by The Ranger
While not knowing what was happening outside forced worry to crawl through his mind, he was almost thankful for the temporary reprieve. He could not allow something else to obstruct his path— not now that he could already feel Lucan within arm's reach. All he had to do was meet him in the throne room, a place that now seemed to radiate dark magic in every direction.
He cautiously stalked the halls of his home, urging himself not to race forward and leap into battle unprepared. He needed time to gather his strength and think of the best approach— he would not risk underestimating this sorcerer, not like the Marinians had. If everything Eren had shared of the battle was true, and he believed it to be, Lucan was no paltry mage. He remembered the anxiousness that cascaded off of Eilon when he explained the dangers of dark magic and the damage done to Solton by this corrupt wizard's monsters. The devastation that had come to Azra would be nothing compared to what the kingdom would see if he failed.
With those thoughts swirling through his mind, it took every scrap of discipline Richard had left to advance as slowly as he did— to pull his blade only when confronted by Seekers and to halt his wrathful urges. He had spent so much of his self-control on keeping himself in check that he could not stop his body when it froze in front of a solitary and secluded door.
Air whistled through the emptied halls of the King's Quarter, the area designated for the royal family and their attendants. It was adjacent to the section of the castle that housed the throne room, and it was where Richard found himself now. His fingers floated towards the handle and lingered for a moment before quickly pushing the door open. It was unlocked, just as he had left it.
The room was cold and bare; much of the lavish decorations that should have been found here were absent. Instead, there was simply a plain dresser with half-filled drawers, a small rug, and a bed that he had always found sufficiently comfortable. There was a small table at its side that hosted a few trinkets: a small wooden figure in the shape of a wolf from his father; a pressed flower Queen Ursula had given him; a colorful braid of fabric Edmund had found; a cracked dagger Eren had broken through various misuses; and a dragon idol that Finn had carved for him— it depicted the Fate-Maker.
All of these items had been carefully stored away in a small chest Richard had stashed beneath his bed, but he had pulled them out and looked them over before his departure. It stung to return to that time, to remember how he felt when he learned his father's life had been torn away. Yet, there was a bittersweet feeling he found in recalling the days before Prince Lucian's quest. A sentiment that grew in his chest and weighed down his heart.
He stifled a sigh and turned to leave, but a mass on the bed caught his attention. He had not seen it before, as the shadows were draped around it, and his own attention had been fleeting. He pulled his sword and ignited it, using its flames to brighten the room and reveal all that it held. He leaned closer and saw that the mass was a large bundle of fur. It was soft to the touch and pleasantly wrapped in exquisite gold threads. It was large enough to enshroud Richard's bed three times over, and it was clear that it was extremely well-made. He combed his fingers through the large blanket when he felt a piece of parchment poke against his hand. He pulled it closer to his face and scanned the words scribbled across its cold surface.
For Richard, Sworn Defender to His Highness,
Please accept this gift of finery as a token of Prince Lucian's friendship, and may it serve as a reminder that His Highness deeply values your unwavering loyalty.
Handpicked by Your Prince,
Lucian
Richard looked at the note for another minute before setting it aside and turning his eyes back to the great blanket that rested on his bed. It was obvious to him that the note had not been written by the Prince. However, the bundle of fur that laid in front of him was as much a gift from Lucian's own hand as any other he had received throughout his life. He pressed his fingers to it once more and slowly lifted his head.
His gaze found the only mirror that laid in the room — a small, round thing just large enough for Richard to inspect his face — and he stared into his own eyes. Slowly, just as a slight heat began to gnaw beneath his skin, did he see the blues of his irises lose their hue and slip towards a golden glow. He saw them look back at him then. The same eyes that had saved his life and condemned his friend's. The same eyes that would now condemn Lucan. Tala's eyes.
"No more waiting," he whispered, slipping his blade back into its scabbard. "You've waited for me long enough, Luce."
