eve?¡± Sevrath asked mockingly, performing a sweeping - if slightly clumsy- bow to his friend.

    She suddenly turned bashful, wringing her hands in front of her stomach and looking downwards. ¡°Well, I merely thought that one so dashing as the Young Lord of Falkren must be a fearsome warrior.¡± She said with wide eyes. ¡°I am only a weak girl, but it was just so fascinating. He offered to show me some techniques and I nearly swooned. Maybe I was still lightheaded, because when he had me repeat his actions, I accidentally broke his sword arm. I am just so clumsy.¡± She lamented innocently, seemingly repentant for her ¡®mistake¡¯.

    A moment of silence reigned before both began to laugh at the expense of her suitor, which was becoming something of a tradition at this point. This kind of event was not a rarity as a number of potential suitors have visited in hopes of taking her as wife, to the extent that it was honestly shocking that they did not come forewarned of the potential consequences of their actions at this point. The only reason the two could think of for why the visiting nobles continued to attempt to treat her as a mere possession with little will and even less intelligence was that those who had previously suffered were not courageous enough to admit what had injured them to begin with, as it would be met with scorn.

    The sad truth of the matter was that, despite women Luminescents having power no less than their male counterparts, their upbringing played a great factor in their capabilities in its uses. Due to this, as they were seen as mere breeding stock for future Luminescents by many of the Houses of the Empire, they grew up in this fashion to the extent that even after their powers had manifested, a great number lived up to this belief, languishing in their wealth and opulence to their detriment. Though not all noblewomen were placed under this category, far too many were and seemed to be too content to change matters. This situation lead Katrine¡¯s suitors to be all the more surprised by her seeming lack of decorum.

    ¡°So,¡± she began, interrupting his thoughts, ¡°I see you are once again endeavoring to acquire bruises.¡± Katrine pointed out, grinning at the boy who was still laid out on the floor despite her entrance.

    Sevrath could not help but blush momentarily at her comment as he stood upright and dusted off his backside, which by now looked as if it had been used as a rug. ¡°If you would rather have a new opponent, I could oblige you by offering myself as a sparring partner.¡±

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Please comport yourself in a manner befitting of your womanly station!¡± Sevrath teased playfully. ¡°You are hardly dressed to be engaging in such events, and I could not bring myself to fight a woman!¡± He pretended to look at her in a condescending manner before continuing. ¡°I would gain much worse than these physical bruises when you thrash me.¡±

    Katrine looked up at him with a predatory grin before ceding that she truly should not be fighting or even be wandering while dressed as she was. With a sigh and a cheerful wave, she left Sevrath to his training, heading back to her manor.

    ¡°Well, now that she is gone, shall we continue?¡± His father said with a grin of his own.

    Sevrath¡¯s sigh echoed Katrine¡¯s own as he picked up his wooden training sword and prepared himself.

    -\o/-

    Why must even the most esteemed of men fall short when seen with one¡¯s own eyes? Previously, most of the nobles coming to pay favor to the Lord of Carthal were possessing of a greater status than the Lord himself; however, most of these were still considered country nobles. To those residing in the capital, they would be seen as ill-bred, ill-mannered, and, judging on how they seemed pucker their nose at any mention of their country compatriots and hesitate at any need to come into contact with them, just plain ill.

    Despite their tendency to look down on any they considered to not be within their group of peers, Sevrath could not see anything noteworthy among the newest group of suitors. Yes, their clothes were more luxurious, their mannerisms more intentional, and their expressions even more haughty than their predecessors, but, despite their claims otherwise, he could not see anything special about them. Unlike many of the past groups that came to Carthal to ask for the hand of Katrine, supposedly some members of this retinue were even powerful Luminescents. Sevrath could not see it. Honestly he found it all intensely disappointing. In the past, he was briefly amazed by Katrine¡¯s demonstration of her newfound powers, but that had quickly faded. He had assumed that the reason for this was that he was familiar with her; no matter how hard he tried to see a powerful entity, all he saw was his best friend.

    However, he found he was even less impressed with these new Luminescents who were visiting, despite the lack of familiarity. Everyone grew up hearing the stories, the legends of great heroes who changed the course of wars, saved lives wherever they went, and protected mankind. This, on the other hand, was just¡­ disappointing. Proceeding before him on the path to the Lord¡¯s manor, all he could see were men. Men who found themselves, through mere fortune of birth, to be better than those around them and saw themselves as deserving and all others inferior. He could see it in the way they looked down their noses at the curious masses gathered in the town square, in the way they looked at those around them, but did not truly see them.

    Sadly, he seemed to be alone in this opinion. Around him he could see the yearning eyes of his townspeople; the adoration and praise lingering on the tips of their tongues, fearful and in awe of these beings they saw as greater. Sevrath could not help but feel appalled at their blindness, and disgusted at the Luminescents who failed to live up to their people¡¯s faith; a faith that their ancestors had fostered in the people.

    Maybe he was naive. Maybe not. Maybe this was the way the world was, and had always been. Maybe true heroes did not exist beyond the songs of bards and the tales of times long past. Maybe.

    -\o/-

    Slipping through the shrouded woodlands, Sevrath stalked his prey. His prey was intelligent, and it showed. Tracks were obscured with its passing, leaving very little evidence of its existence. However he had long lived and breathed these woods; every leaf, every branch, every tree, and every root were familiar to him. He could see the subtle signs of something different, something alien to the forest. A scuff mark alongside the edge of a protruding root which he had often found himself stumbling upon as a child. Small snaps among the brambles of the foliage, where thorns found themselves adhering to passersby. The tentative presence of wildlife found in the wake of something unknown, of a potential predator. Oh yes, despite their attempts to fool him, taking a circuitous route, doubling back, obscuring their trail, he knew well where his prey was. He could feel it.

    Creeping through the woods, he avoided the fallen leaves which could give away his position and stepped silently amongst the dew covered grass. Spotting where his prey had doubled back on itself in an attempt to mislead him, he turned left and followed the small game trail in an attempt to push past his prey and ambush. Setting himself down among the foliage he waited carefully, ears perked for any sign of movement. Soon his patience was rewarded as the ambient sounds momentarily halted, heralding an intruder in the area. Grinning to himself, Sevrath prepared his weapon. With the snap of a nearby twig announcing its nearness, he leaped to his feet, leaving the cover of the bushes he had waited in.

    He found intense satisfaction in his ambush. Startled by his sudden leap into view, his prey jumped backwards in fright, eyes dilating in response to his sudden appearance. He brought his weapon to bear, stabbing forward in a quick thrust at his prey, attempting to hamstring it. However, he was to slow, as his prey, despite the shock of his sudden appearance, had already prepared herself. Sidestepping his sudden attack, she slashed her own blade in an upward arc, forcing Sevrath to race to bring his own blade to bear, expecting the usual numbing pain accompanied by a forceful block - it did not come.

    Instead, he felt only a light brush upon the length of his weapon, far from the force he had expected from her quick counter. As the lack of force registered in Sevrath¡¯s mind, she had already continued her attack, sliding her blade along his own¡¯s length and following with a rotation of her own body in order to use his own blade as a fulcrum, increasing the power of her attack.

    With little option, he found himself on the defensive, backpedalling in the wake of her blade. She had definitely improved with the sword. However, she was not the only one who had improved. Predicting her attack, Sevrath, redirected a counterattack of his own with a flick of his wrist, changing the direction of his blade mid-swing. The sound of wood impacting echoed across the clearing, dulled only by the cloth of her garments. Grinning at having gained the first strike, Sevrath continued his offensive, leaving little room for his opponent to attack him. Sadly, he was not infallible, and he soon found himself becoming winded. As his blows began to lose the force behind them, she found opportunity of her own.

    Countering with a parry, she stepped forward to deliver a punch with her offhand to his undefended chest. Seeing no escape, he twisted his body lightly, allowing it to merely brush by his chest, dealing a glancing blow, before following with his sword, sliding the blade up towards her underarm to cripple her for the remainder of the fight.

    Caught off guard, she stood unbalanced from her punch which had lacked the impact expected. Smiling triumphantly as lashed his blade out towards her unguarded armpit, he already relished the taste of his upcoming victory. His sword close in on her - and passing right through. He only had a moment to register this before he felt a pain across his abdomen and the figure vanished from his view, only to appear to the left of where he had thought it was.

    Grinning happily as Sevrath fell to the ground wheezing, Katrine took no time to rub in her victory as she paraded around him in glee.

    ¡°You cheated!¡± Sevrath accused as he rubbed his aching stomach, wincing at the pain it accompanied. Katrine seemed to pay no mind to his accusations as she continued to dance around him. ¡°You used your powers to create an illusion.¡± He continued to sulk at the loss to his friend.

    Katrine stopped in front of him, pouting. ¡°It hardly seems fair that you would get to have the advantage of your knowledge of woodcraft, allowing you to ambush me so easily, while I can¡¯t make use of my own skills.¡± Sevrath paused at this, as he had indeed made use of his abilities to traverse the forest silently and track to gain an advantage of his own in their game. Despite wanting to continue to complain bitterly about her use of her powers as a Luminescent, he decided to hold his tongue this time.

    If nothing else, at least Katrine seemed happier now than she had in weeks. That was good enough for him. Now he just needed to convince himself of it.

    He forced himself to smile. ¡°I had hopes that I would win our fight this time when you mentioned the rules of our game. Since when have you been able to do that?¡± He asked, referring to her previous illusion. Katrine grinned broadly, giving him a coy look before flouncing off, leaving his question unanswered. He could only shake his head and follow. Because of this, he could not see that her smile wavered, showing a touch of sadness as she lead the way.

    -\o/-

    Ordinarily, Sevrath and Katrine would have said their goodbyes upon reaching the edge of the forest, seeing as their respective homes were on opposite sides of the town, both in location and wealth. However, recently, likely due to the knowledge that their friendship would in the future begin to drift apart due to her forced interactions with those of her class, they did not go their separate ways. Instead, Sevrath and Katrine continued to joke and talk along the way to her family¡¯s manor.

    Reaching the gate of the manor, Sevrath decided to take his leave, as despite how much Katrine herself welcomed his presence, others did not feel the same. As he turned to leave, the sound of a galloping horse could be heard heading in their direction. Glaring into the sun, he could see a fine horse and a well groomed rider perched atop. Clearly this rider was another one of Katrine¡¯s attempted suitors, as he was of a similar age based on his features, and possessed a bearing of arrogance that was hard to find outside of noble circles. Sliding to a stop in front of the two, the boy let out a dashing smile as he dismounted his horse, and gave greetings to Katrine.

    ¡°Milady, your beauty echoes that of Selene herself.¡± The boy said with a smile, paying little mind to her company.

    ¡°Boy, take my horse to the stables¡± He said passing by without even turning.

    Sevrath stood there dumbfounded for a moment as the reins were thrown at him, attempting to understand the situation. Dropping the reins, he glared angrily at the boy before speaking his mind. ¡°I do not know who you are, nor do I care. I have no reason to do as you say.¡± he said with a sneer. ¡°And I am not your servant.¡± he finished, voice dripping with condescension.

    Turning in shock at the idea that a mere peasant would speak back to him, an illustrious noble, the boy¡¯s arrogant demeanor was momentarily replaced with surprise before it once again regained its supercilious countenance.

    ¡°I see you have not yet had the pleasure of gazing upon a noble such as myself. I should not be shocked, as you were likely busy rolling with pigs and eating their slop prior to my arrival.¡± The boy began, looking disgustedly at Sevrath, who was currently covered in dirt from his recent foray into the forest with Katrine. ¡°My name is Daryn Elunel, of the Great House Elunel. Most recently; fianc¨¦ to the beauty of Carthal.¡± He finished, leering possessively at Katrine with a hunger in his eyes.

 Chapter 3

    The Great Noble Houses of the Arcelian Empire:

    Due to its position as an Empire, a conglomeration of past Kingdoms conquered and annexed, the Arcelian Empire possesses the largest landmass of the four nations of the continent. Likewise, it possesses a great many Noble Houses, with each claiming ancestry to the great heroes of yore, passing wealth, prestige, and the Blessings down their respective lines. However, among these Houses, some possess power eclipsing that of their fellow Houses. These are the Great Houses; the House Derenial, second only to the Imperial Family in power; the House Fadriel; the House Illyndra; the House Paran; the House Verity; the House Tenrael; the House Kellan; and the House Joran. Occasionally mentioned in the same breath as these are the Young Houses. These upstart Houses include House Graken and House Elunel. Lacking in the great history found in the Great Houses, they nevertheless possess a large amount of wealth, which they then have used to introduce those with Blessings into their line through marriage and children. While the Great Houses often scorn these young Houses who lack their lineages, House Graken and Elunel have taken to naming themselves to be members of the Great Houses by right of this massive wealth.

