Prologue
THE crowd roared as two desperate figures clashed in the arena, their movements a deadly dance of skill and instinct. The stench of blood and sweat hung thick in the air, matching the greed of spectators cheering for their bets.
Vireya shifted in the shadows, careful not to draw attention. She had slipped out of the palace seeking entertainment and found herself in the territory of the Bloodhounds.
Her eyes scanned the combatants. Lufer, the head knight, had once said most of the kingdom’s knights were recruited from here. Victors of these brutal battles. She watched the fighters exchange strikes, counter after counter, their prowess undeniable.
Her brows lifted as both began to unleash their powers. The crowd’s cheers grew deafening. The man with shoulder-length hair taunted his opponent, a mocking grin spreading across his face. In response, the red-haired fighter’s hands ignited, hurling fireballs that the other dodged effortlessly, leaping from wall to wall before forming a shield of earth upon landing. Fire against earth. It was a sight she couldn’t tear her eyes away from.
Her senses tingled. Red eyes flaring, she felt a familiar energy nearby. He was close. Cursing under her breath, she melted into the crowd.
Why now?she thought.When I’m actually enjoying myself?
That frosty man, Cryon, would ruin her fun as always. She had no doubt he could sense her presence and if he caught her here, chaos would follow. Only blood ties kept her from turning him to ashes. That rat.
Vireya exited the arena, weaving through the bustling market. She kept her cloak drawn over her face, letting the aroma of a nearby food stall guide her steps. She noticed patrons eating a steaming porridge and handed over a few coins.
“I’ll have one of those,” she said.
“You’re two coins short, Miss,” the vendor replied.
She snorted and handed over the correct amount, noticing the price was surprisingly high for such a small bowl. Inflation, perhaps.
“Take a seat there, I’ll serve it over.”
She found a vacant corner and settled in, observing quietly. Most here were ordinary folk, a few with latent or unrefined powers. A child’s gaze met hers, and instinctively she glared, expecting fear. Instead, he smiled, speaking directly into her mind.
“The soup’s good. Even better if you eat without that cloak.”
She scoffed mentally in reply. ”Bet it’s better without some kid hovering.”
Her order arrived, and the boy had been right. It was delicious, far superior to anything served in the palace.
“Marco, my friend!”
Her eyes find the voice’s owner. It’s the same man with Earth-bending powers.
“Riven, bet you won the fight?”
“Of course,” Riven puffed out his chest, pride gleaming. “That fireball jerk didn’t even scorch my palm.”
Marco laughed and nodded. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
She felt his presence getting closer until he tapped the table, signaling he’d joined.
She raised her head and met his green eyes.
“Mind if I sit? There’s nowhere else.”
“Feel free,” she replied, returning to her meal, trying to ignore him.
“Never seen you here before. Not from around here, are you?”
“I do mind sharing things except this table,” she said without looking at him.
Conversation with strangers was the last thing she wanted.
“So cold. You must be from the Alps, perhaps?”
Alps? The upland mountain?
“Here’s your porridge, Champ, and please, don’t bother the young miss.”
“I’m not. I just asked her a question. Though, she’s too cold.”
The last is almost a whisper intended still for her to hear.
“Just shut up, man. Let her eat in peace.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
Her peace was shattered when a group stormed into the stall, heading straight for their table. The other patrons recoiled.
Marco immediately came and warned the newcomers.
“Not again, Wado. You haven’t paid the damages from last time.”
“Fuck off, boy. I’m not here to listen to your shit.” His gaze went on the man in front of her, “Riven of Muria. That must taste even better after shitting that fire-spitting man, aye?”
Riven merely grinned, finishing his porridge calmly.
Wado laughed and wrapped his arm over his shoulder, “what about we talked about the money now, aye?”
Riven reached for the tissue and wiped his mouth, not really minding the nuisance beside him. Marco had already told the customers to leave, apologizing. When he got back, he smiled at her and told her the same thing.
She nodded and was about to when one of the men blocked her way.
“Hey, lady. Leaving your lover already?”
Riven stood up, pushing aside Wado’s arm. He shook his head.
“She ain’t my lover, bud.”
“Really?” Wado smirk and faced her, his hand caressing her cheek, “that’s what I thought so. Her fairness doesn’t suit you.”
“Hey, what? What’s wrong with me? I’m hot—”
“He doesn’t suit me as your hand doesn’t have the right to be in me.”
Everyone froze as Wado’s hand began to tremble. He staggered back, fear overtaking him.
“W-What...What are you doing...”
One of his thugs lunged at her, and she dodged effortlessly.
