Rosinanti_Rise of the Dragon Lord

by Kevin J. Kessler

  “Is there…anything I can do?”

  Seraphina could sense Kayden’s unease and confusion. This may have been the first in-depth talk he ever had with Aleksandra, and he was clearly taken aback by her openness.

  “I apologize for troubling you with these burdensome thoughts, young Kayden. I should not have misspoken as I have. I simply… I have heard tale of your prowess in the field of combat, of your unrivaled strength as a young warrior.”

  Seraphina felt Kayden’s swell of pride spread throughout the Dreamscape, and she found herself pitying him once more. Her eyes narrowed at the younger form of her older sister. Seraphina could see through the lies, the deceit, the seductive deception she was employing to ensnare Kayden in her trap.

  “Princess,” Kayden said slowly, the confidence of a warrior oozing from his voice now, “you can trust me with whatever burden it is that you carry. Someday, I will be the mightiest elite warrior of Kackritta, and protecting your kingdom will be my oath, as my father’s is currently to your mother.” Seraphina noticed the boy’s hands shaking as he ended his speech. The nervous anticipation of her reaction was palpable.

  Aleksandra gazed at Kayden as though truly seeing him for the first time. She spoke not a word in response, simply held one hand aloft until a small burst of orange flames flared to life upon her palm.

  Kayden jumped back as though the dancing crackle of fire had burned him. He looked at the princess, eyes alight with shock and wonder at the miracle he was seeing. “You can control fire,” he breathed, his voice scarcely above that of a whisper, “just like your ancestor!”

  Aleksandra nodded and closed her fist, quenching the flames until smoke leaked through her fingers. “So now you see,” she said, sounding sad. Seraphina scoffed at the phony display of emotion. “Much the same as Alnora, I too carry a rare and unique power. And it shall be my purpose to safeguard this realm.”

  “You mean from enemies of Kackritta?”

  “From the enemy of Kackritta.”

  Kayden’s eyes widened in awe as the weight of her statement settled.

  “Rosinanti…” Kayden’s voice was a quaking whisper. “But why do you believe—?”

  “The legendary prowess of my ancestor has been bestowed upon me. That could only mean the time to use it draws near. I can sense their magic, Kayden. The Rosinanti are closer than we believe. One day, they shall strike, and I fear I shan’t be protected enough to fight back at them in a sufficient manner.”

  “You don’t have an animus warrior.” Realization was dawning upon Kayden, and Seraphina could sense the spreading excitement that quaked his bones.

  “Correct,” Aleksandra continued as a long tear spilled down her cheek, causing Seraphina to clench her jaw in frustration. “All those who have offered themselves to my service…something about each of them felt wrong. Many were great warriors, perhaps even deserving of the title. But they lacked the intangible ability to stand against the ancient enemy when the time comes.”

  There was silence again as Aleksandra began to weep softly. Kayden raised a shaking hand as though to lay it in comfort along her shoulder but thought better of it at the last moment. He leapt to his feet, dropping his book upon the ground in a heap as Aleksandra’s eyes followed him.

  “Princess,” he said slowly, carefully. “You spoke before of my strength. Of my skill. Know that the tales you have heard cannot possibly match reality. I know what I am capable of. I know that I can be the strongest. I know that I can be the best. I can be the one who stands at your side through the oncoming storm.”

  Aleksandra looked at him as though she had not been leading him on this path all along.

  “You mean, you’d…?”

  “If you would have me, Princess, I will avow my life to you. I shall become your animus warrior. I shall become the strongest animus warrior who has ever lived. And I promise you that I shall crush the bones of your ancient enemies should they ever dare to rise against your rule.”

  Aleksandra’s face brightened like the first rays of dawn along the night sky. She rose to her feet, looking Kayden in the eye as though he were the only person who had ever existed. “Kayden Burai, I would be honored to accept your oath.” She held out one milky white, delicate hand. Kayden dropped to one knee, gently taking her hand in his and pressed his lips to her flesh. “Now rise, Kayden,” she instructed him. “We must go tell my parents the news!” With that, Aleksandra and Kayden hurried from the site of the gardens, leaving The Chronicles of Azulia lying in the dirt.

