She wouldn’t play their games and just continued waiting.
It felt like weeks have passed. She wandered through the darkness, used to it, and the cold. Most of the time she spent on the floor, thinking. Whatever happened to her, there was one thing clear - she lost. Yet there was one string that kept from giving up - Oren. She promised him not to be separated ever again, he did so too. How could she abandon him and forsake that promise?
Even if she could not break that promise, how could she keep it? With nothing but infinite darkness before her, there was nothing she could do. No. There was one thing. Rather than spending an eternity on a cold dark floor, she would fight.
While there she didn’t get hungry or thirsty but also she didn’t feel tired, she needed no sleep. So she began running in one direction, it mattered little which one. There were no walls, and she suspected even if there where she’d not feel pain anyway.
A few hours into her run, a sensation she hasn’t felt for some time ran through her - pain, exhaustion. She was starting to feel again. If it were to slow her down, it had the opposite effect. Feeling the tightness of her muscles made her even more resolute.
Then far before her, she saw a light, a small, almost invisible ember of invisible fire. Yet with each step, she began to feel more and more. Hunger came to her first, the cold was getting worse, the pain started settling in, she needed a drink, her mouth was drier than a desert and her eyelids were falling. There was no turning back, there was no stopping.
From a run became a fast walk and from it a stroll. Lifting her legs became more difficult with each passing second, but she was almost there. The ember was before her. Then, she fell. Yet even with the pain, she crawled closer and closer. “I won’t give up!” she wished to shout, but no words came from her mouth.
She did it, she reached the ember. It was flying above her. Trying to catch proved useless, it was too far up; she had to stand up. Twice she tried but couldn’t. She calmed her breath, imagined Oren, Beria, and the life they were supposed to have and then jumped. Her ankles hurt so much she could swear that they broke, but she grabbed the ember, and her body became warm and rested.
Once the light was gone, Efri found herself somewhere else. She was clothed, warm, a sword was attached to her waist. On a wall right beside her burned a torch illuminating a long hallway made of stone. On the far end, she saw a bonfire.
Her steel-toed boots sang a worrisome tune as she walked forward. With each step, she checked all around to see if the world around her changed. The walls stayed the same mossy stone, the ground didn’t move to disappear.
By the bonfire sat a knight in full armor, his sword laid beside him. His hair was long and gray, and his eyes looked onto the wall. “Are you alright?” she asked.
Slowly he turned his head towards her. He began laughing. “Did you not get tired of those illusions?” he shouted. “Cus’ I did a long time ago.” He growled.
“I am no illusion,” said Efri.
“If you’re not an illusion, what are you? How’d you get here?”
She shook her head. “I got captured and found myself here. Had to run a lot in total darkness, and then I appeared down that hallway.”
“Where are you from?” He sighed.
“The Empire of Sesteria.”
The man began laughing. “Tell me, how is my precious homeland? How long has it been since I disappeared?”
“Who are you?”
“I was an archon of Sesteria under the reign of His Imperial Majesty Ollar Vi Dera. T’was a year of three-hundred and two of the second millennia.”
Efri chuckled. “It’s seven-hundred and three,” she uttered, and the knight smiled. “Of the eighth millennia.” Just then, his smile disappeared.
He coughed. “I take it, Sesteria hasn’t fallen. The Li’Ari didn’t win.”
“The continent was shattered in half by one of the emperors. We are on the eastern side. Now the Empire holds absolute control over the entirety of the west.”
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I guess we won, no thanks to me.” With just a look, she told him to say more. “My mission was of my own design. I sacrificed all to do good for my home, for the Empire. In the end, I was useless. Died for nothing.” He coughed. “Can I ask you for something?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“I was cursed,” he said, “to live forever. Here in this dark place. Over there, do you see the handle,” he gestured towards the wall in which was a hilt of a sword. “Take it out and kill me.”
“You want to die?”