    <hr />

    ¡°You never saw fit to tell me that your suitor had finally been decided? Since when did we keep secrets from one another?¡± Sevrath spoke angrily as he trudged ahead of Katrine for the hundredth time that week, refusing to give her opportunity to explain herself or to apologize.

    ¡°Look, we are best friends. Goddess, I am your only friend.¡± Hearing this, Sevrath stopped and turned to her in annoyance.

    ¡°I am your only friend,¡± she continued, ¡°and you are my only friend. Yes, I should have told you when my father agreed to Daryn¡¯s proposal. But it was hard enough for me to handle on my own. I just wanted to pretend - to pretend that none of it was happening and just be with you, like we always have. I felt like if I told you, things would invariably begin change between us, and we would become distant. Like things are now.¡± She finished in a small, quivering voice.

    Sevrath turned, gazing deeply at the horizon, seemingly unable to look at her. ¡°I just - I.¡±

    He took a deep breath before forcing a smile and looking at Katrine. She seemed so vulnerable right now, so lost. The afternoon breeze swept her chestnut locks across her face, framing her face. On any other day, that face would have a beaming smile and laughing eyes. Today it did not. She was only fourteen, the same age as Sevrath. However, her life had already been decided for her and it was far from the one she wished. ¡°I just never expected you were really a girl, given your complete disregard for delicacy. I guess it is proven now.¡± Sevrath joked, shaking his head resignedly before forcing a grin on his face and running away from the demon that he knew would soon give chase. Shrieks could be heard behind him as he dashed down the hillside, laughing. At least this meant things would not change between them. That was all that mattered.

    So why did the world seem so much darker?

    -\o/-

    Things did not calm down completely between the two friends for quite some time after. Eventually, however, they found themselves returning to their old routines, the future merely a whisper in the back of their minds, attempting to disrupt their numbered days even further. On the surface all seemed well, but neither of the two could hide the fleeting glimpses of sadness which would flash in their eyes when they thought the other was not looking. Sevrath would often see his best friends face contort into momentary sorrow, before once again returning to her usual, bright smile.

    These short glimpses had been enough for Sevrath to come to terms with the changes occurring in his life, despite how little he cared for them. For him, Katrine¡¯s engagement seemed as if it would be the beginnings of the end of their friendship; he could not help but think selfishly that perhaps with her upcoming marriage and her increase in rank, she would no longer feel the need to be there for him, and he with her. But for her, it was an end to her childhood, a time where she was free to do as she pleased, with whom she pleased. The shackles of nobility were already beginning to wind inevitably about her limbs, chaining her to a future she did not care for, to people she did not know, and forever separating her from those she did.

    Sevrath knew that his own misgivings and anger at Katrine for her secrecy in the matter of her engagement were misguided; frankly, he just felt abandoned. Lost. Other than his adoptive parents, Katrine had been his only friend in life. Since they were little, they had gone on adventures in the nearby forests, weaving fantastical tales and imaginings into a world of wonder as they explored. He had learned to read from her; many commoners lacked the resources or need to ever learn. Instead, Sevrath, though at the time unwillingly, had delved into studies more fit for a noble child along with his friend. As they grew older, they found each other to be willing and able confidants, stating their woes and worries, their hopes and dreams.

    His entire being had been shaped by his friendship with Katrine, and he could not help but feel lost now that this link was being forcibly disrupted. He, however, knew that despite how he felt, it was selfish to only focus on himself in these moments. He might be losing a friend, but Katrine would be facing much worse. All at once, she would lose her friend, her home, and find herself bound to a boy she hardly knew and cared little for, with the sole fate of bearing powerful children.

    It would be cruel, indecent, and frankly undeserving of Katrine¡¯s friendship were he to focus on himself while ignoring Katrine in this matter. So Sevrath plastered on a smile to hide the pain he felt; he made her smile like the sun, he made her cry tears of laughter. Most of all, he made her happy.

    While his actions were solely devoted to masking his own sadness and healing his friend¡¯s, Sevrath failed to notice the stormclouds roiling just out of sight.

    -\o/-

    ¡°Recently, there has been an increase in bandit sightings in the area. Make sure that you do not stray too far when you go outside.¡± Sevrath¡¯s mother warned him as he left their small home at the outskirts of town.

    He could only roll his eyes at his mother¡¯s constant worrying. ¡°Mom, I will be fine. I won¡¯t be going into the forest today, and that¡¯s as far from home as I ever get. Besides, while there have been sightings of bandits in the past, the town has never once been raided.

    Hearing that he would not be wandering afar, his mother ceased her chidings. ¡°You cannot blame a mother for worrying about her child.¡± She pestered to him with fake indignance. ¡°So if you aren¡¯t going into the forest today, where exactly are you headed to?¡±

    ¡°Katrine wanted me to meet her at the manor today. Recently she has been having more and more difficulty trying to leave with all of the marriage preparations taking up her time.

    Sevrath sighed at the thought of having to go into the manor itself. He generally avoided the manor, and even the town itself, as he was always pointedly reminded by both that he was not wanted, whether it be by the towns folks suspicious glares, or the manor resident¡¯s haughty gazes. Today however, he decided to make an exception, as he wanted to spend as much time with his friend as he could manage. He could deal with their contemptuous looks for a day.

    Sidling up alongside the manor walls, he approached the guarded gates. Keeping his head down, he attempted to be unobtrusive as he tried to pass through the gates, all the while praying that today would lack the normal aggressive confrontation his presence normal created.

    Seeings a large crowd of workers walking in and out of the gate, busy with carting in decorations, silks, and the like for the wedding, he attempted to follow the crowd into the manor. Sadly, his features were too identifiably different than that of those around him, and he soon found himself stopped by the gate guards.

    ¡°Where do you think you are going?¡± One of the gate guards sneered at Sevrath, likely using his presence as an excuse to alleviate his boredom.

    Sevrath groaned as soon as he heard the voice. He hardly had to look up to know that it was directed at him. There was a particular mixture of loathing, contempt, and fear that was only present when the people of Carthal were speaking about or to him. One would think that after nearly fourteen years of unfounded rumors and zero evidence of any sort of demonic nature, people would begin to tire of constantly looking over their shoulders in fear of the supposed ¡°demon¡± lurking in their midst.

    Sadly, however, Carthal was much too far removed from the rest of civilization to have much else to gossip about it, and far too close to the Desolate Lands to not be fearful and superstitious of the unknown. Luckily for Sevrath, despite all of Lord Carthal¡¯s flaws, he did not share this viewpoint of his people, as he spent much of his time in the more prosperous cities of Arcelia and lacked their sense of superstition. It was doubtful he even traveled far enough west to even see the Desolate lands, despite its nearness.

    So, despite the fears of the people, there was little they could do to Sevrath without the backing of their Lord. Even so, many of them seemed to view it as their duty to harass him whenever possible, which was why he rarely ever even entered into the town itself.

    ¡°Katrine asked me to come visit her today.¡± Sevrath spoke softly while continuing to look downwards, not wanting to provoke the guard unnecessarily.

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    ¡°Did she now? First I¡¯m ¡®earing of it.¡± The guard spoke derisively while picking at his ear with his little finger.

    Despite his attempts to stay calm, Sevrath was starting to become annoyed by the guard¡¯s attitude. Everybody in town knew that he was often seen in the presence of Katrine since they had been small, so it was not as if he had no prior relation to her. Alongside this, Katrine hardly needed to inform the guard of her every little decision and yet he did not even bother to confirm the accuracy of his words.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what kind of magic you used to get so close to her Ladyship, but don¡¯t think that I will let you do as you please.¡±

    Sevrath rolled his eyes at the guard. ¡°The only real magic in the world is that of the Luminescents. While, I am flattered you think me to be so powerful, I am ashamed to admit that I lack those capabilities. However, since I am obviously such an enigma in your eyes due to my ability to interact with the opposite sex, I would gladly teach you about what you yourself lack.

    He knew that it would do little good to anger the guard, but having to deal with the constant contempt from those like him all of his life had made Sevrath easily irritated despite himself. Sure enough, as soon as the words left his mouth, the guards face underwent a change, shifting from its normal contemptuous sneer into a snarl as he reached forward to grab Sevrath.

    ¡°Sevrath, what are you doing by the gate? Are you going to come in or not?¡± He heard Katrine¡¯s melodic voice sing out into the courtyard. The guards face spasmed as he retracted his hand quickly. However he might feel about Sevrath, Katrine was still a noble, while he was a mere guard.

    Sevrath glared at the guard for a moment before nonchalantly walking past him to meet with Katrine. Seeming to have remembered something, he paused for a moment. ¡°It was nice meeting you. I hope your luck with women will become better in the future, though it is doubtful. As an aside, have you heard the rumor that demons from the Desolate Lands can even curse men with impotency. Silly thought, I know. But still, makes you wonder.¡± He smiled in satisfaction as he saw the guard¡¯s face blanch before he turned around.

    That satisfaction was short lived however, as he then saw the expression on Katrine¡¯s face.

    ¡°You need to stop responding to them like that. It hardly helps your reputation with those idiots when you lie about stuff like that. In their minds, it will just cement their superstitions in their minds, causing them to blame every little hardship they have on you.¡± She chided angrily to her friend.

    Sevrath just frowned. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anyway.¡± He kicked at the ground, uprooting a loose stone. ¡°They have made it clear throughout my life that I will never be welcome here, for nothing more than the fact that they are ignorant and want someone to blame for their fears. I just happen to be an easy target.¡±

    The duo continued on in silence.

    -\o/-

    ¡°Thank Goddess I finally have some time for myself,¡± Katrine sighed as they walked down the corridor to the training room that was currently unoccupied. Normally it would be filled with the clatter of wooden practice swords banging together, accompanied by the groans of their wielders as they fought to and fro. Today, however, with the large influx of visitors in the manor walls, all of the guardsmen seemed to be on duty, so the room was blessedly empty.

    Entering the room, Sevrath was greeted by the sight of bare wooden walls set in a militaristic style, with racks of training weapons aligned alongside the wall and a center platform dedicated to sparring, surrounded by other similar features.

    ¡°So what were you so excited to show me?¡± Sevrath questioned her after they had closed the door to the practice room.

    ¡°Katrine?¡± She didn¡¯t answer. Confused, he slowly walked up behind her. ¡°Katrine, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Sevrath was starting to get concerned that she might be relapsing into her previous state of sadness, so he tried to comfort her. ¡°Are you okay?¡± He asked softly. His hand reached out to touch her shoulder, only to have it phase through.

    ¡°Alright, you want to play with me? Let¡¯s play then.¡± Sevrath grinned as he walked forward to the wooden wall and grabbed one of the training swords from the weapon rack. He hefted the wooden sword in his hands, testing its balance.

    Turning around, he heard his sword clatter to the ground as his grip loosened due to shock. Rather than the sparse wooden practice room he had seen before. He was now surrounded on nearly all sides by a sunlit forest. Lush evergreens spread out before him, with the sunlight streaming through the gaps in their branches. The rustling sound of wildlife scampering over dried leaves crackled in the air, and the sweet calls of birds tweeted in his ears. He could feel the wind blowing through his hair and smell the scent of pine. Sevrath stepped forward in wonder, rubbing his hand softly alongside the rough bark of a tree. He felt his his hand scrape from its uneven texture.

    A change occurred in the air. The leaves of the surrounding forest seemed to lose their great vibrancy, fading with each passing second. The shrill sound of the birds happily chirping among the treetops quieted to a mellow whistle. The previously comforting breeze died, leaving with it a sense of loss and the absence of smell. The sunlight lastly faded to a dull glow, and the scene died.

    Looking around in consternation, he found Katrine sitting down on the floor, breathing hard and  wreathed in sweat. Obviously exhausted, she still found it in herself to grin happily at Sevrath who was staring at her with eyes wide and mouth agape.

    ¡°So, are you amazed by me, or what?¡± She questioned excitedly, seeming to forget her earlier exhaustion.

    ¡°Since when have you been able to do something like that? For a short time there, it seemed as if what I was seeing was real. I could hear the sound of wildlife and the crunching of leaves. The bark of the tree felt real. Goddess, there was even the feeling of wind blowing against me, despite us being in a room.¡± Is it really possible for Weaver¡¯s to manipulate perception to such an extent?

