《A Dark Ultimatum》


 Prologue: The Curse of Lightning

    It happened in a flash. My dark deed was done before I could blink. It was bright, partially blinded every pair of eyes that bore witness. It was loud, created a shockwave that ripped through the stadium before echoing back into my own ears. It had a glow of heavenly light; its call was booming thunder. It tore from my outstretched hand like an otherworldly spear, divided reality in the way it looked, in the way it sounded. It split my reality in the way it felt.


    The surge of power, the buzz in my fingertips. The sensation of fire in my veins. The thought that, if only for a moment, I wielded the power of the forlorn skies in my hand. A truly surreal feeling, and when that bolt of lightning lunged from my hand like an alabaster viper, screaming forward faster than any blade or flame could hope to match, my young mind flooded with ecstasy.


    In a flash, it was over. In a fleeting moment of brilliant light, all that remained was rumbling thunder and thousands of collective voices silenced in an instant. So many faces that surrounded me in the stands, so many expressions of shock and awe. The falling snow seemed to slow; the howling wind died down. It all went still, I wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve been surprised if the world itself stopped spinning.


    Utter silence.


    With heaving breaths, my eyes slowly trailed the snow-covered arena floor ahead, following the path of scorch marks and scrapped Scales until they rest upon a figure dead ahead of me.


    A boy, no older than I was, who stood a little under twelve paces away, facing me with gleaming sword in hand. His amethyst eyes and chromium hair marked him as Sallem, and the broader body frame and shining Titanium armor Scales also played to this fact. He was my opponent, and for the entire duel up to that point, he was all set expressions and slight grins.


    But his eyes were wide then, mouth partly open like he wanted to say something. As if one last word was held on the tip of his tongue. Previous frustration finally being sated made a smile of my own spread across my face. It felt good to finally wipe that smug countenance of his away.


    I come to dread that moment, to curse my younger self for ever being so careless, ever being so clueless. I didn¡¯t know it, but I killed the boy. I didn¡¯t realize it, but I killed my future. I knew nothing of curses, nothing of ancient laws or omitted legends. I was but a sheltered prince, spoiled rotten and given nothing except love and care the whole twelve years of my now tarnished life.


    So, what was my first thought? What was the first thing to cross my mind after I just sealed my fate to be a Curse, be a byword; become one of the most infamous beings in the known two Continents? It was simple.


    I win.


    But then the Sallem boy stumbles back a couple of steps, and the thoughts of victory and glory crack in my mind. I drop my grin, and it¡¯s as if my own reality takes on a darker hue. The boy isn¡¯t trying to speak; he¡¯s trying to breathe. Mouth opening and closing like he¡¯s gasping for air.


    He isn¡¯t making noise; it¡¯s like he¡¯s in a void.


    The crowd that watches, the audience of nearly a quarter of the kingdom, do indeed have expressions of shock, but there is no awe amongst them. Only horror, resentment, and a growing, seething rage.


    I begin to feel something well up in my two hearts, fear and guilt like I¡¯ve never felt before grips at my Core. I¡¯ve done something wrong, something terribly, horribly wrong.


    The Sallem boy looks down; my widening eyes follow. Amongst the glistening metallic skin that covers his chest, leaking smoke and MANA alike, is a gaping hole. Its edges charred black, neighboring armor plates partially melted and twisted away.


    I can see the adjacent arena wall through that hole.


    The boy collapses, dead before he hits the ground. I no longer revel in the silence, I fear it. I draw my hand back, staring at it as if it has betrayed me. Thoughts of wanting to disappear, to undo my dark deed, they assault me. Standing under so many hostile expressions, I felt I¡¯ve just created a pit of snakes.


    Somehow, through the panic and growing stress, I knew I¡¯ve broken something that could never be mended.


    The silence lasts only a second longer, before a single noise breaks the volatile peace. A scream. Like a spell breaking, the stadium erupts, and sounds of fear and horror emit from every mouth.


    ¡°Kill it!¡± Roars one voice.


    ¡°Kill the Cursed!¡± Echoes another.