“I had a family, a son, and a daughter. I forgot their names, I forgot the touch of my wife, the face and smile of my mother. All I remember are these walls, the lives I took with the power I wielded so long ago. Even the words of sesterian have departed my mind.” He sighed. “Please. Let me rest.”
With caution, Efri did as he asked and pulled out the sword. Its blade was dark. Then in front of her ran images of a different time. It was he, the knight when he was young, with his family. Quickly those images became horror as they wept over his disappearance as his wife took her own life and left the children alone. The son became a soldier and died fighting, and the daughter was lost and became a common prostitute just to make ends meet.
“You have to tell me,” he said as Efri looked to him.
Her eyes were on him, watching every move of his. “How do you know?”
“When I came here, I met a woman in my position. She asked me what I am asking you now, and I did as she asked, but I didn’t tell her the truth.”
“Alright,” she said and came to him with the blade. “I saw your family, your children.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “They wept over you, the country, the city did too. Time went on, and they never forgot about you. Your wife’s smile was beautiful, her caressing touch visited your gravestone often.” Tears ran from his eyes. “Years later, your son became an archon of Sesteria, and your daughter stood by his side forever.” She let out a sigh and wiped her own tears away. “Your death gave rise to a dynasty whose seal is on the Book of Areon even today.” She drove the sword into his heart.
“Thank you,” he whispered as life escaped him.
The blade crumbled into ash, and Efri sat down before the fire, awaiting her own savior to come. Yet the fire blazed ever stronger, filling the room with its flame. Then, as a wild beast, it consumed her whole.
Yet the flame didn’t harm her. The archon’s body was gone, and so was the hallway she entered through; instead, there was a large open door made of thick dark wood. She chuckled and praised her luck.
With a jump back to her feet, she took a deep breath a continue through the door. It led to a grand open hall, its ceiling supported by thick pillars. Torches burned on the walls and the pillars making the hall all the way more menacing.
On the opposite end was a seat, a throne of sorts, and before it stood Oren. She wiped her eyes and looked again. It was him, Oren was there. As loudly as she could, she shouted his name. Her voice echoed through the room, and he looked right at her and made a step forward but then, from above, fell a brick and hit Oren’s head. She looked up and saw a person finishing one of the pillars. “Sorry!” he shouted. “Is he alright?”
Once she ran to him, his head was in a pool of blood. She wanted to scream, but before she could, the world in front of her eyes changed.
Again she stood by the entrance, and he was there looking at the ugly throne. She waited and looked a minute or so passed, and a brick fell from above, but it didn’t hit. “Oren!” she shouted then, once the danger was gone.
Just then, as her voice reached him, he turned and ran to her shouting her name. But then, from a door beside the throne, came a woman covered under a cloak. She sat on the chair and flicked her fingers. Oren died.
Again the world reset to where it was. Efri waited, the brick fell, and the woman came but was killed by Oren just as she opened the door. Yet whatever she would do, Oren always died. Hundreds of times, sh
e saw him get killed. Even if he just tripped, it would be in a way that meant his death.
She was killing him, all of it was her fault, but she didn’t want to let go. Oren was what drove her forward; without him on her mind, she would never get so far.
Yet she understood what the place was trying to tell her. She must let go, and so she did. Oren killed the woman, a few men that appeared after and then sat the throne for a few minutes, Efri hid while he sat there, and then he left never to return.
The world stayed the same, and Efri could come closer. She sat on the throne, and the fires of the scattered torches exploded, destroying the pillars. Dust filled her eyes.
Once the dust settled and her eyes cleared, she still saw the throne room but destroyed above her head a hole in the roof showing the night’s sky. Stars in all their beauty. For so long she hasn’t seen the night, it was a beautiful sight.
