But it was only in their heads.
Troan staggered, clutching his head as he fought to suppress his emotions.
"Enough, Ervhen!" He chided through gritted teeth.
The elite guards trembled.
The bloodlust Troan emitted through his varish energy painted a clear picture of what he held himself from doing to them.
It was a unique trait of someone who had achieved the penultimate rank of an elemental.
'Elemental Domination'.
Wriggler, noticing their withered spirits, deftly ducked under their glaives.
"Careful now," He cautioned, watching them while walking backward with a smirk.
"You wanna see tomorrow, right? Try not to anger my boss, okay?"
With that, he threw them a wink as the doors came to a ponderous, grinding close.
"They shouldn't even be guarding this place," Troan said, shaking his head in disbelief at the situation.
But Wriggler didn't seem bothered by what had just happened. He scanned a sarcophagus close to him. On its golden lid was embossed the face of a man with an eyepatch; captured in his expression was a wild, almost crazed grin.
"That's Horrus El' Seasult, ruled between 230-288Ec," Troan informed, before slowly walking away to look around.
"He was known for his audacity and spectacular cunning on the corrupted seas; numerous Navethian ships were sunk by him. Multitudes were enslaved to build the Seasult's sprawling cities on the Isles of Man." He shared, before stopping to caress a particular sarcophagus.
Wriggler nodded slowly. "Neat...Is this pure gold?" He asked, glancing at the sarcophagus.
Troan revealed a hollow smile
"House Seasult always had a penchant for enriching themselves. Be it piracy, slave labor, trade deals—betrayals. Their love for gold ran deep in their veins. As their slogan alludes, 'Gold in peace, gold in war'."
Then he glanced at Wriggler. "Yes. It's all gold. Also, do not misunderstand me. My words are not intended to defame or deride House Seasult. After all, I am still attached to the household, albeit tacitly."
Wriggler nodded. "Gotcha. So where's your pop's."
"You mean the late king." Troan corrected, before shifting his gaze to the sarcophagus before him.
"Here he is."
On the lid was embossed the face of a warrior, with eyes that gleamed with intelligence. Half his face appeared scorched, and a smirk rested on his lips, like someone who had just thought of something intriguing.
It wasn't difficult to sense that this man valued adventure.
Wriggler whistled with an impressed look in his eyes.
"The metalworkers need a raise! This is him, right?"
"Yes." Troan nodded.
Then he looked to Wriggler with an uncertain look in his eyes.
"May I burden you with a story about me?"
Wriggler glanced back at the closed doors and shrugged.
"Sure. I got nowhere else to go anyway."
Troan's brows furrowed at his statement.
He chuckled. "I'm joking, boss. Please tell it."
Troan shook his head and let out a persevering sigh.
****
A terribly handsome black-haired youth stood resting on the railing of a balcony.
His vibrant green eyes looked beyond the gardens below and the small lake to the side, beyond the walls that surrounded the castle, and unto the vast sprawling city as far as the eyes could see.
The distant rumble and sharp steam whistles of the bustling train station afar only brought a smile to his face.
"We're entering a new era..." He whispered to himself.
"I pray that the Ancestor smiles down upon my investments."
The curtain leading to the balcony was pushed aside and a cloaked young lady appeared behind him.
She leaned on the archway leading into the balcony and crossed her arms. Intense red and green eyes observed him carefully from beneath the hood.
Within her cloak hid gearworks of cogs and gears, pistons and clips, clasped together into what seemed like an armored clockwork vest. Some sort of complicated metal contraptions were attached to the leather and brass gauntlets on her arms, which poked out of her sleeves.
They seemed like it was meant to hold some kind of weapon that was currently not attached.
"Prince Kaydin. I have news... The servants say that the Seventh has awoken." She informed, in a silky, rich Xagerian accent.
Kaydin swept around with a pleasantly surprised expression, and he revealed a grin that would make ladies swoon and fairies sing.
"Wonderful! Right on time too, since I am leaving tomorrow."
He approached and walked past her into a supremely furnished room that could only be described in one word: opulence.
"Hurry! Instruct the Captain of the houseguards to escort him to the throne room immediately!" He declared excitedly.