    The majority of the crowd moves in a flood of panic; Piran, Sallem, and Mallanm alike, all scrambling over one another to escape. But few in the stands run for me, black and silver colored Scales quickly conforming over their bodies from the glowing outlets on their appendages. Soon, Fabricated swords, axes, and spears appear in the Sallems¡¯ hands, and wicked black claws and flames spout from the Pirans¡¯.


    I¡¯m paralyzed in fear, watching with a blank expression as wolves seemingly appear from the sheep, growling and grouping together as they make a mad rush for my head.


    I can¡¯t take back what I¡¯ve done. I know it.


    Nobody will forgive, nobody will forget. I can feel it.


    The voices of anger stay my feet, the danger I face makes me feel so small. That sense of heavenly power feels all but foolish now. I would come to learn Charlie¡¯s Curse is nothing to be taken lightly, and as I found out that day, my own people would turn on me in a matter of seconds because of it.


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    Eldest Heir? Future Monarch of this Kingdom? Would my people ever accept for me to be fitting of such titles?


    The sickle shaped blade that arcs for my neck answers that question well enough.


    With a wave of heat, flames of a familiar color engulfs the Sallem soldier in front of me; he disappears behind a wall of curling light. His muffled roar of fury attacks my ears, before a knotted yet stern hand grabs me by the shoulder, tugging me back before the burning sword takes my head.


    Revinen, a Piran General, and staunchest ally of my parents, puts himself between me and the incoming assailants, his fiery yellow eyes resting underneath the steep arched brows of his signature scowl. He doesn¡¯t say a word. He never even looks at me. His stance is stone cold; nearly amber colored flames spouting from his free hand.


    My savior.


    He¡¯s joined by others, all of them donning their Scales and standing firm. They¡¯re the devout members of the royal guard. I recognize many of them, others I do not. But it seems they¡¯ve chosen their side, though none dare stand as close to me as Revinen does.


    The mob of assailants slow their charge, and in a drastic show of creed, the two sides face each other off. I can hear my two hearts thundering in my ears. My legs feel like they¡¯re about to give out. I¡¯m twelve, I¡¯m supposed to be capable at this age. If I¡¯m old enough to think, then I¡¯m old enough to fight.


    But I find my hands clasped on Revinen¡¯s arm like my life depended on it.


    My defenders slowly back away; those who want me dead advance. In the rolling thunder of screams and shouts, sunset colors of fire illuminate everyone; fresh weapons and armor glint like polished crystal. Hardened veterans stare each other down; hands twitching for a fight.


    My meager duel seems so far away.


    Eyes that glow like the moon rest within the voids of enclosed visors, each pair colored in a range of violet, yellow, and blood red. Some flick their illuminated eyes to me, watching me like how hungry predators watch their helpless prey in the night.


    It scares me. The cries because of my actions terrify me. But what I¡¯m afraid of most, is myself. Despite it all, I keep glancing back at the boy, who¡¯s been forgotten amongst the chaos. His violet eyes still wide, face contorted in pain and anguish. The hole through his body matches his dead pupils; they all stare right at me.


    I feel tears well up, making my vision blurry. I killed him, I¡¯m a murderer. The screams of terror, they¡¯re because of me. I¡¯m a monster. My right hand isn¡¯t able to close, it hooks over Revinen¡¯s arm more than grips it. The lightning did something to my hand. I can¡¯t move my fingers; I can¡¯t let go. It makes me shake, as my actions weigh down heavily on my shoulders.


    Just what am I?


    The standoff is broken when my father, King Titan of the Helsone Kingdom, slams down with a loud thump between the stagnated parties, kicking up a cloud of snow that washes over all of us.


    He rises to his monstrous height, his signature spear that looks like a trident already forming in his large hands. In the falling snow and flickering firelight, his face is contorted in primal rage, teeth bared under an expression pierced by fierce violet eyes. With a voice that sounds like rolling thunder, he faces my assailants with the posture of a retired warmonger.


    ¡°DON¡¯T. YOU DARE. LAY A HAND ON MY BOY!!!¡± He bellows.


    He strikes the closest opposing warrior with his spear¡¯s shaft, exuding his weight into the blow. It is like he swung a hammer. The Piran goes down hard, his crystalline Scales cracking where he was struck.


    My father roars his battle cry, and that¡¯s the moment when the kingdom began to splinter.