    She grinned up at him, finally catching her breath. ¡°I have been practicing with little details during the times I am forced to play the part of the noble lady-to-be. You should have seen when I learned to manipulate tactile sensation. The guards were going crazy, thinking that there was a spirit wandering the halls.¡± Katrine giggled loudly, proud of her mischief. ¡°Sadly, what I just showed you was the limit of my capabilities. The more I try to manipulate in the environment with my illusions, the more it takes out of me. Just providing a sense of touch to my illusions exhausts me extremely quickly, let alone something to the extent of what I just showed you. Honestly, I just wanted to show off a little bit.¡± She finished with a shrug, followed by a wince as she grabbed her head. ¡°Now remind me to never do that again. I feel like somebody took an axe to my skull, then minced my brain.¡±

    Sevrath grimaced in sympathy upon seeing the recoil her actions had created. ¡°Does anybody else know about how much you are capable of now?¡± He was curious, as he knew that most of those around the manor had not seemed to change their apparent view of her. Currently, it seemed as if most of those in House Elunel¡¯s party still saw her as property that was being bartered away at a price, and useful only for showcasing as a demonstration of status and a means to propagate.

    He assumed that if they knew the speed at which she was improving in regards to her abilities, they would possess some fear of her in spite of themselves. Sevrath himself did not feel that way, but he could see how others who did not know her nature and limitations might, as he had never even heard of Weaver¡¯s being able to recreate a sense of touch in their illusions. Sight, always, sound and smell, maybe. But touch? Never, in all of the legends of Luminescents - of which there were a great many - had he heard of Weavers being able to even create a perception of touch for their targets.

    ¡°No, I have not told anyone about practicing my Weaving.¡± Her lips upturned and her words became bitter. ¡°Were I to allow others to know, it would hardly do me good. They already consider me purchased. The only thing that would occur from allowing others to know of my capabilities would be the wedding date being rushed so that I could be with child even sooner. It is bad enough already when they believe my abilities to be average at best.¡±

    He could understand why she believed House Elunel would act in such a way were they to find out about her capabilities. With each successive generation, the Luminescents were slightly weaker than their predecessors, so families with strong Luminescents were seen as extremely important. With how obsessed House Elunel seemed to be with increasing their status to match that of the Great Houses, Sevrath knew that they would try to take possession of Katrine as soon as possible if they knew.

    ¡°Well, I would ask you to spar, but clearly that is not an option now.¡± Sevrath said, trying to change the subject. ¡°Come with me, let¡¯s find somewhere for you to lie down that is more comfortable than this floor.¡± He helped her stand and allowed her to support her weight on him.

    Leaving the training room and beginning to walk down the corridors in search of somewhere she could rest, he found Daryn blocking the hallway, speaking with some of his guards. Seeing Sevrath with Katrine, his brows narrowed and he began to speak angrily about Sevrath¡¯s presence, but sputtered to a stop as he was pointedly ignored by the pair.

    As Sevrath walked by, he could feel a piercing glare filled with hatred aimed at his back.

 Chapter 4

    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.

    Though this one is shorter than my previous chapters, hope ya'' enjoy.

    <hr />

    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.

    <hr />

    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.

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    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.

 Chapter 5-Katrine

    Hey guys, here''s another one, though much, much shorter due to the fact that it is merely an interlude.

    I wanted to say thanks to those of you (Myst and Bockus) who put out a review for me. It was very encouraging to see, and honestly made my day, as before I was unsure on reception due to a lack of comments.

    Don''t know when the fifth chapter will be posted, as I have not yet started on it, but hopefully it won''t be too long.

    Enjoy.

    <hr />

    The Supplication of Many, Herald of the 1st God War

    Oh Lady Selene, Great Goddess of Creation, please heed our call! Your loyal servants bow in supplication to your almighty presence, asking for your mercy and aid in these days of terror. An enemy of all of mankind has appeared from within the Lands of Desolation, strewing chaos in our midst with every step they take, for we, despite being your children, are too weak, lacking in the power necessary to repel these seemingly unconquerable creatures of darkness. I fear that in little time, there will be far too few of us remaining in this world. Grant us your blessings so that we may fight back against the evil in our lands. The Darkness encroaches.

    <hr />

    Katrine slumped down to her knees like a marionette with its strings cut at the sight. Once it had been a lively house filled with laughter, a place that over the years had turned into a second home to her in reality, and the only home to her in her heart. Now it was merely a shell, a smoking ruin of broken timbers and shattered glass that echoed that of her own heart; burnt, tattered, and broken, with all that made it what it was dead and gone, marred beyond recognition like that of the corpses within.

    She had spent most of her life roaming the lands surrounding this house on the outskirts of town and the forest beyond. Everything was familiar and safe. She would race to climb the nearby trees as a child, scampering up the branches to squeals of laughter and tears of loss. She would run across the leaf-strewn grass, chasing furiously after a black haired boy who always seemed to be faster than her. She would gaze at the moon from the hilltop nearby, alongside her only friend.

    Now, the sight of it all caused a churning in her stomach as it writhed and roiled in wretched misery. It would never be the same. The nearby trees had been seared with fire, burnt beyond recognition. The surrounding land and hillside had lost their luster, turned into a scorched wasteland. And most importantly, the one who had helped to make all of these places home in her memories was gone, leaving only a blackened husk behind to tell the tale of his existence.

    She languished in her grief for what seemed like hours before she felt the rough touch of a hand of her shoulder. Turning slowly to face whoever it was, more out of an ingrained response than any real sort of cognitive will, she saw the seemingly concerned eyes of Daryn looking back at her.

    That was enough to at least somewhat shock her out of her current melancholic state. She had been forced to accompany Daryn for quite a while now, as they were to be married, and in all of that time, she had never once seen any sort of genial expression from him. Each time they had previously met, whether it be only in passing or for longer periods, he had always seemed to possess a general air of superiority, a slight upward tilt of the chin which seemed to say ¡°I am far greater than you in all aspects, and you would be blind to not notice such.¡±

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    However, today that normal aura seemed to be absent. Instead, he seemed to be truly concerned for Katrine, as if he knew that in such a time, she would need someone to rely on, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to unburden herself to, and maybe even a heart to beat for.

    Katrine knew that the current Daryn was likely false, a petty attempt to gain her favor by faking sympathy. However, at the moment, she did not care. All that she felt was pain. The pain of abandonment, the pain of loss, and the torment in knowing that her life would never return to the way it had been. So if it helped her gain some semblance of a life beyond grief, she found that she herself hardly cared if the emotions of the person she was forced to lean on were disingenuous.

    Right now what she needed was not to crawl in a pit of her own making and lay there, waiting to die. She needed to live.

    In order to do that, she would do whatever it took. If she had to force herself to stay in the presence of a man she nearly abhorred, then that is what she would do, as at least then she would find some way to remember her friend, to grieve, and to later live past that grief, even if his sympathies were falsehoods. In the weak state she was in currently, Katrine surprisingly found herself preferring false platitudes to the alternative, as she knew that in Carthal, nobody else would care that he was gone, and many would even rejoice at seeing the so called demon slain.

    Of those who cared for Sevrath, there was only her, his adopted mother, and his adopted father. Now only she remained. So she would take Daryn¡¯s false sympathies and deceitful commiseration. For now. And at the end of it all, she would walk out stronger than she had been before, ready to live her life with a resoluteness which she had previously lacked.

    Yes, she would live. She might not ever move on, but she would live. For him.

    ¡°Katrine?¡± She heard a soft voice filled with worry at her ear. Pulling herself together, with effort she stood tall, ignoring the stains left on her dress.

    ¡°I am fine¡± She lied, with a wan smile. ¡°We should be going back to the manor now, there is little we can do here.¡± Though her heart begged her to stay.

    A hint of possessiveness flashed in Daryn¡¯s eyes before once again reverting to his sympathetic posture. ¡°All right, if that is what you wish.¡± He said softly, before leading her up to his horse. Gripping her hand, he helped her mount.

    Feeling his hand linger too long, Katrine tried to think of a way to distract him so that she could easily extricate herself. Looking down at the offending limb, she questioned him with a curiosity she truly did not possess.

    ¡°I had not noticed that ring before? When did you start wearing it?¡±

    ¡°Oh this?¡± He held his hand up, seeming to not realize that he was no longer in possession of Katrine¡¯s. ¡°Recently, my family has taken to having all members of our household wear them, be they guards, servants, or nobles. It is to show the unity of our House, down to the lowest of status. Each one bears our House¡¯s crest.¡±

 Chapter 6

    So, here is chapter 5.

    I wasn''t sure what the man who beats the drum in order to keep the tempo for a galley would be called, so I just went with coxswain, though I don''t know if that is technically correct.

    Anyway, enjoy.

    It was mentioned by someone that this section of the story was confusing due to the POV swaps with each -\o/-. So I just wanted to go ahead and mention that the italics in this case are Sevrath''s memories of the events following chapter 4, leading up to his current predicament. If it is a big enough problem for people, I might end up trying to change it so that it is less confusing, but I currently can''t be bothered as I don''t know how I would go about that.

    <hr />

    Fall of Man, Dawn of the 2nd God War,

    We were Fools. Through long years of hardship and toil, we finally pushed back the tide of darkness which had been spawned by The Damned One. Countless lives were lost to the never-ending hunger of the demonic beings. Finally, at great cost, we eradicated the last of the monsters which had emerged from the Desolate Lands. We had won.

    We were Fools.

    For though we pushed back the darkness storming our gates, we ignored the darkness in our hearts. Slowly, ever so slowly, man began to succumb to the temptations of The Damned One in their quests for power.

    We were Fools.

    For though the day had finally come, darkness will always follow.

    <hr />

    The chains rattled in response to his movements. His head was pounding still, days later. He saw the world through a blurry haze, his mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, and his brain stuttered, unable to coalesce coherent thought. His eyes were out of focus, dazed, seeming to be seeing something that was no longer present.

    -\o/-

    ¡°Dad! Mom!¡± Sevrath cried out in horror as he saw an arrow slide into his mother¡¯s chest, followed closely by a sword piercing through his father¡¯s chest.

    He froze in place, staring with an unbelieving gaze as his parents, who had raised him with a love absent from most other interactions he had in his life, were mercilessly killed for reasons unknown to him.

    He found himself unable to move, immobile. It was only the sudden greedy gazes of the bandits which caused him to snap back to reality, providing the impetus needed for his legs to begin running towards the forest.

    He was filled with grief to an almost overwhelming extent. But deep within that grief, there was something else, something that seemed to burn with need, with a single desire which only seemed to grow stronger with every second he observed it; wrath. However, it was currently but a small ember in the face of his grief, and only time would tell if it would grow to a roaring fire, or sputter to nothingness from the incessant rainfall of sorrow.

    Sevrath dashed towards the treeline, ignoring the angry shouts that followed him. He knew that he would likely have the same fate as his parents were he to madly attack the murderers. Only in the forest, a place that had long been a refuge for him, would he potentially find safety.

    So he charged into the forest, hoping to gain ground on the bandits and eventually lose their trail.

    -\o/-

    He shook his head violently at the memories which rose to his mind unabated. He did not want to see them. It reminded him too clearly of his loss. He just wanted to sleep.

    -\o/-

    Sevrath panted deeply, trying to catch his breath to no avail. He was far too nervous. It had been hours since he entered the forest. Initially, he believed that due to his knowledge of the forest, he would quickly be able to slip away, like a ghost into the night.

    Things did not go as planned.

    It was true that Sevrath was skilled in staying silent as he ran, and was just as adept at breaking a trail. But he had never once in his life been pursued in such a manner, knowing that one mistake, one misstep would cost him his life. It was dark as the abyss on this moonless night, with only the rare glimpse of wooden bark, and of green shrubbery preventing his cacophonous collision. Even then, he found himself making far more noise than it was safe to, as he could only rely on intuition to avoid the crackling of twigs underfoot or the painful impact of flesh on plantlife.

    His only saving grace was that his pursuers were making just as much, if not more noise in their attempts to capture him.

    Finally breathing more steadily, he took the time to collect his thoughts for the first time that night since the house had been attacked. Arms upraised to avoid walking into the nearby trees, he came to a stop upon feeling the rough bark scrape against his forearms. Feeling hesitantly upwards, he began to steadily climb the tree at a snail¡¯s pace, his trembling arms increasing the difficulty of the task tenfold.

    He had just reached a resting point a few meters up when he heard the crashing sounds of his pursuers.

