Genesis (Prophecy Rock Series, Book 1)

by T. Sae-Low

  “Idiots!” cried Aric as the heavy iron door slammed angrily behind him.

  “To wait weeks, if not months? That will only allow the Renzai to strengthen their numbers as well. We have enough forces both out in the trenches and here at the capital to take this victory, today!”

  Aric stared into the hearth centered in his chamber. The fire danced and swirled in sweeping motions, left to right, right to left… stirring the anger in his heart. The rage growing within him was boiling over now, to the tipping point that he himself knew was dangerous.

  Your temper will always be your downfall, is what Patros, his combat instructor had always admonished him with. You have strength and passion, but without temperance you are akin to the storms of Acropolis, destroying everything in their path, both enemy and friend alike. The mere notion that Aric would bring harm to his own family only filled him with greater rage.

  “Melody!” shouted Aric into the empty room. “Where are you?”

  Admus came limping out of his closet-sized servant quarters. “She and Ophelia have gone for an evening stroll, your highness. They did not mention the hour of their return. Is there a request you need of me, my lord?” he asked wearily.

  Aric’s eyes glanced around the room, not sure himself what he wanted Admus to do, but needing to punish somebody for his embarrassment at the war council. Nothing immediately caught his eyes, until he noticed the decorative sword and shield above the fireplace.

  “Pick up the sword and shield off the wall… and defend yourself,” whispered Aric in a haunting tone that he only used when his anger had gone past the point of no return.

  “But my lord, I do not know how to use them. I was never trained in combat.” Admus managed to get the sentence out despite the pounding in his heart.

  “I said, NOW!” roared Aric as he took a step towards Admus while simultaneously producing his sword from its sheath.

  Admus knew better than to ask again. He hobbled over to the sword and shield and wrenched them off the wall. He struggled for a moment as the weapons had been screwed together. Gripping the sword tightly, he kicked the shield time and again until finally they separated themselves. Admus let out a quick sigh of relief. He reached over to pick up the shield when he heard Aric begin his advance.

  Aric’s sword came thrashing down upon him. Admus managed to weakly raise the sword in his right arm, but Aric’s strength simply overpowered him. The swords crashed together with a thunderous noise, and Admus watched as his sword flew across the room, skidding out onto the balcony. Before he could react, Aric had begun to raise his sword for a second blow. This time, Admus managed to grab the shield with both arms and covered himself. As the first blow clanged against the shield, his ears rattled from the echoing. His body cringed, and he held onto the shield handles with all his might. Clang! Clang! Clang! The strikes rained down upon him. How much longer he would have to endure this punishment, of which he did not deserve, Admus did not know. He only hoped to escape his master’s wrath with his body fully intact. With every swing of his sword, Aric shouted Xander’s name again and again. The onslaught continued until Illiana opened the door, stunned at what she saw.

  “What is going on here, Aric?” Perhaps the only servant in the kingdom who dared to call Aric by his first name, Illiana showed no fear of him.

  Aric, breathing heavily from his attack, took a moment to catch his breath before approaching Illiana. As he raised his hand to chastise her for her impudence, Illiana ignored him, quickly making her way over to Admus. She knelt down and lifted the shield off of him. “It’s ok, I’m here to help you.” Admus looked up with eyes full of tears, his right arm aching from grasping the shield so tightly, knuckles as white as the moonlight.

  “What have you done to him? What wrong did he ever commit to deserve such a punishment!” exclaimed Illiana.

  Oddly enough, her directness towards Aric was something he secretly admired about her. Other subordinates he saw as pitiful sycophants whose disingenuous comments only served to rile his anger. In Illiana, he saw a girl who never showed any signs of fear: similar to himself, he thought.

  “He’s my servant. He does my bidding whatever or however I request it of him,” said Aric coldly.

  “Then you are a coward. Like the owner who beats his dog, you only know how to abuse those that are weaker than you. You have a cowards heart, Aric Agiad.”

  Aric stepped towards Illiana.

  “Go ahead and strike me coward! Strike a defenseless woman! It will only prove my point,” snarled Illiana.

  Aric stopped abruptly. He glared at her, halted by her outright defiance. “One day woman, your insolent mouth will have you six feet under,” he said. “You’re weak, just like him. You care too much about others. That is why you are a servant. Fate has decreed you to be less worthy than me.”

  “Then Fate is a fool to bequeath such power to a petulant child as you. You, who have earned no honor, nor glory for your kingdom. You, who believe your birthright gives you dominion over others. I believe your status exists because it is given to you by those whom you are entrusted to govern,” hissed Illiana.

  “Save your breath, woman. Do not try to twist the truth with that wicked tongue of yours,” said Aric as he walked out onto the balcony. He bent down to pick up the sword that Admus had pitifully tried to defend himself with and examined the edges carefully. The sword glinted off the moonlight as Aric closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the night air.

  He slowly opened them to see the whole of Vicedonia come into focus before him. The royal palace sat high above, and from his vantage point he could see his kingdom stretched out from east to west, north to south.

  This is my land and these are my people. Father has grown old and hesitant, a shell of the former warrior that he once was during the Second Great War. His war council is filled with nothing but relics from an era long dead. Times have changed and they remain stuck in their old ways. Xander. Though he may possess exceptional skills in combat, he is not meant to lead this nation. Put a white beard on him and dress him like a king and he would be a clone of father. No, these people deserve better than them. They deserve a king who does not fear anything and will protect them at all cost. Words of diplomacy and caution are the so-called strategies of the weak. I will protect my people with the tip of my sword. I will protect my people not in a few weeks, or a few months… but today.

  With that last thought, Aric raised the sword out in front of him. His eighteenth birthday was soon approaching, and he knew exactly what he wanted for a gift. He stared down the edge of the blade as it pointed towards the east. “I will vanquish my enemies… and I will do so in the morning.”

  Chapter 7