    Three Sallems lunge at my father, while two Pirans unleash their fire for his head. Two of father¡¯s sworn guards back him up, taking the five on without a moment of hesitation. It doesn¡¯t take long for noises of shearing metal, roaring flames, and shuffling feet to fill my ears, when both sides collapse in on each other.


    Revinen turns, snatching me up and bolting. Blades and flames snap at me from all directions, heat and sparks scald my skin. Revinen weaves through the melee, swinging me about in his arms to keep my life from being snuffed out. He makes a beeline for one of the stadium¡¯s many exits, narrowly dodging a Piran fireball that chases his heels.


    The flaming black orb careens by, exploding in a concussive blast as it collides with the arena wall. The noise stings my ears, burning shards prick me all over. Revinen doesn¡¯t slow his pace. He runs through the fire, speaking in his cold, hard voice.


    ¡°Come. We must leave this kingdom immediately.¡±


    My mind is slow to react, it¡¯s all happening so fast. I find myself staring at my right hand, frozen open as if it were eternally trying to clutch something.


    ¡°I-,¡± I stutter. ¡°B-But.¡±


    When words fail me, I go silent. Echoes of combat nip at Revinen¡¯s heels, shouts for my death follow close behind. But the voices drown out the deeper into the dark tunnel we go.


    Panicked crowds are fleeing every which way when we exit the stadium; it looks as if the entire kingdom is falling apart. Many see me, most immediately turn back the way they came. Some stop, their noses crinkled and eyes fierce. But they take one look at Revinen, and they change their minds.


    Through the streets we go, meeting no resistance in the dark of the approaching twilight. Soon, even the noises of the stadium go quiet, and with it, any chance of knowing the fate of my father and family disappear. I feel tears roll down my face. They sting more than I thought they could.


    It¡¯s all my fault.


    I¡¯m carried off, secreted away before those that intend me harm know any better. It happens quickly, the entire event lasted only a few minutes. My memory of that day is clear, every second etched into my mind and turned to stone.


    Much too real; it still gives me shivers six years later.


    All crystal, except when I was taken, put into hiding for my own safety. Those scarce hours are muddled, blurry as if only an afterthought. I feel I¡¯ve started to forget the reason why, but my younger self knows.


    As I was saved from the mess I¡¯ve made, feeling the sting of tears streaming down my cheeks, I was deep in thought. That scream, the first noise to reach my ears after I realized what I¡¯ve done. It came from the monarch¡¯s box. It was distorted by its own echo, yet it was indistinguishable.


    It was my mother¡¯s scream, when she saw her son become what everyone will know him as from that day on. A Cursed. A Spawn of Charlie.


    A Monster¡­

 The White Prince and the Silver Princess

    Those that support Luna¡¯s parents would say she¡¯s a genius. Those that seek to uproot her family¡¯s kingdom would say she¡¯s too smart for her own good. But it¡¯s the words of her eldest brother Flint that she finds her comfort in.


    ¡°It¡¯s like even the brightest Mallanms are dim when they¡¯re next to you.¡± He once said, as he stood on the edge of Oblivion. ¡°I¡¯m a lucky guy to have such a brilliant sister.¡±


    One step after another, she trudges, powering through knee-deep snowfall in the wake of a waning blizzard. Snowflakes, small particles of fragile ice, fall silently down from the clouded heavens above, sapping the color of everything across the unseen world far, far beneath her. Against the wind, she treads, carrying a contraption of crossing Titanium bars and Carbon plates over her shoulders, which catch in the wind like a sail, threatening to throw her over.


    Through the puffs of her own breath, she keeps her squinted eyes forward. It¡¯s not the first time she¡¯s come to the top of this mountain, and it surely won¡¯t be the last. But this peak is riddled with sudden drops and cliff edges, and it¡¯s a long way down. It¡¯s a dangerous venture, and in weather like this, it¡¯s nearly impossible to see where you¡¯re going.


    Yet Luna follows a lone set of footprints, which stay clear of where the ground meets the sky, trailing up to the summit like a noble guide in even the darkest hour of the night. And when she comes to the mount, when the clouds begin to break and the winds die down, when the lingering snowflakes turn from blanketing currents to lone wanderers, she finds the end of the trail.