    ¡°Dammit all! This twerp is really starting to piss me off. If it weren¡¯t for how much money-¡±

    ¡°Shut up and be quiet!¡± One of his companions hissed at him in frustration. ¡°I can¡¯t hear him anymore, and you screaming like that is not helping!¡±

    The forest lapsed into an eerie silence as the group strained their ears to listen for the crackle of leaves and the snap of twigs that had been present only a moment before. There was nothing other than the lonely drone of insects, calling for their kin.

    Sevrath had been holding his breath in fear since their entrance, and was now becoming numb from staying in such an uncomfortable position for so long. Without any real conscious thought, he slightly shifted in order to alleviate this feeling.

    A snap rang out from the nearby branches, disturbed by Sevrath¡¯s subtle movement.

    The bandits immediately became alert, looking upwards, eyes dilating in hopes of seeing in the total darkness. A few minutes passed, and there was no further noise.

    ¡°Let¡¯s move on, it was just an animal. If we linger any longer, we¡¯ll lose him.¡± One of the bandits spoke up, slowly enunciating his words. Soon, the bandits once again began to crash through the shrubbery, the sounds becoming more and more distant.

    Sevrath breathed a sigh of relief, gathered his courage and slowly began to climb back down the tree, ready to start moving towards the town and safety. He quietly descended the tree, accompanied by little sound.

    He turned around, ready to begin the long journey back, only to be met with the slight shine of eyes staring back at him, and the yellowish-white sheen of an animalistic grin.

    ¡°Well hello there. Nice of you to come down on your own.

    The flat of a blade slammed into his head, knocking him out cold.

    -\o/-

    Sevrath cradled his head, letting loose yet another groan as waves of pain once again rolled over him.

    The sharp crack of a whip tore through the air, accompanied by a sharp, stinging pain lancing across his back. Sevrath hissed through his teeth in agony, before once again grabbing the nearby oars with his torn, bleeding hands.

    He rowed to the steady beat of the coxswain¡¯s drums, losing himself in the push and pull of the oars and the incessant twinge in his muscles, forgetting his grief in the monotonous pain of rowing.

    -\o/-

    Sevrath woke up with a groan, trying to grab his head as it pounded viciously like a drum within his skull. All that gained his was a slight pain as he wrenched his arm against the chains binding his wrists.

    He looked down in confusion to see hemp rope binding his arms. The sight finally woke him from his daze, as he remembered the previous night. The sudden pain at the back of his head, being chased through the forest for hours, his mother and father-

    Stop!

    He shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to deny the reality of what happened. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could not challenge what he had seen with his own eyes; the splash of blood spraying through the air as the arrow whistled through the air, and struck his mother¡¯s chest, the trickle of blood pouring down his father¡¯s mouth as he stared disbelievingly at his wife, before succumbing to his own fate. They were gone. Dead. And he could not convince himself otherwise, no matter how hard he tried.

    Anger began to billow within his heart, temporarily replacing the sense of loss that had pervaded his whole being. His chest felt like it was going to break out of his skin, and his fingers tingled with a need; a need to take action, to make right the wrongs that had been done to him.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    A sharp bark of laughter echoed from outside the room he was left in. They did not bother to chain him to the wall, nor did they have any other protective measures against him other than binding his hands. Likely they did not believe he would wake up soon, or even that he would ever be a threat.

    He looked to his waist, searching for the dagger he had been left by his birth mother, the only real connection he had to her. It was gone. Strangely enough, it was this that threw him over the edge of sanity. They took his mother from him. They took his father. Now, they wanted to take the only physical reminder he possessed of the one who birthed him, who protected him with her own life within the Lands of Desolation?

    Anger bubbled up in his chest, an anger like none he had experience previously. Through his life, he had been mocked, jeered at, teased, and beaten by those in Carthal, and yet he had never once felt this way. This, unending, all-encompassing rage that seemed to tear at his soul and feed it all at once. This sense of¡­ Wrath.

    He glared at the door which separated him from his captors, as if by he could bend reality through his will alone, causing it to disappear in a fiery inferno that echoed that of his heart. However, his rage, impressive as it was, left a small sense of cold rationality, a voice that told him he would not take revenge through brute measures. He would have to make use of both his wit and will in order to appease his wrath.

    It was not as if he had anything else to live for.

    -\o/-

    He lay there silently, praying for sleep to end his pain, and fearing the nightmares it was likely to bring. It was only after an unknown amount of time that he got his wish, and sunk back into oblivion.

    -\o/-

    A pained groan echoed out of the captive¡¯s room. The men outside the room ignored it.

    However, all men have a breaking point. After minutes of groaning and writhing, the men guarding the door could no longer calmly sit nearby and sent one of the group into the room to deal with their captive.

    Upon opening the door, the man saw exactly what he expected. A teenager in grief, eyes red, with tears streaming down his face, laying flat on the stomach. A grin stretched out on the man¡¯s face as he walked up to the kid and sent his booted toe flying into his side.

    ¡°Aagh!¡± The brat screamed in pain as he continued to clutch at his stomach.

    ¡°Quiet, or I will have to hit you again!¡± The man warned him, before sadistically slamming his foot into his side once again, knowing that more than likely will cause him to scream again, giving him an excuse to continue to beat on him.

    The kid slid from his stomach to his side as the kick landed, leaving a trail of blood behind. The guard paused in appreciation, not once questioning how he could have lost so much blood in so little time.

    By the time he realized his error, it was already too late.

    -\o/-

    All too soon he woke up from his sleepless rest, and was forced to once again row to the beat of the drum or face the overseer¡¯s whip.

    The clatter of the hatch door opening heralded the arrival of a newcomer. Turning his head is slight curiosity, Sevrath¡¯s breathing quickened and his already bloodshot eyes seemed to worsen. The man who had entered the hold was a large man, not of muscle but of luxury. His girth was only matched by his ostentation, with earrings of gold and rings to match adorning his ears and fingers, and a luxurious silk brocade attempting to conceal his girth.

    The only thing lacking the gaudy flair the rest of his outfit contained was a strange rusty dagger strapped to his waistband, though what it lacked in ornateness, it made up for with its exotic shape.

    Sevrath¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    He would kill him.

    -\o/-

    Sevrath rubbed his bleeding wrists, now free of the restraining ropes, before searching the guards body, currently numb to the fact that he had killed for the first time. It had been all too easy, albeit painful, to deal with the unobservant guards outside. Once the first had been dealt with, which admittedly was a bit satisfying due to the constant reminder of his aching ribs with every step, he easily dealt with the remaining two guards outside, who sauntered in with no awareness not long after.  After wiping his bloodstained hands on the dead man¡¯s clothes, he searched the stone room frantically and was relieved to find his mother¡¯s dagger. The kris had been thrown on one of the spare tables, much to Sevrath¡¯s relief.

    Now that he had the dagger, he strangely felt much more empowered than before, his muscles twitching in excited abandon, ready to move, to run, to fight.

    He calmed himself down with a deep breath, believing his feelings to be brought on by the suspenseful situation.

    Thinking it to be safe now that his captors were killed, he opened the door and leisurely stepped out into the midday sun.

    He did not know where he was.

    All around, he saw unfamiliar sights. Gulls cackled from up high, and waves crashed with fervor against the nearby bluff. Great wooden ships sunk low across the water, cutting across the waves with little effort.

    His mouth dropped in surprise long enough to point him out as an outsider, earning him second glances from those passing by. Unfortunately, those second glances discovered some unattending to bloodstains left on his shirt, and in no time, an uproar began.

    Lacking familiarity with his surroundings and weak due to blood loss, it took very little time for him to be captured once more, despite his struggles.

    -\o/-

    The galley ship had been tailed by pirates for the last few days, slowly pushing them into their trap. Fearful of the pirates and unwilling to have his wealth plundered, the galley ship was forced to move into deeper waters in an attempt to shake off their pursuers, spurred on by the crack of the whip and the beat of the drums.

    -\o/-

    ¡°I want him dead!¡±

    ¡°I told you already, he has to be sold, or else we will not have fulfilled our end of the bargain. Do you want to assuage your anger, or do you want to be rich? Yeah? I thought so.¡±

    ¡°Fine, then let¡¯s get rid of him already. The longer we take, the more likely I am going to end up murdering him.¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright. Look, here comes a potential buyer now.¡±

    -\o/-

    Sevrath wheezed as he lost his grip on the oars, uncaring if he was whipped for his insubordination. He was too tired. In the slaver¡¯s fear of the pirates, they had been forced to continuously row for an indeterminable amount of time, deeper and deeper into the ocean. Finally, the pirates had finally given up pursuit, apparently seeing the chase as not worth the effort required.

    ¡°Oh goddess, we went too far north. We are doomed.¡± He heard a slave on a nearby bench moan in terror.

    Sevrath had no time to question the man before their ship was broadsided, sending those above to their doom and snapping the mast of the ship like a twig. Another wave bombarded the ship, and he was sent into darkness.

    They had been pushed past the Curtain of Desolation.

    -\o/-

    ¡°Yes, I would like to purchase him, though you would have to throw in that dagger there to. No? Look, I can see that you are desperate to sell him for whatever reason and that dagger is obviously worth very little. I only want both because I am something of a collector, be it of items or¡­ specimen. The boy is uncommon here due to his black hair, but elsewhere? Not so much. Those eyes however, I have never seen the like. The strange dagger makes the two a matching set.¡±

    ¡°Just sell him already!¡±

    ¡°Fine, though I do have to warn you that he has already almost managed to escape, killing three of our men in the process.¡±

    ¡°That will be no problem, I will be sure to discipline him so that he obeys me without question. Though¡­ it might be exciting to allow him to keep a small portion of that fiery passion.¡± The large man licked his lips lustily before finishing the transaction, his assortment of rings and earrings shining in response to the blazing sun.

    The two men looked at each other uneasily before accepting the coins.

    As they left the square, they could already hear the lash of a knotted whip slashing across the boy''s chest, welcoming him to his new life.

 Chapter 7

    So, its been a while since I''ve posted. I really have no excuses for not posting, as its not like I''ve been busy. I just ran into the same problem I always run into while writing - Self-doubt.

    Sadly, I tend to be the kind of person that avoids things when I lack confidence in doing as well as I think I should, rather than confronting them, learning from them, and moving on.

    So today, I finally forced myself to sit down and write two chapters (well, a chapter and an interlude, but same thing) because I felt bad for not posting for nearly two months, even if there aren''t many readers.

    I''ll post the next one in a bit.

    <hr />

    On the Mysteries of the Desolate Lands and Curtain of Desolation: By The Luminary of The Gods

    Part One - The Birth of the Gods

    Dolunay was not the first, nor will it be the last. Long ago, in times ancient, within the cosmos a consciousness was born. Sadly, as with all things, it began as an infant, lacking knowledge, direction, and understanding. In its curiosity it was careless of its power and lacking of a companion to inhibit its actions. Born among the cosmos itself, this Being had unmatched power despite its infancy. Knowing not what it was doing, it cared little for its surroundings, and in its carelessness, it destroyed. It did not take much time before the first tentative presence approached the Being. But this presence seemed weak in comparison; fractured. The Being Hungered. And so it devoured. For an unknown amount of time, this process continued, with the Being in its curiosity and lack of awareness and foresight leaving destruction in its path.

    Eons later, a sense of awareness was created and its infantile state was gone. However, by that time, it had destroyed a great many worlds and all of the other beings it encountered, as they were all far too weak in comparison. With the newfound sense of awareness. the Being grieved. It grieved for its destructive ways, and it grieved for its lost innocence. And so, the Being began to create.

    Despite it reaching, in a sense, an adolescent stage in its life, the Being still lacked proper foresight in its actions. Reacting to the grief that it felt, it began to create a countless number of worlds and galaxies, as if to recreate all that it had destroyed and more. Countless years went by as this continued, and the heart of the Being began to heal from the sense of wrongness which had attacked it upon attaining a true sense of awareness. However, the Being was not satisfied, for something seemed missing. In its haste to atone for its previous actions which had devoured nearly all of the cosmos, its actions were just as simplistic as before, just in a different direction. Understanding that both of its previous paths were lacking, the Being made a decision.

    Balance was what was necessary, only with this would it be satisfied.

    In reaction to this, the Being, with the last of its waning power, birthed a number of new beings, which would grow to satisfy these ideals, eventually becoming known by the inhabitants of their respective worlds as ¡°gods¡±.