"Inform him that my brother must be treated with all due respect. In the meantime, I shall make haste to arrange an audience with my mother, the Queen Regent."
"I will do so posthaste." She informed, quickly walking past him and towards the large ornate double door.
"Excellent!" Kaydin smiled.
After she was gone, he let out a relieved sigh and looked up at a portrait on the wall.
It portrayed three children standing before a small lake. One grinned, one smiled bashfully, and the last had a neutral expression; his dour eyes hinting that he would rather be elsewhere.
'Please, Ancestors above! Do not let him refuse my request...as petty as it may seem."
He prayed in his heart.
****
In a fancy, ornate, and almost whimsically designed pink room, a young girl lay on the floor, her long, white hair splayed out like a carpet beneath her.
Her socked feet were propped up on the bedside of her beautiful four-poster bed draped in yellow and white fabrics, while reading a book she held up above her face.
Although she wore fluffy red earmuffs, she was still able to hear a light knock on her door.
"Princess Lurin, It's Beastie."
"Come in." Her voice, clear and gentle rang out in the quiet room.
Beastie came in, her eyes downcast. Lurin glances up at her lady-in-waiting for a brief second, before returning to her book.
"How is my brother?"
"He woke up."
"Did you cover him up with the blanket? I don't want him to catch a col—" But then she stopped talking, realizing what Beastie had said.
"What!" She exclaimed in shock, and let go of the book.
The book fell, smacking her in the face, but she didn't care. She scrambled up on her hands and knees. Her wide, ruby-red eyes fixated on Beastie.
"What did you just say?"
Her voice was almost like a whisper.
Beastie smiled at this and said. "The Lord Seventh. Lord Troan, your brother has awoke—."
Before she could even complete her statement Lurin had gathered up her pink ball gown and sprinted out the doorway.
Beastie was momentarily startled, but then she ran out after her.
"Wait for me! Princess!"
****
"...I did not bring you here on a whim, Wriggler." Troan admonished.
"Since you insisted on 'always being by my side' I felt it necessary that you experience this important moment with me. If nothing else but to strengthen our bond."
"I'm sorry." Wriggler looked slightly chastened.
"I'll value this moment." He said with a small understanding smile
Troan nodded before shifting his gaze back to the face on the sarcophagus. A reminiscent light reflected in his eyes.
"We—never did get along. His unwillingness to acknowledge me fueled my desire to prove that I would be a better king than he ever was. The notion was short-lived. I could not bear to witness the crass choices he made as king.
"For my own sake and for the livelihood of those who served as servants to the Household. I strove to brief him on the geopolitical landscape at the time, revealing my insights on the possible plans put into motion by the major players of the empire and beyond. But I was considered a fool child, one whose mother had made paranoid by allowing the secrets of the Loma to fall easily within his grasp!
"In a way, I was indeed a fool. A fool to stand against fate! To attempt influencing a man such as him!
"Suffice to say, we came to an impasse.
"At my tenth birthday, I called for his abdication, being of the age to rule. But he charged me with treason and took away my birthright.
"The punishment for treason required being sent into Mount Avalon. Survival—proved your innocence.
"This suited my mother because she would rather have me dead than see me live my life dishonored. Also, It was the only way to be bestowed the illustrious name of the Great House Ages. To be adopted into their esteemed family, and that was how I regained my honor..."
Troan drew in a shuddering breath and said.
"For all his stubbornness, though. I respected the late king. He never took my advice and rarely that of his vassals, but he lived his own life, happy with the choices he made...be they judicious or not. He was a true king, and I, at some point, admired him."
Troan paused and then sighed.
He turned to Wriggler and gestured for the pitcher and tankard.
Wriggler handed them over to him.
He walked to the midline of the sarcophagus.
"Although, we stood with opposing views. He was still my father...for a time."
His eyes took on a hint of sadness.
"And I would not be where I am now if he had not been who he was."
He filled up the tankard.
Then he slowly poured the ale on the late king's face as he whispered blessings.
"May your journey to the great halls be merry. May the northern winds find purchase upon thine sails. May your ship be guided by the light of the Northern Star.
"Journey well...Father."