Scene 1: Elliotte and Anther in the Market Square
The market square of Fortis was a living tapestry of sights and sounds. Merchants called out their wares with boisterous enthusiasm, their voices mingling with the clang of blacksmiths hammering iron and the soft bleats of goats tied to carts. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, ripe fruit, and the occasional unpleasant waft of fish from a distant stall.
Two boys darted through the crowd, their laughter weaving through the chaos.
"Bet you can't catch me, Elliotte!" Anther shouted, his voice carrying over the noise. His bare feet slapped against the cobblestones as he twisted and turned, his sandy hair bouncing with every step.
Elliotte wasn't far behind, his legs pumping as he dodged around startled townsfolk. "Oh yeah?" he called back, grinning. "Just wait until—"
He skidded to a halt as an old woman stepped into his path, balancing a precarious basket of eggs. "Watch where you're going, boy!" she scolded, waving a finger at him.
"Sorry, ma'am!" Elliotte said hastily, ducking around her before sprinting to catch up with Anther.
Anther was waiting at the square's edge, leaning casually against a post and grinning as Elliotte jogged up. "You're lucky she didn't clobber you with that basket," he teased, his brown eyes glinting with amusement.
"Yeah, yeah," Elliotte said, brushing dust off his tunic. "If she'd been any slower, I'd have made it past her easy."
Anther laughed, slinging an arm around Elliotte's shoulders. "You know, one day your father will find out about all this sneaking around. And when he does…" He waggled his eyebrows dramatically. "You'll be peeling potatoes in the palace kitchens for a year."
Elliotte rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin tugging at his lips. "My father doesn't know everything," he said with a shrug. "Besides, what's the point of being the son of the commander if I can't even have a little fun?"
"Spoken like a true troublemaker," Anther said, laughing. "Lucky for you, I don't mind breaking the rules."
Before Elliotte could reply, a small voice called out, "Elliotte!"
The boys turned to see Lily, Anther's little sister, bounding toward them. Her wild curls framed her round face, and her eyes were wide with excitement. She skidded to a stop in front of Elliotte and grabbed his sleeve.
"Do you have any new stories about the palace?" she asked breathlessly.
Elliotte crouched down to her level, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe. But…" He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone. It's a royal secret."
Lily's mouth fell open in a delighted gasp. "I swear! Not even a whisper!"
"Not even to Anther?" Elliotte teased.
Lily turned to her brother, her hands on her hips. "Anther doesn't care about palace stories," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.
Anther raised his hands in mock surrender. "She's not wrong," he admitted. "But don't go filling her head with nonsense, Elliotte. She already thinks you're some kind of magical hero."
Elliotte chuckled, ruffling Lily's hair. "Maybe I am."
Before he could say more, the toll of distant church bells rolled through the air. The sound made Elliotte's stomach sink. He stood, brushing off his tunic. "I've got to go. My father's expecting me."
"Don't keep him waiting," Anther said, his playful tone replaced by a note of caution. "You know how he gets."
Elliotte hesitated for a moment, looking back at his friend. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
Anther nodded. "Same time, same place."
Lily waved as Elliotte jogged off, her voice following him. "Come back with more stories!"
Elliotte smiled to himself, but as the towering palace walls came into view, the lightness in his chest began to fade.
Scene 2: The Ceremony of the Light Ring
The throne room of the Ironclad Palace was as cold and imposing as ever. Tall stone pillars lined the room, their surfaces carved with the faces of long-dead kings. Sunlight streamed in through the narrow stained-glass windows, casting fractured beams of color across the marble floor.
Elliotte stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. His father, William Lancaster, stood before him, his sharp features set in an expression of stern authority. In his hands was a small, ornate box.
"Step forward, Elliotte," William commanded.
Elliotte obeyed, his heart thudding in his chest. As he approached, William opened the box, revealing a silver ring nestled on a cushion of black velvet. The ring gleamed in the light, its surface etched with intricate runes that seemed to pulse faintly.