    <hr />

    Sevrath choked on the salty water which had invaded his throat. Blearily, he looked around the tattered galley ship, which was already beginning to capsize from the ferocity of the storm¡¯s bombardment. Judging by the fact that he had not drowned, he could only assume that he had not been unconscious for long. Though, with the storm looming overhead, it was too early to tell if this was a blessing or a curse.

    Standing on unsteady feet, he was relieved to see that, due to the damage the ship had taken, the chains holding his shackles in place had loosened. It merely took a few seconds of tugging to free them.

    He didn¡¯t want to die in chains.

    Another blast shook the ship, causing it to shudder in fear, sending wooden splinters flying and allowing water to begin cascading into the hold, washing away the blood of the ship¡¯s inhabitants, most of which had already succumbed to their final slumber. Oddly lacking urgency, Sevrath glanced throughout the hold, before finding what he wanted.

    Wading through the ankle-deep water, Sevrath reached the stern of the ship before looking down pitilessly. Below him lay the gaudy man who had bought him from the bandits, his large frame caught underneath some fallen debris. Fear filled his face as he lacked the leverage needed to move the wood off of his body, dooming him to a slow death by drowning.

    Hope filled his eyes as Sevrath bent down, causing him to believe that he would be saved. However, that hope was soon washed away, as he only felt a light touch to his waist, and soon saw Sevrath holding his mother¡¯s dagger, which the man had been wearing on his hip.

    Desperation grew with each beat of the waves on the ship, with each peal of thunder and crackle of thunder across the night sky. Seeing Sevrath turn around and begin to walk away, leaving him to his fate, he could not help but beg.

    ¡°Please, don- don¡¯t leave me here to die!¡± He cried out, snot dribbling down his chin, falling into the increasingly deep pool of water below.

    Sevrath stopped with a sigh, conflicting emotions flashing across his face. He was angry, angry at the fate of his parents and his own fate, angry at the world itself. He had even killed for the first time and knew that he would not even have to dirty his hands to kill this man.

    He would only have to wait.

    The unceasing waves would batter his body in his stead, would drown him in righteous fury. Yet, despite all of his anger, he was struggling, though not because of some semblance of mercy, of forgiveness towards the man who had bought his life. Instead, he found himself once more entering the murky waters of apathy, his furious rage dying down as quickly as it had erupted. As it was, they were likely all going to die anyway, so it would hardly be detrimental to himself if he saved to man.

    Letting loose yet another sigh, Sevrath turned around and slowly slogged his way back to the man. The man¡¯s face, which had before carried dejection and resignation in the face of death, now was filled with a desperate hope and yearning to live.

    Sevrath squatted down  and grabbed the fallen pillar with both hands. Pulling heavily, he hardly managed to budge the debris before he began to tire. Fixing his balance once more after being pushed due to the rolling gait of the besieged ship, Sevrath once again readied himself to pull the pillar off the man. However this time, he waited. Then he began to pull with all his strength.

    Unfortunately, things did not go quite as planned. This time, timed with the pull, a wave came crashing into the ship, adding further momentum to his pull and throwing Sevrath and the debris off the man and into the side of the ship.

    His chest burned as the same wooden pillar he was attempting to raise was thrown onto him as he slammed forcefully into the wall due to the wave¡¯s impact. Unable to move due to the pain, and pinned down from the weight of the wood, he could only look towards the man he had just saved with a curiously indifferent gaze, wondering if he would repay the favor. The man only paid a disdainful parting glance before slogging away, not bothering to help Sevrath in return.

    Though the man had in effect doomed him, Sevrath could only laugh bitterly in his heart, as he knew that even with the help, there was likely no chance any of those still alive would live to see tomorrow.

    He laid his head down against the ship¡¯s wall and closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable end.

    The splintering of wood resounded, and he was thrown into darkness.

    -\o/-

    Resigned to his upcoming death, Sevrath only opened his eyes when he noticed that his heart was still beating. Even more strange was that he felt the wind caressing his face and tousling his hair, carrying with it the scent of pine. It took only moments for him to realize that it was not real. He knew this because he found himself at the edge of the forest near his house outside of Carthal. Rather than being burnt and collapsed, it was in a pristine state, as were the fields and forest nearby. Sudden laughter echoed through his ears as two children, one with black hair, the other with chestnut lockes, raced across the forest fields, heading towards the house. He had only a moment of surprise before they ran right towards him.

    And passed through him, unaware of his presence. Longing filled his eyes as he saw a man and woman, younger versions of his parents, open the door of the wooden house, calling out to the pair of unruly children. Soon he was alone again, pain welling up inside him and tears threatening to spill.

    A sudden crunch could be heard behind him. Turning around with a startled leap, he was greeted with the view of a strange woman. Not that she had any deformities or otherwise ¡®unique¡¯ features. In fact, she was strikingly beautiful, in a nurturing, motherly sort of way, with eyes which seemed to see your flaws and accept them, and a gentle smile which possessed an ethereal quality. No, what was strange about her was that she seemed oddly familiar to Sevrath, though he knew he had never before seen the woman, and likely had for some reason created her within this odd dreamscape.

    ¡°Why are you hurting?¡± The woman asked him, not standing up from the stump she was sitting on.

    Sevrath was surprised by the woman¡¯s question, as he saw her as a projection he himself subconsciously created, as everything else in this bizarre world seemed to be. He frowned, feeling his irritation welling up from within him.

    ¡°How can I not be sad?¡± He snapped at the lady, his anger showing in his expression. ¡°My mother and father were slain, gutted at the threshold of my own home! I was captured and sold into slavery. For what! A couple chunks of stupid metal?¡±

    The woman only stared at him with those languid, unblinking eyes. They were filled with the pity one would feel when coming across a wounded animal, bleeding out slowly across the forest floor, with little to no hope of survival. ¡°I did not ask why you were sad.¡± She stated in that same quiet, compassionate tone, unaffected by his fury.

    ¡°Why are you hurting?¡± She tilted her head to the side in a childlike manner, as if seeing a strange animal.

    ¡°Why do you not cry?¡±

    ¡°Why do you not heal?¡±

    Sevrath¡¯s fiery anger sputtered to a sudden stop, as he realized the meanings of her words. Since that fateful day, his anger had always lingered just beneath his skin, ready to bleed through at the slightest provocation. So much so, that the only emotions he had felt in more than just small measures was anger, and the sense of empty apathy that came with its withdrawal.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Even his sadness was affected by this; it was not true sadness. He only felt certain characteristics of sadness and so, knowing that one would feel this way in a situation akin to his own, he had believed it to be thus.

    He believed the constant burning fire ready to erupt out from his very being at a moment¡¯s notice to be his grief fighting with the injustice of it all.

    He believed the constant ebb and flow of quiet emptiness to be the eventual drain of emotions that would occur from one dealing with a loss, like the inability to weep despite the continuing, burdening feeling of grief.

    But did he even once cry?

    Did he ever grieve?

    Or did he just give up on it all, losing himself in the empty void that had become of his heart, uncaring for what the future may hold, and finding only a momentary, sadistic pleasure in hurting those who he felt had wronged him.

    Wronged Him. Never in that line of thinking did it include others. In his anger, in his loss, he had reverted back to a child in his way of thinking. ¡®You took away what was Mine; My comfort, My home, My mother, My father, My choices.¡¯

    Everything was about him. And nothing was about him. He had been set adrift in the world, caught in the riptide of his regret. And he had allowed it to carry him away, providing only the occasional token resistance to give proof to his continued life. Each rhythmic beat of his heart, each intake of breath, each new day seemed to echo this belief; the belief that he yet lived.

    But he was just as dead as his parents who had already departed from this world.

    His heart no longer pumped with vigor; it was subdued, as if it were reluctant to continue, but knew naught else to do. His every breath felt like poison; a subtle, undetectable taint which spread through his very being with each passing moment. His days were welcomed with open arms, if only for the fact that it ended his nights spent screaming in the silence of his own mind, and brought him back to the newfound apathy of his waking mind.

    He was alive.

    But he was no longer living. Every waking moment was spent in a haze, with few moments of clarity to be found within. And like a child, all that he had done in these scant few moments was to lash outward in anger, longing to feel the satisfaction of knowing that he was not the only miserable one.

    He looked up at the woman who continued to sit in silence, her clear, limpid eyes filled with compassion, only to see two others shadowing her, their expressions reflecting the same care as the familiar yet unknown woman, the same gaze of compassion that they had followed him with for his entire life. That one look was all it took before his sight was once more was enveloped in a misty haze, this one of true grieving.

    He broke.

    He lived.

    -\o/-

    A massive wave swept over Sevrath, pushing him under the turbulent waters once more. The water rushed in, filling his lungs in a furious torrent. He was sent head over heels into the depths once more.

    However, now he lacked his previous bitter apathy which had previously allowed him to accept his death. He fought desperately against the constant pounding of the waters above, reaching, clawing for the sky above, for air, for life. Each time he surfaced he felt like he had just fought a battle, lungs aching for air, but finding itself only choking on the salt water. Often he did not even get a chance for respite before he was once again slammed back down under the waves with the casual indifference of a child squashing an ant.

    And yet, with his newfound desire to live past the tragedy that had become of his life, he possessed that same resiliency. With every successive wave crashing into him he was battered, drowned, and bruised, but he refused to die.

    Even as his vision darkened and his limbs grew weak, he was filled with one thought, one desire.

    To live.

    -\o/-

    Calm waves lapped at his body, sending stinging pains through his body, as if to announce their presence. Blearily, Sevrath opened his eyes, squinting out at the darkness. His head felt like somebody had placed it on an anvil and tried to reshape it with a hammer, and the rest of his body felt no better.

    It was a good sign though, for it meant he was somehow still alive. The last thing he remembered was fighting against the massive waves which threatened to pull him into a watery grave. Now, however, he could clearly feel the coarse grains of sand beneath him, shifting with the tides as they plundered the beach. Perhaps, in his desperate attempts to stay alive, he thrashed his way closer and closer to the shoreline, until eventually he was carried the rest of the way to safety.

    However it happened, the crux of the matter was that he was safe.

    He was alive.

    Staggering to his feet after reveling in the moment for a time, he breathed a bit easier when he noticed the slight weight at his side, signifying that he had somehow not lost his mother¡¯s dagger despite succumbing to unconsciousness.

    Disorientated from blood loss, he staggered off towards the treeline, fearful of the possibility of him not being the only survivor. He did not want to be identified as a slave, and he currently looked like nothing else. He still had on the light shackles used to chain him to the oars. His clothes were in a disheveled state, and of poor threading. Not to mention there was indication that he had been whipped recently, with scars crisscrossing his back, in addition to the wounds left by his clash with death. Luckily, he was not yet mature enough to start growing facial hair, or it would have only added to his rough appearance.

    Tripping his way through the forest, there was little on his mind aside from the need to move. He was beginning to tire, as the days with too little food and too much rowing had done little for his physique. That, in addition to the wounds he had sustained when the ship was being destroyed beyond the Curtain, caused him to begin to become muddle-minded, lacking the initial clarity he possessed upon first waking.

    In normal circumstances, Sevrath possesses a practiced grace found in those who spent their lives tracking animals and silently stalking them. Now, he had none of that grace. He stumbled, tripped, fell. His limbs felt weak and his mind muddled. He knew enough, despite his addled state, to know that he was going into shock. His body felt cold, though it had little to do with the rain pouring down on him. He needed somewhere to lick his wounds and time to heal.

    The numbness that pervaded his entire being told him that even should he find such a place, he would likely still not survive the night.

    In the recent past, this thought would have made little difference to Sevrath, as he had already accepted death, seeing little point in life. But now, he had decided to live. So he had to fight, to continue walking, no matter how dark it seemed.

    Sadly, even determination had its limits.

    It did not take long before Sevrath found himself crawling, unable to support his weight. A trail of blood marked the path behind him, though even as he inched forward it was being washed away from the heavy downpour.

    The darkness finally began to invade his sight, melding with the shadows of the forest. His breathing had long devolved into ragged rasps. It was only the slight smell of blood coming from ahead, nearly masked by the rain, which caused him to crawl onward. He held little hope for his survival at this point, as he had lost too much blood to survive on his own. His one and only hope at this point would be to come across people, and deal with what may come.

    After what seemed to be hours of dragging his body inch by inch across the forest floor, he finally came across the source of the blood.

    It was a familiar scene to him.

    Entrails littered the ground, and blood was spattered across the grass, soaking into the dirt. A pair a wolves lay side by side, bodies mangled beyond recognition.