  Seraphina watched them go until they vanished and then noticed movement coming from behind her. It was Kayden, the real Kayden. He stumbled forward, lost in thought, staring at the book as he slowly walked past Seraphina while paying her no mind. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking. Seraphina knew in that moment that Kayden had arrived at the same conclusion as she. This memory, this beautiful, wonderful, perfect memory of a time when someone of great importance had looked upon him as though he were the most wonderful boy in the world, was a lie. It was all a sham, a ruse. It was seduction, and he had fallen into her clutches so easily.

  He stopped just before the book. Kayden looked down upon its torn, dirt-streaked cover, and Seraphina could see grief in his eyes. It was as though the book lying in the dirt marked the shattered and torn remnants of Kayden’s life. Of his capacity for good. She had played him, and he had fallen for it.

  “Kayden,” Seraphina said, reaching out a hand toward his back.

  Kayden screamed, throwing his head back to the heavens as he bellowed. In response to his anguished cry, dark clouds swirled overhead. Kayden’s eyes came alight with the purple energy of darkness as similarly colored bolts of lightning scratched out from the heavens above. Kayden balled his fingers into fists and slammed them into the book until it exploded and evaporated. Then he was striking grass and dirt and stone as he screamed through the rage, the pain, and the humiliation of it all.

  As he tantrumed, jagged shards of stone ripped from the ground throughout the gardens, tearing up the flowerbeds, trees, and even the wall. Seraphina gasped and jumped back as the world upended into a dark upheaval of rock, dirt, and lightning.

  “Kayden!” Seraphina screamed over the din of darkness. She ran to him, ready to try and calm him, to soothe him, to commiserate with him despite his murderous, heinous crimes against the whole of Terra. In this moment, Seraphina saw him not as a killer, not as evil, not as a monster. She saw a little boy who was lied to. A boy who had been seduced by the dark. While this did not absolve him of his many offenses, it earned him a modicum of compassion. She cried out his name again as she came to his back.

  Kayden erupted to his feet and turned, purple eyes aglow with rage and dark hatred. His right hand shot out toward her, and to Seraphina’s astonishment and terror, corporeal fingers closed around her throat. She attempted to strike at Kayden, but her hand passed harmlessly through his face. He lifted her effortlessly with one arm until she dangled over the cracking ground, limp and helpless. As Seraphina struggled, she noticed a swirling in the clouds above. The shadowy shape of a black dragon spread its mighty wings in the sky behind Kayden. Its purple eyes echoed that of the young man. Suddenly, there was no sadness in her heart; there was no compassionate sorrow for the young boy twisted by the evil that surrounded him. There was only fear. Kayden was now in control of the Dreamscape.

  XXI: Aftermath

  The stillness of the street was broken by the triumphant cheers of the Grassani military forces. Their jubilation in the wake of the mysterious light that had saved their home shook the ground. Nevick hoped as he stumbled along the cracked and broken streets of the Mage Smith city that the ordinary citizens who had not taken up arms in the fight could hear the celebratory cries of their victors from their place in the reinforced bunkers beneath the city.

  Nevick only had one location in mind. One place he knew he had to get to no matter what. The camp where Deana had been stationed came into view as he rounded a corner. He forgot
in that moment the residual soreness that wracked him from the inside out. Everything hurt in the wake of his stand against the Skirlack. Whether it was from the beating he had taken or his body’s massive transformation, he could not say. More than likely, it was some painful amalgam of the two.

  As he cautiously broke into a run on the uneven surface, he thought back to his own efforts and how he had managed to buy the Grassani forces time. Nevick had never imagined himself as some grand warrior, leaping from airships and grappling with monsters to save a city of magic-wielding mechanics. Still though, he had done enough to earn the pride that he felt. But in the face of what occurred after his struggle, he felt like nothing at all.