Riven whistled in awe as he watched the woman break the bones and skulls of Wado’s lings. She’s not even putting much effort. She’s moving elegantly for someone who knows combat and death. His eyes widen when someone attacked her from behind while she’s distracted. He was about to use his power when that person behind her froze. She threw the man she’s holding off the wall and faced the ones behind her. Then he started pointing the axe into his neck. His fearful eyes showed the hopelessness of his situation. He was like that until he slashed his own neck, blood gushing out from it as he fell unto the floor.
The others froze in fear and pulled their boss away as they struggle to leave in urgency. The woman moved to faced them and he felt his heart skipped a beat to her bloodshot eyes. She put her cloak back on and walked towards them. Marco even stepped away when she pulled something off her pocket. She handed him something which he even hesitated to take but he still reached out to accept it.
“The porridge was good.”
With that, she left, leaving him and Marco puzzled.
“That wasn’t fire, air, water, or earth...” Marco murmured. “It’s... something else. I’ve never seen it...H-Hey! Riven! Where the hell are you going?!”
Riven’s thoughts raced as he run after the woman with questions in his mind. It’s not the first time he had witnessed the same ability. He had seen it before. The time his father died. It’s the same power that killed him.
He searched the streets frantically, tracking the faint trace she left in the soil. It led him to the train station. He ran through the throngs of people until he spotted her cloaked figure boarding a train.
“Wait! Woman!”
She boarded the train and the door immediately closed. It started moving its way and he run beside it. The woman looked at her through the glass with confusion. Then he heard her voice through his mind, making him stop.
“If it’s important, come to the palace.”
He caught his breath and looked at the train until it disappeared before him.
Palace...
His jaw tightens at the thought of the place that tore his world down. The place his father had dedicated his life into and ended up dying for it.
The image of her blood-red eyes burned in his mind. If the palace held the answers, then he’ll make his way there.
“YOU’RE out of your mind.”
“Always been, man.”
Marco shook his head and tipped his bottle back, draining what little beer remained. He exhaled sharply and rolled the empty bottle between his palms, the scrape of glass against wood filling the silence.
“You said you’d never be like your father,” he said at last. “That you’d never serve the palace and now...” he lifted the bottle slightly, incredulous. “...now you want to walk straight into it?”
“It’s the only way to find the truth.” His voice was steady. “Besides, someone already recruited me to be a knight.”
“For real?”
He nodded. “You remember those songs the bard sings? About the palace coming for the victor, offering a chance at something more?” A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “He wasn’t lying.”
Marco scoffed, shaking his head as if denial alone could undo what he’d just heard. “You’ve gone completely insane.”
He shrugged and smirked, “takes one to know one.”
Marco nearly choked on his drink. He coughed, slammed the bottle down, and waved a hand in protest. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t even finish that thought.”
“I’ll give you eighty percent of my winnings,” he said calmly. “Just come with me.”
Marco froze. He narrowed his eyes, studying his friend’s face, waiting for the telltale crack of a joke that never came. For all his reckless bravado, this man didn’t bluff. Not when it mattered.
Marco cleared his throat and pushed the bottle aside.
“So, I just... accompany you?” he said slowly. “And the moment things go wrong, like, say, you’re about to get torn apart by a hundred angry peasants with pitchforks, I disappear. Deal?”
“Deal.”
UNLIKE the more apparent powers others wielded, Marco’s gift was subtle and far more unsettling. He was a psychic, a seer cursed and blessed in equal measure. Visions came to him unbidden. Flashes of futures yet to unfold, and things no ordinary eyes were meant to see. He hailed from the clan of Great Elders, whose counsel was sought even by those of royal blood. Whispers called them the Shadow Sages. Keepers of truths best left in the dark.
As for why he came along, the reason was far less noble. Riven simply didn’t want the journey to be a lonely one. If he had to walk straight into the jaws of the palace, he might as well drag his best friend with him, especially one who could be useful when fate decided to bare its teeth.
They boarded the train bound for the city, where the royal castle loomed at the heart of the kingdom. The ride was long, dragging just enough for doubt to gnaw at Riven’s resolve. Somewhere beyond the clouds, he was certain his mother was cursing him from the heavens. Not that he planned on listening.
He turned his gaze to the window as the train thundered onward. They were crossing the Bridge of Eldoria, the gateway to the kingdom’s capital. From a distance, it was a sight worthy of songs. Soaring arches, banners dancing in the wind, and sunlight glinting off stone and steel.
But for someone whose memories of the place were steeped in blood and regret, the beauty curdled into something else entirely. The view wasn’t breathtaking. It was sickening.