Even with his room returned to darkness, he could still see the reflection of his yellow eyes in the mirror. They displayed an eerie hunger, one that he had seen only once before when Aven's hidden form was revealed. It was a desperation that he welcomed and one that, he believed, would soon be needed.
A slight thud rang out as Richard's boots met the stone floor— it was the only sound that emanated through the long hall in front of him. The corridor was elegantly decorated, with red-and-gold lace as well as busts depicting Azra's many kings lined along the walls. It was one of the many passageways that led into the throne room and the one that would have been taken by any who held the king's confidence.
He scowled when he saw them: men, donning the armor all castle guardsmen wore. They were the warriors who had stayed behind to defend this place, and they were strewn across the floor. They weren't dead, he realized, but certainly incapacitated. There were no marks or injuries on any of them; neither the scars of searing flame nor the bite of a black blade graced their flesh. He assumed they had been afflicted with magic sickness, just as he had when he first met Solton's sorcerer. If his assumption was correct, they would recover soon enough. There was only one thing here that concerned Richard, and he sat with his back against the wall, struggling to rise.
"Brandon!" he called out, rushing to the young man's side.
He was in the same armor he had worn before, but his face was scrunched up, and blood was trickling down his eyebrow. It looked as if he had fallen and cracked his face against one of the busts, but he managed to remain conscious, through means that eluded Richard as he looked him over apprehensively.
"Brandon, you're— how are you-"
"He's in there… the wizard-man," the young steward whimpered, convulsing slightly. "He's got the King…"
Gratitude swept through Richard's mind as he watched the man twitching in front of him. He had not been able to sense whether or not Lacerne was still held hostage by his brother or if he had been… dealt with. Now that Brandon had revealed the truth to him, he knew he could not simply burst in with his weapon drawn. He had to maneuver around the mad sorcerer deftly and attempt to rescue Lacerne.
"Thank you, Brandon," he whispered, nodding his head slightly. "I don't know how you've managed to hold on this long, but you can let go. I'll stop him."
The young man gripped his arm and used it to pull himself closer.
"I-I can fight!" he exclaimed. "I… I just need to stand up…"
He looked at him pitifully before placing his hand on Brandon's shoulder and carefully, yet firmly, pushing him away. The young man's body caved back against the wall as his strength gave way, and he could do little more than meet Richard's eyes.
"Stay," he told him, wondering how his spirit could still fight. "Your work is done."
Brandon's gaze grew pained when his words found their way to him. He grimaced as he settled against the wall. It almost looked like he was holding his breath for a moment before his eyelids fell, and his head drooped.
"You picked a good man, Luce," he murmured to the open air. "A good man…"
He stared at the steward slumped in front of him for a moment longer before turning away and facing the door that would lead to the throne room. It was the only thing keeping him from the sorcerer that stood on the other side. He softly touched the handle and pushed through the door.
The throne room was steeped in shadows; the evening had passed and ushered in its successor, leaving little light l
eft to witness what laid within. Richard could see only two flickering fires— lit sconces, sitting on opposite sides of the throne. Their counterparts across the room sat cold, but he knew where they were. He gripped his blade, thinking he might use it to illuminate his surroundings when all the sconces in the throne room burst to life— each was granted a beating black flame.
"A boy has wandered into our midst, Stern," a voice muttered. "How long, do you think, before my aura overtakes him?"
The words seemed to bounce around him, but Richard quickly found their source. He sat on the steps leading to the throne, draped in the same tattered cloak and ghastly mask he had worn in the vision. He could see the man's eyes glaring at him through the holes in his helm— Lucan watched him intently as he remained still before the throne.
To his right, cast across the same steps he sat on, lay King Lacerne. He seemed drained of energy, but Richard could sense neither injury nor arcane influence from him. Lacerne's exquisite clothing and royal ensemble were torn and muddied, but he assumed the King was fine beneath it all.