  Valentean had been so fast, so strong, so terrifyingly brutal. Of course, Nevick felt no end of satisfaction at seeing the monsters that destroyed Casid rended to pulpy, flaming, oozing chunks on the ground, but the power used to dispatch them was frightening. Valentean was not only stronger than he had been in Kahntran, but something had changed within him as well. Something within his heart. Though he had not known Valentean for more than a few months, Nevick felt as though he had a good take on the animus warrior’s personality. There was compassion in his heart, kindness, and a sense of humor that always softened the matter at hand. The being he had watched slay one thousand demons in the courtyard had none of that.

  The creature that had callously carved through flesh and bone had no kindness in its red, blazing eyes. Nevick remembered the cold rage of Aleksandra’s flaming stare. He had been taken aback at how a look so emotionless could carry so much unspoken fury within it. He thought the princess’s icy yet flaming stare was one of a kind. He was wrong. That same frigid blaze had been etched into the gaze of the last person he ever expected to see it on.

  All thoughts of Valentean’s crimson eyes evaporated from his mind as he entered the large, white tent that marked the entrance to Deana’s battlefield clinic. Around him lay the bodies of dead and dying soldiers, relieved medical personnel, and others who lay with gashes still oozing in the aftermath of what Nevick realized to be a Skirlack breach of their defenses. Panic seized his limbs, and Nevick fought to keep them from shaking.

  “Deana!” His cry echoed over the merging swirl of voices that filled the crowded tent. He cut a conspicuous figure as he shouldered his way through the gathered mass of humanity, shirtless, shoeless, and covered only by an assortment of rags that survived his transformation. Still though, very few eyes turned in his direction. In the attack’s aftermath, it seemed as though everyone had their own troubles to worry about. He called for her again and again, listening for her voice, hoping and wishing that he’d find her there behind the next bustling Grassani that he brushed aside.

  “Nevick!” The voice cut through the cacophony of voices, its familiar tone rising to meet his ear over the indistinguishable rabble. She called to him again, and he responded, crying out her name and whirling toward the sound of her gentle voice.

  “Deana!” Nevick moved as quickly as he dared now, ignoring the aching soreness that wracked him from the inside as he shoved more Grassani aside with just enough strength to move them without hurting them. Then, when it seemed as though the mob of noise and movement would never end, he saw her.

  Deana lay on a cot amongst the warriors of Grassan. Fearing the worst, Nevick instantly rushed to her side, scanning her body for any sign of injury.

  “I’m all right, my love,” she said shakily. “I’ve been working to heal the wounded as best I can and…” She held the side of her head.

  Nevick knew all too well the exhaustion and the dizziness that often overcame Deana following a particularly grueling healing session. He cupped his massive palm around her delicate face and smiled down at her, scarcely able to find the words to tell her how unbelievably proud he was of what she had done.

  “She saved my life,” a voice said at Nevick’s side. He looked over to see a female soldier of the Knights Mystic, brushing herself off, looking tired but otherwise unscathed. Nevick raised an eyebrow in question. “I was split open from chest to belly button. I thought I was a goner, but she saved me. I thought you would want to know.” The knight smiled down at Deana, who returned the grin with a weak nod. Nevick gave the woman a half-smile and looked back on Deana as the knight took her leave.

  “You are utterly amazing,” he said down to her.

  She weakly scoffed. “You’re the amazing one.” She looked him up and down, noting the tattered remnants of the bodysuit once worn beneath his armor and the dried stream of blood caked down the side of his face. “Looks like you had a rough time out there. Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he replied, not letting any of the residual pain he felt show on his face. She needed to rest. There were still warriors here who needed her special brand of healing. Deana needed to recuperate her strength and not worry about his minor aches and pains. She nodded to him, seemingly accepting his response.

  “How about the others? Mitchell and Michael? Maura? Nahzarro?”

  “You called?” Michael’s voice rang out, and Nevick turned to see the victorious Duzel brothers approaching. Deana’s face erupted into a grin, and Nevick smiled, clapping Michael on the shoulder and nodding to Mitchell.

  “I’m glad you made it out of there in one piece,” Nevick said.