    However, that was not something unusual to find, as animals often killed each other. No, what was both strange and familiar to Sevrath was the way they had been killed. They did not die quietly; or peacefully for that matter. The cuts on their bodies were clearly not made by claw or teeth and seemed to have been made with little intent to kill.

    Instead, they were inflicted to make the victim suffer. It was only when they could suffer no more that they were finally allowed to die. It was obviously not the result of a hunt, as their carcasses were left unattended to. This was pure sport.

    He was disgusted what humans were capable of. For sport, they tortured these animals to death, tormenting them until their final breath. For money, his own family had been killed and he had been held captive.

    Who were the true animals here?

    It was only the soft sound of mewling coming from the direction of the corpses that dashed Sevrath out of his sorrowful reverie. He dragged his body over and weakly pushed at the two wolves.

    He didn¡¯t like what he saw.

    A small wolf pup, clearly only just weaned off his mother¡¯s milk, lay there, covered in wounds. Even the pup had not been spared from the sadistic tendencies of their attackers. However, unlike its parents, the pup was still alive, though like Sevrath it was on the cusp of death.

    Deep in the forest, two wheezing, dying breaths could be heard, each echoing the last.

    Sevrath could no longer find the strength to move. He lay there dying, staring at the pitiful wolf pup who gazed back with its sorrowful eyes.

    ¡°Hah¡± Sevrath wheezed out, trying to speak. ¡°Pitiful. Aren¡¯t we?¡± He spoke to his dying companion.

    He found himself trying to comfort the wolf, despite knowing that it could not understand him.

    ¡°We¡¯re the same, you and I.¡± He stopped once again, gasping as he tried to catch the breath that seemed just beyond reach. ¡°Both lost our families to the vices of men. We¡¯re like brothers, you see? Like¡±, his each breath came slower and slower. ¡°Family¡±

    His eyes began to glaze over, oblivious to the light that seemed to emanate outward from him, surrounding the two, reminiscent of the light of the moon.

 Chapter 8-Katrine

    The Weavers¡¯ Warning:

    When speaking of the Weavers, what immediately comes to mind is their fearsome abilities to manipulate; through the weaving of Lumin in their surroundings, they are able to bend light, creating illusions and mirages. The more skilled among them are even able to manipulate sound, further enhancing their abilities, concealing steps and even conjuring voices. However, most would also agree that despite these frightening abilities in clandestine arts, they fail to measure up to their fellow Luminescents in battle. These people would only be able to question the speed and ferocity of their forthcoming deaths¡¯ if they ever managed to attract a Weaver¡¯s wrath. In most circumstances, a Weaver¡¯s abilities are far more suited to surreptitious actions and confusion tactics. However, emotion has always had unpredictable and incredible effects on a Luminescent¡¯s abilities. So beware the Weaver¡¯s Wrath, lest you find yourself doomed to a grim fate by your own hand.

    <hr />

    ¡°What should we do? More and more bandits have been amassing at the borders of town. Sooner or later, we will be overwhelmed by them and the people will be slaughtered.¡± Katrine fretted as she paced across the floor of the room, the train of her dress dragging behind her.

    A momentary flicker of contempt appeared on Daryn¡¯s face, but was quickly quashed and replaced by his usual genial smile. Despite her franticness, she did not fail to notice the slight change in expression on her fiance¡¯s face, something that had been occurring more and more as the bandit threat worsened.

    ¡°Sweet, do not fret. They are merely bandits and are no match for the town guard and your father¡¯s forces, whether it be in skill or equipment.¡± He looked away briefly, the indignation once again returning to his eyes. ¡°Besides, you have the aid of the Great House of Elunel. This nuisance will be quickly taken care of, so that we might hasten the night of our wedding.

    Katrine could only force a nod, pale from fright - not of the bandits, as she knew that she was likely far more skilled than your average crook with a blade - but of the thought of marriage to this boy, who always seems to hide his true emotions behind a veneer and civility and grace.

    Seeings her pale face and trembling hands, Daryn lost his sense of anger, replaced by a tinge of lust and greed. Walking up behind Katrine with a placid smile, he placed one hand on her waist and the other along her arm

    ¡°You are safe by my side, my sweet. Soon, we will be wed, and I will never let you leave my sight.¡± Daryn whispered gently in her ear, as would a lover.

    Katrine¡¯s trembling only worsened.

    -\o/-

    More than a month had passed since the death of Sevrath, and House Elunel seemed to possess more and more control over the manor. Throughout the manor, it was more likely one would encounter guards bearing the crest of Elunel than that of Carthal. It was likely due to this that as Daryn¡¯s stay at Carthal wore on, his room slowly drifted closer and closer to her own, despite the lack of propriety. Likely, if this continued at this rate, he would soon be bedding in her own room alongside her, despite her protests.

    It was for this reason that she was awake late at night, unable to sleep despite how tired she felt. Feeling foolish, she donned a robe over her nightgown before sneaking out of her rooms in hopes of a tidbit from the kitchens. Her slippered feet made little sound as she strode through the corridors of her home, which seemed more unfamiliar than ever. Every so often, she would hear the scuff of booted feet on the smooth stone floor, causing her to scurry to the shadows of alcoves while manipulating the Lumin surrounding her, allowing her to vanish from the eyes of whoever saw her. While not true invisibility, it still worked to cause others to be less likely to register her presence, unconsciously skipping over her as if she were not there at all.

    She knew that it was hardly necessary for her to hide in her own home, nor did she need to go so far as to manipulate the Lumin around her after already hiding in the shadows, but her home had hardly felt like a home for years, and now with so many unknown people roaming the halls, it felt even less so. Two men passed by, wearing uniforms emblazoned with the crest of Elunel; a Golden-Tipped Falcon clutching the moon in its claws. Seeing the men pass by, Katrine let out the breath she had unintentionally been holding. She readied herself to leave the safety of her alcove, but was stopped by more sounds of movement. By this point, she just wanted to be on her way, but she could not bear the embarrassment were she to be seen to have been hiding within her own home. So, rather than rushing to the kitchen as she had been, she waited patiently, resolving that once they passed by she would stop her incessant caution and go on her way.

    Her resolve was quickly crushed as her curiosity was peaked; her most recent nighttime wanderer was Daryn himself. Oddly, he was dressed for battle, wearing his sword at his side, with his pauldron shining on top of his cloak which hid the remainder of his body. Unlike usual, Daryn lacked his normal veneer of grace, replaced with a look of loathing as he made his way down the hall and out the doors to the stable.

    Katrine fought valiantly to pull herself away from the temptation of the kitchen and dashed out its back door. Hearing the sounds of horses being saddled, she hardened her resolve to find out their objective. Staying low to the ground, she scurried across the grounds of the manor vaulted over the stone wall that was more decoration than protection.

    With a satisfied smile, she dusted off her hands as she once again warped the Lumin around her, disappearing from the sight of any potentially prying eyes. Soon enough, a squad of soldiers led by Daryn came walking past, their horses hooves muffled.

    ¡®Curiouser and Curiouser, why would he need to saddle up with guard so late and night, and take so many precautions to not be noticed?¡¯

    After reaching a safe distance, the group removed the cloth from their horses¡¯ hooves and mounted up, riding out towards the nearby forest, unaware of the attention they had already drawn.

    Though the group had an advantage in speed due to their horses, Katrine managed to adequately stay on their heels due to their unfamiliarity with the terrain, which drastically slowed their pace. Left behind minutes before as the squad of guards began to pick up the pace, she was forced to resort to following their trail; luckily, it could not have been any more obvious if they had tried. She snorted. Typical noble ignorance. So confident in their plans that they did not even bother any further stealth after their departure from the manor. Though it hardly mattered for her, as it made things all the easier for her.

    Katrine followed at a steady pace, observant for any sudden backtracking in the trail. There was none. Were it not for the fact that they had left so quietly in the middle of the night, she would have worried that she was losing them. However, it was obvious their absence was not intended to be noticed, and thus, their destination was not exceedingly far. Finally beginning to hear the slight whinnying of horses up ahead, Katrine once again put her guard up as she stalked closer. As she walked, the sounds of an argument could be heard, gaining in volume.

    ¡°We agreed¡­¡± Stepping forward gently while avoiding any dried leaves and twigs, she crept closer and closer.

    ¡°Do you really¡­¡±

    ¡°What do you¡­¡± A sharp crack resounded across the forest, causing whoever was in the glade beyond to startle momentarily, before they resumed. Katrine breathed a sigh of relief, as she had not been discovered despite her mistake.

    Realizing that approaching any closer would be dangerous, Katrine scampered up the tree by her side, still more than ten meters from the clearing. She climbed high into the tree branches, shivering with each successive climb as the wind caressed her skin through her poorly clad robe. Concentrating hard, Katrine attempted to hear the conversation of whoever was in the clearing with Daryn. Irritated at her inability to hear, she debated climbing down and trying her luck at approaching closer before disregarding the thought. Dropping her shroud of lumin, she once again popped into existence. She leaned forward slightly, concentrating with all her strength on hearing them, desperately curious.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Why should I adhere to an agreement with you?¡± A crystal clear voice suddenly echoed from thin air, carrying with it a sense of familiarity. Katrine started at the sound, nearly falling off the branch she was perched on, before regaining her balance.

    ¡°What happened to your nobility? Your honor is worse than a bandit¡¯s.¡± A new, gruff voice sounded from her right. Unfamiliar.

    ¡°Yes. I suppose you would know all about the honor of a bandit.¡± The first voice spoke carelessly, scorn dripping from his words like venom. She now knew who this voice belonged to. It was Daryn. But how? He was up ahead in the clearing. Why was she able to hear him so clearly, as if she was right beside him? ¡°Well, I am tired of this charade. We both know I do not wish to pay you, nor can I have you keep your life after what you did for me. So this will be goodbye.¡±

    A harsh chuckle resounded from her right, followed by a great, piercing whistle. Katrine reeled from the sharp sound, one hand pressing down onto her ringing ear, and the other desperately grabbing at the tree.

    The deep rumble of hooves shook the ground and echoed through the air at the sound of the whistle. Still reeling from before, she looked down in shock to see one, two, three score riders canter across the forest floor beneath her, coming to a stop just past the clearing.

    ¡°I am sad to say this will be goodbye. For you. When I took the job from you, I was prepared for this eventuality. Almost makes makes me feel bad for that family and the boy you had us get rid of.¡±

    Katrine slipped backwards, stunned, and landed precariously leaning against the trunk.

    ¡°What was his name again? Resourceful kid, nothing like you.¡± The voice chided mockingly.

    She started to breathe rapidly, her face growing paler and paler.

    ¡°...¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t want to say? Or did you just never bother to learn it?¡±

    Her hands snagged on surfaces of the branches as she struggled to calm herself, tearing the skin.

    ¡°Hmm¡­Ah! I think I heard the mother say it before she was killed. What was it? Se- S. No. Ah! Seven? Bah! No matter.¡±

    Katrine¡¯s already pale face turned white as alabaster, and her breathing ceased. A boy and his family? Seven? Sev? It was because of him? Tears fell from her face as her eyes turned bloodshot. Staggering up on unsteady feet, she looked down towards the clearing below with a wrathful gaze. Pulling from a well of power deep within herself, the air itself began to contort around her, sudden rushing winds clashing across her figure as she forcefully drew the surrounding Lumin into herself.

    She began to Weave.

    -\o/-

    Daryn sat astride his favorite mare. He realized belatedly that he had failed to account for the possibility that the bandits under the man¡¯s control had grown so rapidly. He grit his teeth as he glanced  around the clearing, only to confirm he and his guard were surrounded on all sides. The only possibility was to capture the leader and bargain their way out. He looked at the man who he had previously employed.

    He had a mocking smile on his face as he spoke, though Daryn had hardly been paying attention to what he was speaking about, as he had been trying to formulate a route of escape.

    ¡°Ah! Seven? Bah!¡± Daryn only looked quizzically at the man, before shaking his head and preparing to charge. He opened his mouth to command his guard forward, when out of the clearing came a massive pressure. The night sky lit up in a bright flash, allowing him to see through the tree line. A girl stood on a slender branch high up in the tree, hair enshrouding her face and shoulders slumped in misery. The bright light receded back to her, then pulsed out once more. His eyes widened in fright and -

    Where am I? He stumbled, falling to his knees before catching himself. His heart beat at extreme speeds for some reason. Odd, guttural sounds could be heard emanating from the surroundings. Frightened at the possibilities, but aware of the potential dangers, Daryn lifted his head and scanned his surroundings.