"This," William said, his voice steady and commanding, "is Exilibur, the first Ring of Light. It is a symbol of your birthright and the power that comes with it. From this day forward, you will carry the responsibility of our family's legacy."
Elliotte stared at the ring, his palms damp with sweat. "But why now?" he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
William's gaze bore into him. "Because you are thirteen, and it is time you began to understand the weight of power. This ring will grant you the strength to protect the kingdom, as is your duty."
Elliotte hesitated, then reached out and slid the ring onto his finger. The moment it settled, a surge of warmth flooded his body. He gasped as the ring flared with light, and before his eyes, the glow extended and solidified into a blade of pure energy.
William nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. You've accepted it."
Elliotte stared at the blade, his hands trembling. "What… what is this?"
"Exilibur," William said. "The first of ten Rings of Light. The others are hidden across the world, waiting to be found. One day, you will be tasked with finding them."
Elliotte looked up at his father. "Why are they hidden? Why can't others use them?"
William's face hardened. "Because power belongs to those who can wield it wisely. The commoners… they lack the discipline. They would misuse it."
Elliotte's stomach twisted at the coldness in his father's voice. "But how do we know—"
"Enough questions," William said sharply, cutting him off. "Your duty is not to question, but to obey. Remember that, Elliotte."
Elliotte nodded, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "Yes, Father."
As the blade dissolved back into the ring, Elliotte felt the weight of it settle on his finger like a shackle.
Scene 3: Anther Receives the Wooden Ring
The afternoon sun hung low over the commons, bathing the worn wooden stalls and thatched roofs in golden light. The air here was different—less polished than the market square in Fortis, but alive with a rugged charm. Children darted between carts as merchants bartered with their customers, their voices rising and falling like music on the wind.
Anther strolled beside his father, Jacob, weaving through the crowd. Jacob carried a burlap sack over his shoulder, his strong hands calloused from years of hard work.
"Stay close, Anther," Jacob said, his deep voice tinged with warmth. "These merchants are quick to pocket a fool's coin if you're not careful."
"I'm not a fool," Anther replied with a grin, his sharp eyes scanning the wares displayed on crooked tables. Trinkets, tools, and oddities crowded every surface, their dull gleam catching the late sunlight.
"Not yet," Jacob teased, ruffling his son's hair.
Anther stopped suddenly, his gaze snagged by a small wooden ring lying among a jumble of mismatched items on a merchant's cart. It was simple and unassuming, its surface carved with strange, swirling designs.
"What's this?" Anther asked, picking it up. The wood felt smooth and warm in his hand, almost alive.
The merchant, a wiry man with a crooked smile, leaned closer. "Ah, a fine piece, lad. Hand-carved, straight from the northern forests. Brings good luck to those who wear it."
"Good luck?" Jacob echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Looks like it came off the bottom of someone's chair."
Anther laughed. "Maybe. But it feels… different." He turned the ring over in his hands, the carvings catching the light. "Can I have it, Father?"
Jacob sighed, digging into his pouch for a few coins. "Fine, but don't come crying to me if it turns out to be a splinter magnet."
Anther slipped the ring onto his finger, grinning. "Thanks, Father. I'll take good care of it."
As they walked away, Jacob glanced down at him, shaking his head. "Just don't go thinking it's magic or anything. It's just a ring, Anther."
But that night, alone under the pale glow of the moon, Anther would learn the truth.
The fields stretched endlessly under the darkened sky, the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. Anther sat on a fallen log, his elbows resting on his knees as he toyed with the wooden ring.
"Just a ring," he muttered, mimicking his father's voice. He turned it over, watching how the faint carvings seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.
A sudden, sharp pain jolted through his hand. Anther gasped, clutching his wrist as heat flared under his skin. The ring glowed faintly, dark tendrils of smoke-like energy spiraling out of it and coiling around his fingers.