  “You are a crazy person,” Michael said. “Leaping off one airship to another like they were stepping stones in a pond. You are something else, my friend!”

  Deana flashed him a look that could melt steel. “What is he talking about, Nevick?”

  The big man stammered, flashing Michael a dark glare.

  “He saved us all,” Mitchell said, interrupting to come to Nevick’s aid. “He thinned out the airship herd with nothing more than his fists. That gave us more time to fight back until Valentean…” Mitchell trailed off, shaking his head in silent wonderment.

  “Yeah,” Nevick replied. “I saw it too.”

  “Valentean was here?” Deana asked, eyes wide as she tried and failed to rise to a seated position.

  “He sure was,” Michael replied. “And he was knocking airships out of the sky like they were flies!”

  Nevick did not share his comrade’s optimistic, gleeful appraisal of what had transpired. Something about the entire situation still unnerved him. But this was not the time to spread his anxiety. Victory had been achieved, and everyone needed to bask in its glow for a little while longer.

  Aleksandra sensed the presence of Aurax but not in a way she ever had before. Since she was a child, Aurax’s arrival had always been marked by a soft blossoming of chaos magic—a bubbling burst of the Goddess’s power depositing her most high and holy cleric to Aleksandra’s side. This time, it was very different. The jolt of chaos echoed through her vast, open throne chamber like an explosion. Her eyes shot open as Aurax flew from the epicenter of a red jolt of energy, falling onto his face.

  Through the avalanche of magic pouring into her petite body through the Skeletal Throne, Aleksandra saw the world through a blood-colored haze. She could not believe the sight before her and thought that perhaps it had been a trick of the light. She rose from the huge seat, disconnecting from the monumental power generated by the attack on Grassan.

  “Aurax,” she said, more curious than alarmed. She stepped down toward the frail demon as he stood on shaking legs. “Are you well?” As she approached, she could hear her most loyal servant’s labored breathing.

  “I will…be fine…Mistress.”

  “What magic was this that they were able to harm you?”

  Aurax rose to his feet, rotating his neck. His body looked hazy, and she could see through him as though his tether to this realm was hanging on by an infinitesimal thread. His eyes narrowed, and his form solidified until he stood proud and tall before her once again. “The king of Grassan gave his life in their vile weaponized machination.”

  “Yes, I assumed as much. I felt the deaths of our soldiers and of Auron as well.”

&n
bsp; “His loss shall be felt throughout the order, Mistress.”

  Aleksandra nodded grimly. “But the weapon was able to hurt you?”

  “It disrupted my tether to this realm. I managed to escape with my life, but had I remained there, I might not have.”

  “The presence of such an ability in the hands of our enemies only strengthens my resolve to see them eliminated.”

  “And mine as well.” Aurax sounded shaken.

  The empress knew that no one and nothing had managed to cause him any kind of pain for countless millennia. Much like her own feeling of powerlessness as Valentean turned her lightning against her. She snarled at the memory and whirled around, stalking back to her throne.

  “The operation was a failure, my queen,” Aurax said, following at her heels as always. He stopped as she rounded on the throne, sitting once more upon its jagged surface and feeling the intoxicating thrill of the mountain of magic flowing within her once more.

  “It most certainly was not.”

  “But our enemies remain alive.”

  “Aurax, you should know by now that I plan for all eventualities. Whether we prevailed or were defeated in Grassan, we were always going to come away with our ultimate goal.”

  “Ah, the chaos flow,” her servant replied, finally seeing the true brilliance behind her plot.

  “Indeed.” The red crackles of magic contained within the throne washed over her, and Aleksandra felt as one with the entirety of her city. The people scuttling throughout the streets felt as though they walked along her own flesh, and she could see them, every feature, every slight imperfection. “Had I so desired, I could have wiped Grassan from the face of Terra with a single swipe of my hand. Would it have been nice to see Valentean’s friends thrashed and killed? To see that haven of heathens burn? Of course. But the goal, my loyal one, was always to gather the chaos flow unto me so that I can find my treacherous sister and her rebels. And I am close.” She hissed these final words like a snake.