The mighty clapper struck the mouth, and a sound wave of large amplitude was sent forth from the colossal castle bell. The resonant vibrations called out midday. The sun had risen today, melting the snow—providing an illusion of warmth. The sun was at its highest point at midday and its apparent movement could be noted through the large palladian windows of the Emperor's chambers.
Arechin, the youngest Prince—the favored one—stood by his Emperor. Yes, Thaddeus Ravenswood was Emperor to him first of all, and father second.
"Will you be partaking in this year's Winter Festival celebrations, father?" The healer seated beside his father looked at the Prince, dumbfounded. The emperor wasn't. . .Er. . .quite mobile at the moment.
The Emperor lay limp on a moonstone slab, absorbing its healing powers. Beneath the silk sheets, the curve of his muscles was the last trace of the great warrior he was. His face had aged quite a lot over these past few months, and his face had lost all its former beauty. His gray hair lay plastered against his forehead. One would assume such a man to be as good as dead, but now slow breaths forced his lips open. And with a deep drawn breath, words floated out of his mouth.
"My absence will provoke further suspicion."
Indeed, the Emperor had failed to attend to his duties for the past season. And while fear was still instilled, such control would not last forever. When the Emperor would die, there would be conflicts arising from the matters of succession. If this matter was not resolved swiftly, then the central power would weaken and external conflicts would be inevitable. Yet the Emperor hadn't spoken a word about succession. Or who had qualified as a candidate for the next monarch.
"We will declare that your absence is on account of your departure to Arlin." Arechin informed, "To deal with the barbarians."
The Emperor opened his mouth to speak again but instead of words, blood was coughed out. The healer beside him took up the copper lamp and soon some sort of medicinal smoke had filled the air. The healer chanted unfamiliar words of an ancient, lost language.
"I shall take my leave." The Prince bowed.
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The Winter Festival marked the beginning of Winter across Eltarin. It was also the celebration of victory over the Elven Lord, Vayr Morfir. Nearly nine centuries ago, Eltar Ravenswood had defeated the elven forces who had enslaved the mankind of these lands, declaring victory. He proclaimed himself King of Eltarin. Since then, the borders have been expanded, and Eltarin is no longer a small territory in the Western Continent. In fact, Eltarin now runs across nearly the entire Western Continent.
"No. More to the left." Serria's voice boomed across the Great Hall. "Forward, forw—I said forward, not backward!" The two men carrying the giant stone structure stumbled with confusion, and fell. The statue of the late emperor Eltar was inevitably damaged. The two servants scrambled to their knees before Serria, ready to cut off their hands as compensation. "Fools!" She yelled, "Do not ever appear before me again. I'm afraid I will have to stick arrows through your throats." The servants didn't waste a moment before running off in horror.
"Sister, are they bothering you?" Humour danced in Arechin's eyes as he approached his fiery sister.
"Their incompetence is immeasurable." Her eyes examined the fallen statue. "Look now, what they have done!"
Arechin shrugged, "I suppose Eltar will be missing his left arm tonight. How historically accurate." Given that, he had lost his left arm defending his people.
"Oh shut it." Annoyance was evident in her tone, "Get someone to fix this. I have much left to do."
The Winter Festival was in two days. And there would be a grand feast hosted in the Great Hall in honour of the same. Serria always took it upon her to take care of the decorations. He admired her patience, truly, for if it was him nearly half of the staff would've died at the hands of his temper.
The enormous Great Hall was abuzz with servants carrying dishes, glasses, garlands, fountains and flowers. One would say that the royal insignia is what marked these people as the servants of the royal family, but according to Arechin it was the scars on their skin that truly marked them as royal servants.
As a child, he had loathed parties. Often, his nurse found him hiding beneath the tables, trying to ignore the people around him until all had left. He acted out of defiance to his father's principles. However, such defiance eventually gave way to acceptance and finally agreement and respect for the Emperor. Thaddeus Ravenswood may be a tyrant, but the Kingdom had never prospered as much as it had under his father's rule. When all's said and done, it always comes down to power. He supposed Serria was different from him. To her, her people mattered the most. She refrained from violence altogether and found herself aligned with the exact opposite morals of her father. She detested the Emperor. Under such circumstances, how he got along with her was a mystery.
"Lost in thought, brother?"
He hadn't realized that Kaien was now standing before him. His glassy emerald eyes were set on him. His blonde hair glistened in the sunlight that poured through the balcony. That's what set him apart from the rest of his siblings: his features. He took after his mother— and he had a different mother from the two of them.
He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his trousers, "Often." He responded. With Kaien, it was different. It wasn't like Serria. No, this was all pretense.
"With the General returning today, I suppose you would be." Ah, the General. He couldn't deny it, Abraham Reaper had been on his mind. They had matters to discuss. "And Faith." Kaien didn't fail to mention the General's daughter. He was suddenly all too aware of his bruised abdomen.
He hadn't parted with Faith on exactly good terms. But not that they were close, not really. He really just hated her guts.
That is exactly why she had a matching bruise on her eye when she left.
"They have succeeded in eradicating the threat from the Isleen rebels on the Western frontier, I heard." Oh, he knew. He knew everything before everyone. He was known for his intelligence web. But moreover was known for strategizing and warriorship.
"Wonderful." But he sounded surprised and delighted nonetheless.
The bells chimed again, then. But this was different. This time, the roaring of the people followed.
He followed Kaien out to the balcony where he almost felt dizzy at the sight of such a large crowd lining the streets of the capital. At a distance from the castle gates he could make out the general riding a black stallion. By the grace with which he rode, no one could tell him apart from a young lad.
Behind him rode a young woman—her long dark hair had been covered with the hood of her cloak. That was Faith Reaper, the Daughter of Death.
He narrowed his eyes at the horses that followed behind. They carried corpses of soldiers, stacked.
"What. is.that." Kaien swore.
The saying was true after all: Death treads on the heels of Faith Reaper.