"I'm starting to think he is unaffected," Lucan continued, leaning forward. "How mysterious…"
Richard set his hand on the hilt of his blade and began to step forward towards the throne when gray dust materialized in the air around him. The mist began to twist and turn and took on physical form; six Soul Seekers were born of the dark material and surrounded him. They raised their shadowed blades and leveled them with his body, locking him in place.
There was no doubt in his mind that he could survive the monsters' attack, but he was uncertain whether he would recover before Lucan turned to strike.
"You'll have to give me a moment, young man," the sorcerer sighed. "Knowing what I do about this place, I'm sure you've been fed enough poison to drown an army. Which means you're here to vanquish the great and evil mage. I'll give you a chance, certainly, but not quite yet."
The wizard scratched at his neck while he kept his eyes on Richard, who remained silent while he scanned the room.
"I will admit I'm quite impressed with your resolve. I had thought you possessed a particularly powerful soul to resist my magic's call… but that isn't it. You've… been Touched already, haven't you? Could you have encountered another wizard in this place so deprived of them? Or, perhaps… could it be the Primordial energy I now sense running through your body?"
The Soul Seeker closest to him, one with its sword pointed at Richard's face, receded slightly as if inviting him to answer its master. He remained silent, however, eyeing his foe carefully, just as Lucan did with him. The wizard simply clicked his tongue disappointedly and heaved a heavy sigh.
"You're no witch, I'm certain of that," the sorcerer continued after a slight pause. "You're neither an elf nor a halfling, either, so their arts are beyond you…"
Lucan took a breath, as if he were preparing to interrogate Richard further, when the black helm he bore began to grow bright. Runemarkings appeared across its surface, pulsating as they quietly hummed. The wizard gasped slightly when their light broke across the room.
"Finally," he whispered, relief released alongside the simple word. "It's been so long."
His hands tentatively moved towards the black mask and lightly touched its bottom edges. The mage almost seemed to shudder as he gripped the cursed object, but he steadied himself and began to pull it upwards. Richard gave in to his instincts and took a step back, nearly prodding himself with a Seeker's sword. Discomfort swept across his mind and grew in his throat. The resemblance was almost uncanny.
There was a distinct marking lined across Lucan's throat; most of his skin was weathered by his stay in the Dawn Tower, but the rest — where the helm had preserved his flesh — looked as if it had not been touched by time. His face was clean-shaven and well-kept, and it was framed by long strands of crimson hair that fell far past his shoulders. He grimaced when he touched his own skin, and it was then Richard could clearly see his eyes: they were an incredibly bright emerald sheen, but they were warped by pain and twisted by desperation. They had the same look Lucian's eyes had possessed in his final moments.
The sorcerer found Richard's prying stare and broke away from his temporary daze. He tossed the shadowed helm away, allowing it to clatter and screech as it slid across the floor. The cacophonous sound boomed around the chamber, forcing the King to stir.
"Now that I've been allowed a proper look," Lucan whispered, fiery eyes on Richard. "I'm beginning to think a perversion stands before us, dear brother."
The King groaned as the wizard's words inched across the throne room, and his eyes darted to Lucan before slowly turning forward. They widened in surprise, only to quickly move to horror.
"R-Richard, is that— why are you…" he murmured groggily. "Y-you shouldn't be here…"
The sorcerer turned his head sharply as the King muttered his words, and he quickly took a tentative step forward before shuffling back slightly. His gaze did not stray from Richard for a moment as he fidgeted around.
"Robert's boy," he whispered. "My nephew's guardian…"
Lucan turned his eyes to the stone floor for a brief instant, his focus faltering for a moment and causing the black flames that surrounded them to lose their dark hue.
"Where is he?" the mage finally asked. "Where is Ursula's son?"
The Soul Seekers at Richard's sides crept closer, prodding him with their weapons, and nearly drawing blood. His enemy kept a composed expression, but he could feel the sorcerer's sudden shift away from calm.
