Seven,
I wrote
Steady,
the first stroke goes
Down,
the second falls.
Empire Cruxire was believed to be favored by the gods and goddesses. It was known neither for its fertile land nor its military prowess, but for its competent people. The people's abundance in wealth was one, but it was their innate ability that brought forth envy from others.
Dukedom Lanchaster was dubbed as 'Cruxire's Scales' as the first dukedom boasted skillful knights and warriors that have yet to taste the bitterness of defeat.
The second dukedom was known as the 'Enchantress of the Land'; Dukedom Monrell. They were proud of their spiritual intellect and they have the honor of protecting the magical items bestowed upon them by the gods and goddesses.
Last but not the least was Dukedom Vermont. The third dukedom honored for their ability in the business sector making the empire the heart of economic progress.
Because each citizen was with high regard, their servants and other low ranks all came from neighboring kingdoms.
Yet no matter how blessed they were, there was a daunting prophecy that lingered for the empire.
+
After the reign of the current emperor, King Henry Cruxious XI, the temple that was built on Mt. Minerva was bestowed a message from the heavens. The High Priest, known to never leave the sacred establishment, came down to heed the imperial palace of divine warning.
"Beware of the man with hair as white as snow and eyes that glistened of blood." The High Priest gritted his teeth, eyes wide in distraught as he knelt down before the imperial family. Sweat trickled down from his wrinkly forehead and he gulped at the ominous feeling that pooled inside him.
"For that man will bring forth chaos to all, leading the empire to its ruin and erasure."
Immediately, the emperor ordered all of his people to hunt for the man but for years they found none.
The empire dared to calm down, even going as far as to laugh at the prophecy. The people claimed that it might have been a hoax because they were the blessed empire of the heavens. But then, just as fate suggested, he appeared.
So sudden, disrupting the festive occasion.
It was the day which marked the seventh year ever since the youngest lord of Dukedom Lanchaster was born. It happened while the crowd sang merrily for the child who held the brightest grin in the room.
Amidst the joyful cheers, the sky roared in surprise which took their smiles and instilled complete fear. Dark mist mixed with violaceous swirls and yellow streaks engulfed the once cloudy sky. Their surroundings darkened as the windows snapped open. Harsh wind barged inside the Lanchaster estate.
A scream.
A crash.
A cry.
Everyone held their breath as they stared in horror of the child that just turned seven years of age. Nero Lanchaster crouched down alone in the middle of the hall, bare for everyone to see. His small fingers gripped his hair that grew and grew . . . and grew then glowed.
His dark hair, a trait of the Lanchasters, revealed a bright hue. When the light faded, a collective gasped echoed within the room at the sight of its new color; a hair as white as snow.
They waited in bated breath as slowly the child lifted his head. When he looked at them with crimson stares, eyes that glistened of blood, they screamed.
"Oh heavens. . ."
"A curse. . . a curse befalls our land!"
"Monster. . . monster!"
Seven,
he was
Steady,
he smiled,
Down,
he cried
+
The empire pleaded and called out to the heavens.
For their favored land, the gods and goddesses answered their calls.
And so, he came.