“Hello Efri,” a voice echoed through the hall. “Listen well, I shall not repeat what I say for my time is limited.” She nodded, still looking around. “What you are seeing is not real. I believe that much is clear already. All this is an illusion. You are locked within it. Think of it as the ultimate prison cell.” Before she appeared, a man of beautiful silver hair, his eyes shining with gold. Just like those of Ri’on and A’stri.
She stood up. “Who are you?”
“It is not important who I was,” he replied. “What is important that you passed the trials put before you. You met with your worst fears and walked passed them.”
“Are you one of the people who captured me?”
With a fatherly, in a soft voice, he whispered, “You know who I am, Efri, deep down, you do.”
“You are a Der’ai. One of the three magical races.” He nodded. “I met someone who looks a lot like you.”
He smiled. “Morael,” he said in a whisper. “He is on a dangerous path, one he should have taken. Still, I am proud of him and his brother.”
“You’re Areon Vi Dera, the one who caused all of this. Right?”
“There is much people do not know of me. From my intentions to the purpose of it all. Yet we cannot discuss that here. I locked away all the magical forces of the world. Listen to me carefully. After you get out, you must find Aelir Vi Dera, Morael’s younger brother. To him and not anyone else, you must tell this, understand?”
“Yes.”
“The three gemstones are a lie. The Li’Ari and the Ber’Ia made the two as a tool of destruction. They are seeking to unlock their power and throw the world into an eternal war. I ended that war, one that raged thousands of years before my birth. Tell him that.”
“I will,” she promised. “How do I get out of here? How I get from wherever they’re holding me.”
He smiled. “Not worry.” With a snap of his fingers on the back of her hands appeared runes. “I bestow upon you the ability to cast magic without speaking or understanding ancient Sesterian. It shall not last forever, be careful. Now go.”
In a flash of light, he disappeared, and the dark sky burst out with the same light she was used to. Yet she cared not as the power that she felt at her fingertips was so great. She clapped her hands and shattered the illusion.
The Line of Succession
From the Tristician citadel, Aelir translocated right into the imperial palace. Right there, in the translocation chamber, awaited the crown guard. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the air of his home.
“They are dead,” he said. “You will not stop me.” With a snap of his fingers, light came from below their blindfold. “See the light once again.”
All let go of their blades but not once screamed. Each simply removed the blindfold, their eyes, those they sacrificed, were brought back by the light. “Your Majesty,” said the guard’s captain. He knelt, as did the others, and looked to the floor. “I beg your forgiveness. A terrible darkness clouded my mind.”
“Stand up, captain,” Aelir replied. “There is nothing to forgive, your hand was swayed by an evil force.” The old soldier nodded. “Tell me, captain, what is my name?”
“Your Majesty?” the guard questioned.
“Answer the question.”
“Aelir Vi Dera.”
He sighed. “Many years ago, before I took my first breath of this world’s air, you made a vow. Do you remember it?”
They all nodded and in unison recited it. “On my honor, I swear to protect the dynasty of Vi Dera. I shall perform the duties of my post until my death. My name shall be forgotten, washed away by the streams of time. I shall take no wife and father, no children. To protect the light of the phoenix, I enter darkness eternal, of which I cannot be relieved.” A song that was the origin of the vow. Aelir read about it a long time ago.
Once they were done, the vow came into effect. Their eyes, renewed by Aelir, were destroyed once again. Yet they were not consumed by darkness but by light itself.
“Today, I demand you fielty. Emperor Alric, my father, has sent three of this guard to kill me whom he forced, with magic most foul, to act against their vows. His reign will end today, by my hand.”
“We are yours!” the captain shouted without a second of thought. “There is much you do not know, Your Majesty. The Emperor has declared you an enemy of the crown. Many were tortured to gain information.”
“What of lady Arianna?”
“She is locked in her chambers, guarded. Still healing.”
His eye twitched, hearing the captain’s words. “What did he do her?”
“There is far too little time, Your Imperial Majesty, to describe it all. Know this, lady Arianna is safe.”