"Do not tell him!" King Lacerne shouted, stirring to sit up as a grimace broke across his face. "You stay away from my son, Lucan!"
"After your treachery, after you shackled me for years, after you tore me from my home— he is all I have left here!" the wizard growled. "I will not abandon him to a man that would imprison his own flesh and blood!"
"You betrayed me!" the King cried. "You betrayed me and our home; what did you expect me to do!"
The sorcerer whipped around to face Lacerne and stomped closer to the incapacitated king.
"My loyalty never faltered!" he yelled, the fire in the room growing immensely when he did. "But your loyalty… your loyalty did!"
Richard set his hand on his blade and slowly gripped it tight. The Seekers remained in place, but they did not see him move— their attention was elsewhere.
"You were going to usurp the throne, force me from my rightful place!" the King returned, wavering as he moved to rise. "The proof that Kota found… the whispers of my ousting… I could not let such treachery stand!"
"Whispers is all that it was!" Lucan barked back, creeping closer to his brother. "Your people lost faith, and you blame me! Even Bartholomew couldn't stand at your side once you failed this place! Once you turned your eyes to legacy instead of leadership!"
The monsters lowered their weapons as Lucan's grip on them grew lax, and Richard wasted no time in acting. He pulled his blade and lit its flame, swiping it through the creatures that now turned back to face him. It cut through them with ease, and he held the sword steady as he turned his gaze to Lucan.
"H-how did you-" the mage began.
"Enough," he cut. "There'll be no more talk from you."
"Mouthy boy, aren't you?" Lucan murmured, eyes steadily watching him. "Wielding Levi's blade of all things…"
"No, Richard, leave him to me," Lacerne commanded. "I know not what power you hold now, but this is not your place!"
The sorcerer chuckled and shook his head slightly as he kept watch over his new foe.
"Do as you will, boy, my brother won't stop you," he sighed. "He's a shadow of the man I knew… a stern look and a hollow speech— it's all he's become."
"I am… only what my kingdom needs me to be," the King whispered, drawing a small blade hidden within his robes. "It is always what I've been, Lucan. I had hoped you could understand that."
"You had hoped I…" the mage repeated, turning towards him. "Wh-"
Blood bit through the air as
King Lacerne's dagger cut through his brother's flesh. The long, skinny blade flashed in the light as he swung it— first striking Lucan's shoulder, then his arm, before aiming for his neck.
"You treacherous shi— Agh!" the younger man screamed as he stumbled away and crashed onto the stone floor.
Lacerne seemed pained as he approached his injured brother, but he raised his knife regardless of whatever feelings he possessed.
"This will be the last day that our history is tainted by madness," he muttered, holding Lucan down to pin him in place. "The last time that it will be distorted by darkness!"
Richard could feel the energy in the chamber twist into a new direction, and he saw the sorcerer's face grow wrathful. It took only an instant for him to realize that Lacerne was oblivious to the shift, and he dashed forward, ready to force himself between the wizard and his king.
"It is over!" the older man declared, slamming his dagger downward onto his brother.
Lucan's hand darted up, catching the knife between his glowing fingers and forcing the cold metal to erupt into a scalding liquid that spilled across the floor.
"You would kill me!" he wailed, flames swirling around him. "Hate born of jealousy! When all I had for you was love!"
Richard swept his sword in front of him, hoping that his own fire could overturn Lucan's, but that thought was quickly extinguished.
"Brother-"
"No!" the mage shrieked, engulfing the room in darkened flames. "No more brother!"
Heat broke across Richard's face, and all he could do to protect himself was hold his burning blade in front of his body. He closed his eyes as the torrent of flames knocked him against a pillar, and he felt his perception fall buried beneath darkness.
Richard gasped as he reawoke and saw his skin had reddened and singed slightly. Otherwise, he felt untouched by Lucan's massive burst of power. He reached for his blade, which had left his grasp when he fell, and gripped it tenderly. It roared to life the instant his hand met it, and he turned his attention forward.