"What the—?" he staggered back, his heart pounding as the energy pulsed, wild and uncontrollable.
He fell to his knees, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. The dark magic seemed to writhe, as though it had a mind of its own. For a moment, he thought it would consume him entirely.
"No!" Anther shouted, clenching his fist and forcing the energy back into the ring. The tendrils retreated, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.
Breathing hard, Anther stared at the ring on his finger, his mind racing.
"This… this can't be real," he whispered. But the lingering ache in his hand told him otherwise.
Scene 4: Elliotte's Discovery
The next morning, the sun rose slowly over the fields, casting long shadows across the dewy grass. Elliotte made his way toward the familiar spot where he often met Anther, his thoughts heavy.
The weight of the ring on his finger was a constant reminder of his father's words. Power belongs to those who can wield it wisely. But what if that wasn't true? What if others could use it, too?
As he approached the clearing, he spotted Anther standing alone, his back to him. The boy's hand was outstretched, and Elliotte froze as he saw dark tendrils of energy coiling and shifting around his fingers like living shadows.
"Anther!" Elliotte called, his voice sharp with alarm.
Anther spun around, his face pale. The dark magic vanished instantly, and he shoved his hand behind his back. "Elliotte! What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Elliotte stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing? What was that?"
"It's nothing," Anther said quickly, backing away. "Just… something I found."
Elliotte's gaze flicked to Anther's hand. "That's magic. Anther, that ring—my father said only the royal family can use magic. If he finds out—"
Anther's expression hardened. "If he finds out, what? He'll take it from me? Punish me? Why should they get to decide who uses magic?"
"Because—" Elliotte faltered, his father's words echoing in his mind. "Because it's dangerous. If you can't control it—"
"Maybe it's dangerous because they don't let anyone else learn how to use it!" Anther snapped, his voice rising. "Maybe it's only dangerous because they're afraid of what we could do with it!"
Elliotte stared at his friend, his chest tightening. "I… I have to tell my father. Maybe he'll just take the ring and let you go. I'll make him understand."
Anther's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You'd go to your father over me?"
"Anther, I don't want you to get hurt—"
"Just go, Elliotte," Anther said, turning away. His voice was quiet, but the hurt in it was unmistakable.
Elliotte hesitated, then turned and walked away, his heart heavy with guilt.
Scene 5: The Midnight Raid
The Ashford home sat quietly under the cover of night, its modest wooden walls glowing faintly in the moonlight. Inside, the family had settled in for the evening. The small fire in the hearth crackled softly, its light casting warm shadows on the walls.
Jacob Ashford sat at the table, sharpening an old knife while humming a low tune. Martha, his wife, was folding clothes by the fire, her movements slow but steady. Anther and Lily were curled up in the corner, sharing a threadbare blanket. Lily's head rested on her brother's shoulder as she drifted into sleep, her soft breaths the only sound breaking the silence.
The peace shattered with a thunderous knock at the door.
Jacob froze, his hand tightening around the knife. He exchanged a glance with Martha, her face pale with unease.
The knock came again, louder this time, rattling the wooden frame.
"Open up in the name of the King!" a voice bellowed from outside.
Martha stood, her hands trembling. "Jacob… what do they want?"
Jacob held up a hand to silence her, his jaw tight. He moved to the door, his heart pounding. "Stay here," he whispered over his shoulder.
He opened the door cautiously, revealing the imposing figures of the royal guards. Their armor gleamed dully in the torchlight, their expressions cold and unyielding. The lead guard stepped forward, his face shadowed under his helmet.
"Where is the ring?" the guard demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.
Jacob blinked, confused. "I don't know what you're talking about. We don't have any ring."
"Don't lie to us." The guard shoved Jacob back into the house, his boots scraping against the floorboards. "We know you have it. Hand it over now, or your family will pay the price."
"Please, I swear!" Jacob protested, stumbling to his feet. "There's no ring here. You've made a mistake!"