“Go and stand guard. Help her heal, your magic is stronger than that of the healers.”
The guards saluted and marched away, their crimson blades in hand, and Aelir set out for his father’s chamber only a story above.
The massive door was hard to open. Aelir had to break the lock with his light to get in, but as he did, there was his father, standing in that massive room.
“Hello father,” said Aelir, and just like his voice, the sound of his shoes echoed; he walked closer. “Tell me, why?”
“You cannot understand child. This is beyond even you and your brother.”
“You told him, didn’t you?” he asked. “When Morael was here, you two spoke privately. Before he left, he made a promise to tell me all you tell him. You did not lie to him, did you? He knew you want me dead.”
“It is necessary,” the Emperor snapped, the ground shook under the weight of his voice. “The power you hold belongs to none. Areon fought to keep others from using it so freely.”
“I am Areon’s kin,” Aelir replied, “as are you and Mori. We all share the same blood. The power I hold is my right as a Vi Dera. Is it truly plain jealousy that has driven you mad?”
The Emperor screamed, “How dare you speak to me like this? You are still my son, have I raised this badly?”
“You taught me much, but when the final act of your reign, your life, is an attempt to kill your own son, well, a lot of your teachings come under question.”
Alric exhaled. “My reign will not end today. Even that disgusting power you now possess cannot stand against the might of the Vi Derian phoenix.”
“I presumed you would say something along those lines, remember father, the Phoenix’s light was always shining gold.” He shrugged. “Then would come your attack.” He moved and avoided a javelin of crimson-gold flying from the eastern wall. “Not just one, of course.” With a jump, Aelir avoided a blast of fire from below his feet. “I know you quite well, father. You tried to teach me much of this, and I always refused to listen, because I knew already.”
“Do you wish to know?” asked Alric. “The truth, I mean.” Aelir shrugged and nodded. “I never loved you. Morael was the golden son, one every father would be proud of, but then you came to be. Since I looked upon you, I hated you.
“The first time you smiled, your eyes sparked with that pure gold, and I knew you would be trouble. I
tried Aelir, I tried to love you, but I cannot.”
Those words echoed in his ears. He knew what his father did; he sent Nael to kill him and the guards, but even hearing his darkest suspicion confirmed hurt.
He would end that hatred, whatever the cost. With more power than ever before his eyes burned gold. From air itself in his hand appeared a sword, its blade of gold and steel. Yet it was not of his own creation, it was a weapon of legends, wielded by Areon himself. “Very well,” he said and walked forward.
No attack his father threw could touch him. Not a single element, not the crimson-gold light. Aelir allowed his power to run free. Soon he found even without Sesterian, with his lips sealed and mind unbothered, magic would still obey. It was magic, pure magic, one not bound by Areon’s spell.
Alric couldn’t escape the room, and the closer Aelir was, the greater was the fear in his eyes. Finally, the two men stood before each other. Alric towered above the small Aelir, but it was the Emperor who was the smallest.
With a smile, Aelir grabbed his father’s shoulder. “The light shall not shine upon your memory.” He drove the blade into his father’s heart. The warm blood rushed out and Aelir felt its strength. “I am sorry,” he whispered to his dying father.
Dressed in silks of white and gold, Aelir stepped towards the great ashen door, it’s two wings told a great tale, one he has read many times before. The binding of magic by Areon Vi Dera, the first emperor.
On the smallest of his fingers, he wore a light golden ring and on it runes, the words of his dynasty, Vi Dera nuria aena elinas. His thoughts were not to what was about to happen but to that meaningless piece of metal. A memory of his family.
Then with a mere gesture, he made the door flew open as if the very force of nature pushed upon it, demanding it to be open for its will was greater than those of others.
The great hall was silent, and besides his boots touching the floor, and the occasional clank of armor, not a sound was heard. Even the bravest of men would dare not to cough or yawn. If one were to die, he would do so in silence.
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