    Up here, where the horizon stretches on unhindered, where the sights of their kingdom are nowhere to be seen, where one believes they can truly meet the sun; she finds a lone figure, standing at the beginning of Oblivion. His boots planted inches from a sudden cliff edge, rising winds revolve in waves about the black flight suit he wears. His dark copper hair sways in the breeze, kept messy and short-cut despite his royal heritage.


    ¡°Flint.¡± She calls out to the figure, and he turns, looking upon the young princess with his set of brilliant vermillion irises. His face is stricken with a quiet form of sadness, numbed grief swirls around in those sunset eyes. ¡°A little help?¡± She asks.


    The grief abates for but a moment, and Flint smiles.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Slowly, with methodical steps and a stalking gait, he joins her, taking a half of the contraption over his shoulder. Together they drag it up the rest of the way, until the flattened ground falls away, and the obscured world below comes back into view. The morning sun has decided to finally join them.


    The two siblings stand atop Oblivion, the tallest mountain for miles around. Here, at the brink of the Great Ridgeline, which stretches from the top to the bottom of the Northern Continent, winter lasts for a great portion of the year. The weather can be unpredictable, and the wind almost never abates completely. Yet, this mountain, and the valley beyond, is a familiar sight for Flint and Luna, just as familiar as the towering castle and expansive kingdom that rests below.


    Helsone Kingdom, wreathed in its frigid glory. Buildings upon buildings inventively designed in elliptical rows, composed of carved Ironwood and grey bricked stone. Larger structures like the stadium and the grand library rise amongst the streets and winding rivers, towering over the homes and businesses like Sallems amongst young children.


    But even they are dwarfed by Helsone Castle, which reaches toward the heavens, piercing the sky like a circular spire. Wrought in colors of silver and crimson, twisting and swirling about to a needle tip. It glints in the morning sun, like polished crystal drenched in blood. Luna finds her eyes on it. She can¡¯t help but set her jaw.


    Their reasons for coming here have already been set in stone; this will be the 31<sup>st</sup> test. Yet the rate has been turned on its head, and they have arrived on Oblivion far ahead of schedule. Flint awoke Luna early this morning with a fire in his eyes, practically unable to keep still. He¡¯s dragged her out here today before even the night watch was through, saying little and seemingly lost in his thoughts.


    She¡¯d like to ask him why, but she can already guess. It is today, after all, of all days.


    She catches Flint staring solemnly at the stadium.


    ¡°Honestly,¡± Luna sighs, taking the meager weight of the contraption off Flint¡¯s shoulder, sticking it into the snow by the two poles jutting out of the bottom of it. ¡°We don¡¯t need such a windy cliff. Any spot would do.¡± The gentle breeze howls quietly in her ears; Flint rips his blood-orange eyes off the stadium. She meets his gaze, shrugging. ¡°We could just have you jump off the top of the castle. It¡¯d save us some legwork. Does it have to be this one? Every time?¡±


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    Flint chooses his words carefully, as he always does. Men like Crown would think he¡¯s scheming, but Luna has come to know her brother. He¡¯s making sure he won¡¯t say something he might regret.


    ¡°Sorry to make you come out this far all the time. For making the time for me in general.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have much else going on.¡± She counters.


    He continues unhindered, turning back to the cliff edge. ¡°But I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t help but like this place.¡± He slowly raises his arms, taking in the breeze. ¡°If only for a moment, I can already feel like I¡¯m flying.¡± He glances back at her. ¡°Do you get what I mean?¡±


    It means more than that. It¡¯s a chance for Flint to get away from the scornful eyes and gnashing teeth, to spend few precious hours free, when his borrowed days have him locked away with his expendable bodyguards. It¡¯s his chance to not be feared or hated. A chance he can be human again.


    Luna can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Well, shall we make it official then?¡±


    He nods.


    A minute later, Luna is helping to strap Flint up to the contraption, tying him and the rigid pieces together. She fastens leather belts through the jangling rings on his flight suit, shifting about the harness around his legs. She designed this piece herself; she knows just how to operate it. It¡¯s not her best work, on account of its rushed construction. But after 30 designs and reworks, she¡¯s gotten a hang of what works and what doesn¡¯t.