The guard's hand shot out, striking Jacob hard across the face. He fell to the floor, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Search the house," the guard barked.
Anther clutched Lily tighter as the guards poured into the home, their boots thudding heavily on the floor. He pressed a hand to her mouth, whispering, "Don't make a sound."
Martha stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Please, don't do this! We're just a simple family. We don't have anything you want!"
A guard shoved her aside, sending her sprawling to the ground.
Jacob tried to rise, but the lead guard kicked him back down. "Enough games," he growled. He drew his sword, the metal glinting cruelly in the firelight. "Where is the ring?"
"I told you," Jacob gasped, his voice ragged. "We don't—"
The sword arced through the air before he could finish.
Anther froze, his breath catching in his throat as his father's head hit the floor with a sickening thud. Lily's muffled scream vibrated against his hand, and he pressed harder, tears streaming down his face.
"No…" Martha whispered, crawling toward Jacob's lifeless body.
The guards seized her before she could reach him. She kicked and screamed as they dragged her outside, her voice cracking with desperation.
Anther sprang to his feet. "No! Stop! Please, she doesn't know anything!"
The guards held him back as he struggled, his cries falling on deaf ears. They tied Martha to a tree in the yard, their faces blank as they prepared the torches.
"Please!" she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't do this! My children—"
The torches dropped, flames roaring to life as they consumed the dry kindling at her feet.
"MOTHER!" Anther screamed, his voice raw with anguish. He fell to his knees, powerless as the fire climbed higher, illuminating her terrified face.
Lily clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. Her small hands gripped his shirt, as though holding on to him could make the nightmare end.
As the guards turned away, their mission complete, Anther pulled Lily to her feet. "We have to go," he whispered hoarsely.
"But—"
"Now!" he snapped, his voice shaking.
Together, they stumbled into the woods, the flickering glow of the fire fading behind them. Anther's hand throbbed as he clutched the wooden ring, the dark magic within it pulsing in time with his grief and rage.
"I'll make them pay," he murmured, his voice trembling with resolve. "I swear it."
Scene 6: Elliotte's Realization
The sun rose slowly over Fortis, its golden rays spilling over the city walls and onto the fields beyond. Elliotte moved quickly through the commons, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.
He had barely slept the night before. The weight of his decision to tell his father about Anther's ring gnawed at him, but he held on to a fragile hope: Maybe Father just confiscated it. Maybe Anther and his family are safe.
But as he neared the Ashford home, his steps faltered.
The house was gone.
All that remained were charred timbers and piles of ash, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke. Elliotte's chest tightened as he stumbled forward, his gaze darting over the ruins.
"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "No, no, no…"
He dropped to his knees, his hands gripping the soot-streaked ground. The remains of the Ashford home stretched before him like a terrible dream. He stared at the blackened beams, the scorched earth, the small, broken pieces of what had once been a family's life.
A royal guard emerged from the shadows of the rubble, his face impassive. Elliotte's heart lurched. "What happened here?" he demanded, though his voice wavered.
The guard said nothing, merely inclined his head in a gesture that spoke volumes.
Elliotte's blood ran cold as the truth settled over him. His father hadn't helped Anther. He hadn't spared his family. He had destroyed them.
"What… what have I done?" Elliotte whispered, his voice cracking.
His hands clenched into fists, the silver ring on his finger glinting in the morning light. The warmth that had once filled him when he wore it now felt suffocating, a constant reminder of his guilt.
"I trusted him," he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "I trusted him to help… and now they're gone."
Far away, deep in the woods, Anther sat beneath a gnarled tree, holding Lily close as she slept. The wooden ring pulsed faintly on his finger, its dark magic simmering like a storm on the horizon.
His grief burned hot, but it was his rage that kept him awake. He stared into the darkness, his jaw clenched as a single thought consumed him.
They'll pay. All of them. The royals, their guards… and your father, Elliotte.