    His eyes widened and his breath hitched. He could not understand the sight surrounding him and it terrified him. All around, he saw monsters. Great, big, hulking monsters masquerading as men. Oh, they looked real enough at first glance, but he knew what they were. He could see them screeching and cackling with glee in the shadows of their hosts, waiting for a soul to dine on, to devour. He could not run. He knew he could never escape them. His only option was to fight.

    The monsters had oddly enough not taken the initiative, each seemingly as shocked at the next, glancing with odd expressions at one another. Daryn knew that he could not allow them the chance to advance. He set upon them in a frenzy of fear, hacking and slashing his sword with little technique and much blood. Upon seeing his actions, the monsters all around him joined the fight, each wearing painted masks of fear, mocking him for his weakness.

    Stop mocking me!

    He spun around as he swung, heedless of the blades surrounding him, fully engrossed in his own madness. The monsters, too, killed each other at will, swinging clumsily at each other, seeming to be unable to make the decision to charge forward or retreat backwards, causing their swings to miss more often than not as they cringed back.

    Despite this, it did not take long before Daryn found himself before a single foe. He began to laugh hysterically.

    Only one left. There is only one more monster.

    Sprinting forward on tired, stumbling feet, he aimed a slash at the neck of the puppet, hoping it would be too slow to react. Sadly for him, this one seemed to be in slightly more control of its movements than the others had been. Though it too possessed the same desperate visage. Both exhausted from fear and adrenaline, the two fumbled with their swords for minutes longer, each desperate to end the fight. The final monster made a mistake and tumbled backwards to the ground, too weak to prevent his fall or use its momentum to escape his reach. Following through, Daryn brought his sword to bear and tumbled down with him, his sword penetrating up and through the monster¡¯s heart, assuming it had one.

    Wheezing from his exertions and the sudden drop in adrenaline, he tugged his precious sword out of the corpse before letting out a bitter, triumphant laugh. Gazing at his sword, he inexplicably found himself mesmerized by the blood coating its length. Entranced, he found his hand lifting of its own will to the blade of the sword, before swiping down its length, clearing it of much of the blood.

    His appearance was far more haggard than normal, and he could not help but look in the reflection of the sword, using its polished blade as a mirror.

    He froze.

    A bloodstained, tired boy lacking its normal arrogant smirk gazed back at him - and behind it stood a great, bloated demon, engorged on the souls it had been fed. The demon rose one of its fat, grubby hands. Daryn¡¯s own followed behind, brandishing the sword high. The hand dropped, and Daryn was no more.

    -\o/-

    In a haze, the girl plummeted from the branch like a rock, slamming down hard on the soft grass below, as the final dregs of her consciousness slipped away.

    Before her lay a clearing in the woods, painted red with blood and littered with the corpses of bandits, guards, and noble alike.

 Chapter 9

    I''m sorry to say that this is an extremely, extremely short chapter. I had initially planned on it being much longer, but, as I wrote it, it ended up as such. While writing, I decided that this part would have more of an effect as a standalone chapter, rather than were it to be seemingly placed as a mere footnote to a chapter, which it would have been like previously.

    That said, the next post will not continue with Sevrath, and will instead be Katrine for a post before once again returning to him.

    As I feel bad for not writing for such a long time, then posting something so small - little more than a teaser - I will try to get myself to sit down and write the next Katrine chapter, though no promises as usual, since I have a hard time with getting myself to sit down and write. Most of my writing so far has been done in the spur of the moment, halting once I falter on a portion, only to randomly resume once more who knows how long after.

    If anything, at least it will be spring break soon, so I can''t claim to have no time to write.

    That said, here''s the small chapter. (Don''t kill me! <(>.<)>)

    <hr />

    ¡°Hello, What¡¯s your name?¡± The girl asked him sweetly, clutching her skirt with fisted hands and swaying back and forth on her feet.

    The boy looked up, seeming to just notice the nearby girl. A sudden mixture of anger and fear appeared on his face at the sight of her, but it was quickly replaced by a look of confusion.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t scared of me?¡± The boy questioned the girl in an incredulous tone of voice.

    The girl let out a harrumph at his question before angrily eyeing him, hands on her hips. ¡°Why would I be scared of you! I¡¯m gonna be a Luminescent when I grow up!¡± She spoke confidently, puffing out her chest.

    The boy, however, was not one to be bested. Upon hearing her claim, he quickly scrambled to his feet and stuttered back. ¡°M- Me too! I¡¯m gonna be one when I grow up too!¡± The boy counterclaimed, with far less confidence, though just as much enthusiasm as the girl. ¡°S-See look! Look how fast I can climb this tree!¡± The boy challenged, ready to prove his worth.

    He quickly scrambled up the tree, and looked down triumphantly. ¡°See?¡±

    ¡°Whoa.¡± The girl breathed out in astonishment, seemingly unaware of the fact that it had absolutely nothing to do with him potentially becoming a Luminescent when he grows up.

    Only after he shimmied back down did the girl remember her manners.

    ¡°I¡¯m Katrine, What¡¯s your name?¡± She said with an ill-practiced curtsy.

    ¡°Sevrath.¡±

    The girl beamed up at him before turning on her heel and charging in the forest. The boy could only look in confusion at her abrupt disappearance.

    ¡°Are you coming Sev?¡± He heard her question without turning her back, continuing her charge forward.

    The boy smiled back happily, a first of many to come.

    Weeks later they lay on the hillside where they first met, staring at the moon as it sent down pulses of evanescent light. The past few weeks had been the best the pair had ever had, as they quickly opened up to each other and became closer than siblings.

    ¡°Will you be here tomorrow?¡± The boy asked nervously, anxious over her answer.

    ¡°Of course I will!¡± The girl quickly exclaimed. ¡°I-I mean, you¡¯re my only friend.¡± She finished bashfully, averting her gaze.

    Hearing this, the boy innocently grabbed her hand. ¡°No.¡± The boy denied, causing her to glance back at him, a hurt expression on her face. ¡°We¡¯re more than that. We¡¯re like the family we never got to have.¡± He finished resolutely.

    A small trail of tears could be seen rolling down the pair¡¯s eyes as they both thought of the mothers they never got to meet, of the love they never received, and the hate they had received in its place.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    A new, faint light began to grow, though this one seemed to originate from the boy himself. The pair failed to notice as it enshrouded them both before dissipating, too lost in their own thoughts.

    <hr />

    The sunlight streamed through the leaves of the trees above, beaming down on the earth. The birds chirped happily, hopping to and fro on their perches, paying little mind to the macabre scene below.

    Below, entrails littered the forest floor, painting a bloody mural, a frozen scene of the mindless death and destruction left in the wake of time.

    That is, until it was frozen no more.

    It started with the mere twitch of a finger, the first signs of someone awakening. Soon a soft groan followed in its wake, quiet but startling, as it had originated from what seemed to be corpses.

    This alone was enough to caution the approaching carrion-feeders that their carrion might not be as dead as they thought. While they had numbers, they had never been much for courage, and, due to their small size, often only found it when in large numbers against a dying or weakened foe.

    Though most of the scavengers faltered, there were a few among the crowd which were brave enough to inspect the source of the noise. Sidling up on hesitant, cautious feet, they slowly approached. Though the prey before them was covered in dried blood and looked to be nothing more than a corpse, they did not lower their guard.

    It was not until they heard a soft whimper, similar to that of a wounded animal, that one of the group found its courage and crept up the final few yards to the prey.

    Even as the creature approached the source of the noise, the forest once again fell silent as the groaning paused abruptly. The sudden lack of sound caused the creature to seemingly gather its courage as it nudged at the body, which seemed to have finally drawn its last breath.

    That is, until the dead boy¡¯s eyes snapped open.

    His eyes were clouded, a mixture of confusion, tiredness, and relief that, in most circumstances, would have hardly seemed threatening even to the weakest of creatures, especially as he faded back into unconsciousness soon after. However, those around him did not seem to have the same view, as they all simultaneously staggered backwards in reaction. It was as if they saw something beyond their small abilities of comprehension as they all began to retreat, sensing that they boy was someone they would not, no, could not, allow themselves to attack.

    Despite this, their bodies displayed none of the symptoms of fear. Instead, an entirely different, instinctive emotion seemed to have swept through the group like a gale before they fled from sight entirely.

    The sunlight streamed through the leaves of the trees above, beaming down on the earth. The birds chirped happily, hopping to and fro on their perches, paying little mind to the macabre scene below.

    Below, entrails littered the forest floor, painting a bloody mural. However, that mural was not one of death and decay.

    For within lay a boy, wreathed in dried blood, clutching a similarly dyed wolf pup in his arms in a protective manner, as if shielding it from all but his warm, compassionate embrace.

    <hr />

    As a side note, is it proper to post the Katrine chapters as a supposed interlude, or should I just name them as their own chapters unto themselves?

    Initially, I posted it under the guise of an interlude as I had planned for her to not be reintroduced to Sevrath for quite a while. However, that is not to say that things integral to the story do not occur to her during this time. Along with this, her chapters are still about the same word count as Sevrath''s. (This chapter notwithstanding)

    Anyway, was just wondering if it would be considered as a misrepresentation of her importance.

 Chapter 10-Katrine

    So, I forced myself to sit down and write today, as I had promised to quickly write this chapter when I posted the last.

    I wouldn''t be too hopeful that the next chapter will come as fast, as I find I have a harder time writing to satisfaction on the Sevrath chapters- ironically - despite him being the true main character while Katrine is more of a quasi-main character.

    Anyway, enjoy and tell me if you spot any mistakes.

    <hr />

    I often find it ironic that were it not for the machinations and avarice of man I would have never walked upon the path I did. I would have never become what I have become, done what I have done. In some ways, it would have been a blessing. A sense of blissful ignorance, untainted by the cruelty of the world, a cruelty I have found far too often in myself. My potential would have stayed just that: potential.

    It is funny, is it not?

    They say that men will do monstrous things in the name of love. I have found this to be true. At an early age, it was a budding love that caused me to be shackled to my new fate, my new path in life. Ironically enough, it too was love which spurred on some of my most cruel acts in life, both to myself and to others.

    They say that love brings out the best in men. I have found this, too, to be true. While it was cruelty that set me on the road I walked in life, and a similar cruelty that found me in my darkest moments, it did not define me. This was because, just as love can cause men to be cruel, it can also cause them to be better. Better at recognizing their own faults. Better at living up to the image reflected in the eyes of the one they love. Better at being human.

    Thrice in my life I found love.

    Once I found it as a child, growing up alongside a girl, eventually causing love to sprout. However, it had seemed to be a wishful love, fated to live only in the heart.

    Later in life, I found it in despair. Tossed into an unfamiliar land, afraid to move forward, but just as fearful to look back, it was love that allowed me to live again. And, upon losing that love, I lost a part of myself.

    It was only when I found love the third time that I found myself once more. It was this third love that led me back to myself, that allowed me to once again see myself as I had once been, not as what I had become. Because I found her, older but even more beautiful than she was in my memories, I was able to put back together the pieces of me that had been fractured all those years ago, then shattered with the loss of my second love.

    Because of love, I was able to become what I was always destined to be.

    Love is a powerful thing. For me, the world itself is the proof of its power.

    <hr />

    Darkness was all she could see. She could hear whispers all around her. Inaudible voices seemed to surround her, speaking secrets which she was desperate to hear. She strained her ears, terrified of what they were saying, yet just as terrified of the unknown.

    Finally, the voices began to be understandable, though it was strange that they would suddenly allow her to hear. The feeling that she was being mocked and goaded by the voices was quickly confirmed.

    Sevrath was killed. A whispered voice brushed past her ear, followed by a tinkling laughter. It is your fault. Another voice followed behind after a moment of pause, allowing the previous words to sink in with the skill of a practiced orator. He was slain on the orders of the one you were to marry. A third voice cackled gleefully as its sinuous voice seemed to glide through the air. He would still be alive were it not for you. A final voice icily stated, contempt snaking across its ethereal tongue.

    The voices all echoed this statement, each stabbing into her heart like sharp daggers, leaving her bleeding in the dark, knowing that she would never be as she once was. Joyful. Trusting. Naive. One of the voices mocked her.

    Though she had always prided herself in her strength, in her fortitude in the face of all that life threw at her, in the darkness of her own mind she found that she could not stop the tears from streaming ceaselessly down her face.

    All because of one thought which echoed in her mind, accompanied by the cackling of the ghostly voices.

    If only you were never born.

    If only you were never born.

