Storm of Darkest Light

Translations from Wryvasi:

Castlorwyn – Castle

Wryvaskoni – Of Wryvasi/Basilisks

Translations from Draexyr: Caerwystyl – Castle

Draexonyr – Of Draexyr/Dragons

Vad - Duke

The goddesses were battling. Not with swords and shields. Not even with words and insults. With people. Morality. It was a game. A game of chess. A game of black and white. Of light and dark. Of good and of evil. Yes, that was it; a game of good and evil.

A storm screamed around the Castlorwyn, as if begging for the attention of the occupants within. Like a petulant child calling out for his or her mother. It roared and bellowed, thunder echoing through the cracked, empty halls of what were hardly more than ruins. A once grand place, reduced to this. Hardly held together through sheer, perfect design, and an indomitable will.

Darnyx paid it no mind, even as the lightning crashed and the winds howled. He did not care. He cared for very little anymore. None were as ancient as him in this land. None remembered the times of his youth.

His land had become corrupted, since those days of old.

Another lightning bolt struck.

Darnyx could see his son, gazing out of the window. Gazing at the lightning. His lightning.

A knock sounded at the door, and a messenger entered.

The man looked positively nauseous as he bowed deeply, and knelt, forehead just barely grazing the dusty marble flagstones that coated the floor of the Castlorwyn Wryvraskoni. Pale faced, clammy hands… the man was terrified to be in his presence.

“Your majesty, a spy has reported the royal children of Draexyr have run from the Caerwystyl Draexonyr. The Vad Wyvera has asked for your orders.”

Darnyx tilted his head back, and smiled.

His teeth were very white.

“Tell the Vad to find them. Tell him to bring them to me.”

The messenger scrambled to his feet, eager to leave. Darnyx held up his hand.

“And bring my son with you.” Armand raised his head, an eyebrow shooting up. “It will do him good to get out of the Castlorwyn for some time.”

Darnyx watched his son stand up. He looked far too much like his mother. Far too much. “Now go.”

The messenger scurried off, hardly waiting for Armand to follow behind him.

The door slammed shut.

Darnyx could sense the change in the air.

For now, it had truly begun.