    Titanium bars she Fabricated herself rest snugly against Flint¡¯s tall back, crossing over one another and providing the stability of the contraption. Two bars just out from the sides, which reach far and become bent nearly an arm¡¯s length away. On those bars, fused together with thin silver lines, overlapping black plates of Carbon that Flint provided catch in the breeze like sails, spanning wide and ending in sharp angles.


    Paired with the bars Luna ties to Flint¡¯s legs, and the boy who some call the White Prince stands tall, with jet black wings jutting out from behind his shoulders. He stays quiet during it all. The answer is obvious, and yet, the question is eating away at Luna. She has to be sure.


    ¡°So,¡± She begins, messing with the straps at Flint¡¯s feet. ¡°Why today?¡±


    She feels his posture stiffen up; his voice practically filters out his mouth. ¡°What do you mean?¡± She tugs on one of the straps, giving him a jolt. ¡°Well, I had to weld the final plates for the wings into place atop this very mountain not even five minutes ago.¡± She moves to his other boot. ¡°If we were planning to stick to the schedule, then we¡¯d have a few more days at least.¡± She pauses, staring holes through his boot. ¡°But here I am, shaken awake this morning by an adamant prince, who wants to move the test flight up to today.¡±


    She rises to the buckles on his chest, pressing her hand against him. ¡°What¡¯s the rush, Flint?¡± She raises her head to meet his gaze, which he doesn¡¯t return. ¡°Why does it have to be today? Of all days?" She can see the pain in his eyes, how it torments him. These recent years have been hard on him, and it has only compounded with time. Yet, she can see as he buries it, meeting her gaze.


    ¡°I¡¯d just rather not be home today. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Six years since he split the kingdom in two, since lightning flashed from his hand and ancient law was enacted to have him executed on the spot. Luna was eight when it happened; she can scarcely recall that day. She can remember that night though, when she wandered into her parents¡¯ bedroom out of curiosity of a strange noise she¡¯d never heard before. She remembers it then, seeing Mother¡¯s head pressed into Father¡¯s shoulder, weeping. Illuminated from a burning hearth; It was the first time in Queen Ember¡¯s life that she ever cried.


    Luna tugs the final strap harder than she meant to. She backs up, and Flint gives himself a once over, presenting himself to his silver-haired sister as she picks him apart with her amethyst eyes.


    ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Luna nods to herself, shaking away the sour memory crawling around in her head. At first, she resented her brother since that night, modeling him out to be a villain and a bastard. Crown¡¯s passionate speeches might¡¯ve wormed their way too deeply into her. But, when Flint returned a mere three years ago, weighed down heavily by his own self-loathing and conscience; he looked Luna right in the eyes as they stood in that expansive hallway, surrounded by wary soldiers and new faces that she¡¯s never seen before, and she saw a glint form in his lifeless eyes.


    ¡°Can you help me fly?¡± He asked her then.


    ¡°Like I¡¯m going to find you in three pieces at the bottom.¡± She tells him now.


    He chuckles at that. ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.¡±


    She gives him space, prepared to make the long trek back down. In the wake of the rising sun, her eldest brother faces that cliff edge, black wings spread out far from his two shoulders. It¡¯s this moment, and the similar times before, that she can admire this young man for a handful of precious seconds. The air he carries about him, it¡¯s one of a fallen warrior. Time and time again, she¡¯s felt that same presence before.


    The living legend Revinen carries it, generals and veterans carry it. Mother and Father carry it. Flint¡¯s twin brother Steel and Crown, they don¡¯t even hold a fraction of it.


    And as Flint hunkers down, taking in heavy breaths; his second heart activating in a thrum, and visible cyan light traveling through his veins¡­


    Crimson flames rupture from the palms of his hands, flooding out and carving into the ground in two bright pillars of rushing heat. Clouds of steam kick up, Flint¡¯s boots drag forward in their place, and he takes off, running dead ahead without even a spell of hesitancy.


    He leaps, and with an explosive show of power, becomes nothing more than a blur of a trailing fireball, speeding off, gliding high into the bright pale-white sky.