    If only you were never born.

    He might still live.

    -\o/-

    Katrine continued to grieve in the depths of her mind. However, as it is said, time heals all wounds, no matter how great or small. Though it might not recover to its former state, and the wounds may scar, it would heal all the same.

    It was in this fashion that Katrine began to recover. Slowly, ever so slowly, her grief was pushed back, knowing that Sevrath would not have wanted her to lose herself alongside him. He might no longer live, but she did. And so she should act like it.

    Though she had a kind heart, it could hardly be claimed that she was a weak-willed woman. The countless suitors she had managed to chase off previously could personally attest to this fact. So, despite her hurt and her grief, she would not allow herself to become like a corpse, living day to day in a colorless daze, watching the world pass her by with indifferent eyes.

    It was with this thought that light finally began to coalesce within the darkness that surrounded her. It started as a small spark, tiny and insubstantial, but readily visible in this place of darkness, before it quickly spread throughout the space, illuminating her surroundings.

    It was at this moment that she woke to the world.

    -\o/-

    Katrine¡¯s eyes fluttered as she began to awaken. Surrounding her, she could hear the sound of voices. This time, however, they lacked the inhuman quality they had previously. As her entire body felt dreadful due to the overdrafting of Lumin, she could not help but let out a soft whimper.

    Hearing her waking, the voices came to a sudden stop and the sound of footsteps approached where Katrine lay.

    Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of a young maid, one of the many who worked for her father. The girl¡¯s face momentarily took on a joyful expression upon seeing her wake, before a sudden thought seemed to turn it solemn once more.

    Gazing at her with saddened, pitying eyes, the maidservant was quick to express her condolences to Katrine. ¡°I am sorry for your loss¡±, the girl stated sorrowfully, ¡°Everyone knows how much you cared for him.¡±

    Though she had determined that she would not lose herself in grief over Sevrath¡¯s death, she could not prevent a few, rebellious tears from escaping her at these words.

    Katrine¡¯s reaction only seemed to confirm the maid¡¯s words as she continued to console her. ¡°He was a brave man, he was. Far from common. He was the type of person you knew would do anything for those he cared about.¡± The maid¡¯s face practically glowed with adoration as she spoke.

    Confused at the maid¡¯s admiration for him, considering how most of the townsfolk had viewed him, Katrine found herself nodding along gratefully with the girl¡¯s words. Indeed, Sevrath was-

    ¡°Indeed, Daryn Elunel was a great personage.¡±

    What?

    -\o/-

    Luckily for Katrine, her shock at the maidservant¡¯s words were not seen as unusual. Whereas, truthfully, Katrine was in shock due to the completely incongruous image painted of her deceased fiance - the one whose death she herself caused - the maid thought she was merely shocked that even one with her status would know of Daryn so well.

    It was in this manner that Katrine learned of the events which had happened during the time she spent unconscious.

    According to the rumors that had been began to circulate throughout the entire town of Carthal and beyond, Daryn and his retinue heroically went out under the cloak of darkness to defeat the bandit brigade which was threatening the safety of the town, not wishing to endanger anybody else with such a task.

    Bravely, they faced off against a great number of bandits, which outnumbered them ten to one. They fought to the death, fearing naught for their own well being, each fighting with the strength of many men due to the courage in their hearts and their determination to save the people of Carthal. However, the numbers were great, and, despite their great skill and courage, they were eventually whittled down to one.

    One man, Daryn Elunel, stood his ground against the veritable horde which surrounded him. With his sword in his hand and his dear love in his heart, he fought tooth and nail against the despicable bandits, slaying them one after the other with his superior skill. However, despite how gallant and heroic he may have been, he could not help but be wounded as he fought. Each shallow cut sapped at his strength, weakening him as time flowed onwards.

    Eventually only Daryn and the bandit chief remained. Standing ramrod straight despite the many wounds that scarred his visage, he dueled the chief to a standstill, despite the continuous loss of blood that drained his vitality. Knowing that the death of the chief, the last man among the bandits, would bring an end to the threat plaguing Carthal, Daryn ignored his wounds and finally ended the life of the chief by his own sword.

    However, by then he was far too weak to do anything but lay there, dying. It was due to this that a bandit which had escaped his notice by laying among the dying, managed to take his sword, which had still been pierced through the chief, and stab Daryn. However, even then, pierced by his own blade and dying, Daryn did not give up. Before allowing himself to die, he ended the life of that final bandit, content that he had ended the threat on Carthal and on his fiancee.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Just as he died, as if sensing the connection between the two severing, Katrine Carthal, fiancee of Daryn Elunel, woke from her sleep in a fright. Drawn to the location of her departed love like a lodestone, she eventually arrived at the clearing, only to find that her love had died, protecting her and her town. Unable to stand the thought of being separated from her love, grief overwhelmed her as she collapsed on the spot.

    Katrine herself had to admit that they had weaved a great story. The combination of love, bravery, sacrifice, and tragedy was sure to bring tears and applause to those who heard it. She even almost found herself doing the same. Almost.

    Sadly, no matter how noble the story, she knew the truth of the matter. However, this was a truth she knew she could not allow herself to speak of.

    It seemed House Elunel had perpetuated this rumor through a supposed wounded member of his retinue, which had been mistaken for dead among the other dead and dying, though his story would have been far different were this the truth.

    He claimed to have seen all these events with his own eyes, and tearfully sang the praises of his deceased master, while mourning for the widowed Katrine, who was forced to see the aftermath of the events. While this wounded member was not truly present, and likely had wounds which were actually self-inflicted for the benefit of his House and the acquisition of money, Katrine could hardly deny the rumors, as she had been unconscious for more than a day due to overdrafting her abilities, and would fall under suspicion for her presence at the site were she to deny the rumors.

    No matter how she wished to denounce Daryn for the man he truly was, it would do no good. At best, people would think that she had gone insane due to grief. At worst, it would bring into question the true events of that night, events which would only lead to her own death were they to be disclosed.

    The death of a member of House Elunel was not something to be taken lightly, and likely the only reason she was not in chains was that nobody would think her abilities were powerful to such a degree, especially since she was merely a Weaver.

    To them, she was only a weak girl, to be used in their attempts to gain prestige out of the events, and that is what she needed to remain as.

    If she needed to play the Grieving Widow for them, she did not mind.

    It would hardly be a lie.

    -\o/-

    In the following weeks, the story of the gallant Daryn Elunel, Hero of Carthal, and the pitiful Katrine Carthal, the Grieving Widow, spread out past the reaches of Carthal and had reached the ears of many. While some of the reason for this was due to the desire of the commonfolk for tales such as these, for those more observant it was apparent that it was being encouraged to spread.

    As the tale began to reach even the capital of the Arcelian Empire, the popularity and prestige of House Elunel had already greatly increased. Who did not love a hero who would risk life and limb for love and honor? How could a noble sacrificing his life to save the lives of an entire town not bring appreciation from the citizens?

    Though it was still considered an upstart House in the eyes of many of the Great Houses, their current popularity among the citizens of the Empire could not be ignored. Avenues to wealth and prestige which had previously been closed to the Noble House had been abruptly opened, and those at the capital were forced to scramble to realign themselves.

    Previously, the House Elunel had proposed a marriage to Katrine because they wished to introduce Luminescent Bloodlines into their House. Due to this sudden shift in the politics of the Empire, the House now found itself able to create ties with other, more influential nobles with the bloodlines of Luminescents.

    Obviously, to them, this was far more desirable. Though they spoke well of Katrine due to her position of The Grieving Widow, they truly had only ever seen her as a vessel to bear children.

    And so, in these passing weeks, House Elunel had withdrawn from Carthal, piously stating that though they wished for a continued connection with Lord Carthal and his line, they did not wish a grieving widow to be forced to marry one who is not her love, nor for her to face a constant reminder of her loss. In a similar fashion, due to her cemented position in the hearts of the common people, no other Houses could establish relations with Carthal despite their wish to introduce another Luminescent to their line, else they draw the ire of the people.

    Katrine could not have been happier about this fact.

    Her father, Lord Carthal, thought differently.

    -\o/-

    ¡°What use are you t¡¯ me if you canno¡¯ even marry into a wealthy family?¡± Lord Carthal roared angrily, face red with his overindulgence.

    In most circumstances, Katrine was quite willful, and would never passively take such abuse from someone. But this was her father. Yes, he had all but ignored her for most of her life, and in the few moments he did pay attention to her, it was either for personal gain, or to vent his misguided hatred. However, in the depths of her heart, despite her own small amount of hate for the man, she wished for his affection and found herself actually slightly glad in these small moments.

    At least in those confrontations he acknowledged her existence. Perhaps if she had not met Sevrath, her hate for the man would have grown much stronger.  Yet, she herself knew what kind of effect losing someone could bring, how hatred could well up from the depths of that loss and consume everything.

    So while she hated him for how he viewed her, she mostly pitied him. She had heard from others how he used to be, back when her mother had still lived. He had been a good Lord, a good man. Now, however-

    ¡°Do you even care what you ¡®ave done! You are a curse on this family! Because of you, my wife died! ¡®Cause of you, my line will never continue! ¡®Verything¡¯s your fault!¡± He spat vehemently before swaying on his feet and losing his bottle in his attempt to catch himself on the mahogany desk nearby.

    Now he had become this.

    Katrine just stood there, watching the red wine slide across the wooden floor, like so much blood. She only lost her absent mindedness when her father began to speak again, this time with less of a slur.

    ¡°It should be obvious by now, should it not?¡± Lord Carthal laughed bitterly. ¡°You are a curse. A plague on all who are near you. That boy Daryn can attest to that fact, though his family somehow created a miracle out of the situation. Then there was that other one. That Sevrath probably also died because he knew you.¡± Lord Carthal said darkly, unaware that in his drunken rage, he managed to hit a wound in Katrine¡¯s own heart.

    Katrine staggered back, as if she had been slapped. Since the night she discovered that Daryn was the cause of Sevrath¡¯s death, she herself had occasionally found herself thinking such. Yet, it seemed so much more real when she heard it from someone else.

    Fighting back the tears which were threatening to overflow, she gritted her teeth and stood her ground against her father, losing her former passivity.

    Seeing his daughter glare at him so hatefully, Lord Carthal did what he, despite his hatred, had never done in his life.

    He slapped her.

    Due to the shock of his actions, Katrine did not even try to dodge. She just stood there as he swung his open palm towards her. She was sent backwards by the force of the blow, stumbling to the ground. The sharp sting snapped her out of her morose thoughts and left her looking hurtfully at her father.

    Katrine did not seem to be the only one stunned by his actions, as Lord Sevrath stood there stock-still for a few moments, gazing at his own hand. When the surprise of his own actions wore off, it was his turn to stumble to the ground.

    Laid down on the floor of the room was a mirror image of his deceased wife, a beautiful girl with chestnut brown hair. But rather than smiling at him lovingly, she was looking at him with a hurt expression and forlorn eyes. Her pale skin was marred by a rough red hand-mark across her face. Her clothes were stained in red wine which flowed around her, looking like rivers of blood.

    His hand reached towards her pleadingly. ¡°Alessandra my love...I¡¯m so¡­¡± He halted, coming back to his senses. His face, previously full of emotion, once more turned impassive.

    He turned around, unable to look at Katrine.

    ¡°You are no longer of use to the family. I hereby disown you. From now on, you and I have no relation and you are no longer of the Noble lineage of Carthal. My daughter Katrine took ill and died due to her overbearing grief. No matter how well known you are, there are very few who know how you actually look and should you claim to be my daughter, you will simply be taken as a madwoman.¡±

    Katrine continued sitting there, surprised but not shocked. She had known long ago that her father was at his worst while in her presence and would have gotten rid of her long ago if he had not seen her as a piece to sell off to the highest bidder. Now that such a thing could not be done, he was wiping his hands of her.

    Katrine then glared at him frostily.

    ¡°You and I have no relation, and I am no Noble.¡± She echoed his words to his back. ¡°I no longer have a father, only a mother. From this day forward, I will take up my mother¡¯s namesake. Should you someday claim to be my father, know that you will simply be taken as a madman.¡±

    With that, Alessa, daughter of Alessandra Carthal, left Carthal. It had not been home in a long time anyway.

    Of course, this was not before claiming some of the Lord¡¯s coins for herself.

    <hr />

    I hate when you look back at your writing and find words to be strange. It just bothers me. Like in this chapter, at one point I used gritted.

    Grit. Gritted. Grit.

    As I say it more, they ALL start to sound strange. >.<