August twirled his blade as he stared out at the City of Lingering Light, ruins of obsidian apparel, charred by flame and marred by ruin. Sitting atop a cliff-face, he sighed, smiling slightly as he gazed out at the sheets of silken cobwebs that had collected over the southern part of the ruins.
His loyal Archknight remained at his side, ready to defend him at any time. After all, even in his leisure, he was a King. There was always a constant threat that needed to be observed. But August didn't seem too wary at all.
"Gwennaude, doesn't it seem strange that the eldest son of a Lord would decline Lordship after his father's death?"
"Perhaps to us, it is strange. But a Lordship, despite its perks, is onset expectation. Maybe he was an easygoing man that feared his life might get difficult." Gwennaude rebutted, watching the landscape ahead.
"Moreover, why would a man offer his hand to me? Wouldn't he fear losing any semblance of successorship?" August continued to chide, laughing. It was playful humour.
"Your Grace, if it troubles you so, why did you accept?"
August shrugged, smiling warmly. "I thought that this opportunity might be too rare to pass up. A man, offering his hand in marriage to me? There are far too many uncertainties involved, but if I don't fall in love somehow, then we won't prosper at all…"
He stood up, gazing at the ruins afar as he chuckled. "So, new experiences are in order, aren't they, my loyal Knight? Speaking of love, shouldn't you accept that girl's advances by now?"
"Ellia? No, what Knight would seek romance? I have a duty to you." Gwennaude retorted.
"How boring…" August sheathed his blade. "On his way from Margraves, he'll pass through here, surely. Shall we determine his character?"
"What do you have in mind, your Grace?"
August bent his head downward, reaching toward his face. As his fingertips brushed against his skin, black metallic liquid began to spread outward, thickening and forming intricate swirling patterns in the shape of a mask. Those swirls resembled sprawling worms across the mouth-piece, the eyes fierce and brilliant.
He didn't answer Gwennaude's question, rather asking one of his own.
"A Lightseeker, seeking the hand of the Witch-King. Do you think this is another paltry attempt at rebellion, albeit in a hidden manner?" His voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the mask, but still carried his playful attitude alongside it.
"I don't think they crave power as they did centuries ago. The disdain for them is your father's, your grandfather's, your forefather's legacy. This isn't the position you hold, so why consider it?"
"Shouldn't a man in my position consider the possibility of threat?" August chuckled. "Of course, Lightseeker… Runebranded… whatever faction one derives themselves from, it shouldn't matter. But if I take this man as my Consort, won't the Noble families that hold particular disdain for the Lightseeker nobility feel aggrieved?"
"That's not your problem."
"It is my problem if I do not wish to be like my father. That's the goal here, Gwennaude. That's the bet I'm making. To not rule iron-fisted, whether or not there can be respect and mutual love between a Witch-King and his people… this is the goal of mine. I take this risk knowing full well I could topple this 'view' of the Witch-King that my familial predecessors have taken centuries to cultivate."
"Still, if it is your goal to 'topple' these inequalities, then won't marrying this man directly influence that outcome?"
"Or it will create a further imbalance, just in the other direction."
"It's a gamble. But then, isn't that exactly what you want?"
August smirked underneath the mask, taking a step forward as he began falling off the face of the cliff towards the ruins. "Quite right, my dearest Archknight."
===
Artemis stood afront the carriage, donned in the colours of the Starke family— white and gold, — as he prepared to say goodbye to the home he had known all of his life. For twenty-three years, he had grown up inside of the Starke household, and now it was simply time to leave it all behind.
I cannot believe that Witch-King took my marriage offer seriously… I used Lark's influence unconsciously, and now he demands I honor my side of our contract…
When Artemis was fourteen years old, he had contracted himself with a Spirit. While this was without the consent of his parents, this wasn't uncommon in the Blackbaast. This wasn't without consequence, as the Spirit he had contracted with was unknowingly of a Demonic Lineage; the price it often demanded was the life of a living creature, a harsh request. That was what made it 'demonic'.
Because a Spirit took the place of one's eye, he had to fake an eye injury at the time simply so his parents wouldn't find out what he had done. Since then, he had always worn an eyepatch over his left eye, and so no one had questioned it.
'Lark' was the name of the Demonic Spirit in question. He had offered Artemis a power unfounded- the ability to summon a mask that could augment him, if he so chose. That mask could be augmented further with three abilities, those reaped from the dead. Of course, this meant that Artemis would have to experience death firsthand. That, he did.
The man who had given him the opportunity to contract this Spirit, his instructor, had mysteriously died shortly after he had done so. Because his instructor himself had contracted himself with a Spirit, Artemis had been able to claim this ability from his corpse. This ability was 'Gambit', that any risks he would take would have a higher chance of succeeding, that given the proper preparations, he would be given a slight advantage at every turn.
When he had written the letter to the Witch-King, August Lunastre, he had not considered this ability, and so his 'joke' had turned into another 'gambit'. This slight advantage had tipped the circumstances over the edge, and so his proposal was accepted, and he had been summoned to the court of the Witch-King in the capital.
How ironic.
"Are the preparations done, Cercival?"
The elderly attendant beside him nodded his head. "Yes, young Master. But there is still a matter you haven't attended to."
"What could I be forgetting?" Artemis turned towards him, frowning.
Cercival gestured towards the side of the homefront, near where the garden met the estate, where a boy with a head of white intermingled with gold stood, looking at Artemis from afar.
Ah, Willow. Did he come to say goodbye? But he should be studying right now… he is to be a Lord. Goodness…
Artemis turned towards his younger brother, smiling slightly. He gestured with his hand for Willow to approach, which he did calmly and quietly, slowly, like a little bird. Artemis did the same, until he stood face-to-face with his brother. He had no amiable relationship with Willow, but no sort of disdain either. They weren't strangers, but they weren't acquainted either, like they had both existed in the same home all of their lives, but never seen each other once.
That was just the extent of how they differed. While Willow was meek and quiet, he was still kind and pleasant, outgoing when he needed to be. Artemis was reserved and kept to himself, except for when the social obligations of a noble demanded otherwise. They were like oil and water, they just did not mix.
Artemis reached into his jacket, procuring a silver knife plastered with ornate swirling decorations, a red jewel embedded in its hilt. He handed it to Willow by the blade, who accepted it graciously with bright eyes.
"Father gave me something similar around your age, I thought you might enjoy the same. I would have left it to an attendant had you not come to say goodbye."
"Will you really leave me behind?" Willow glanced up at Artemis with a saddened gaze.
Artemis's heart faltered.
"I will, but I won't be too far away. The Capital… well, you've never been, but it's quite a beautiful place. When you're not tied down by your duties as Lord, pay me a visit. I'm sure you'll be welcomed quite warmly."
Well, that depends on whether or not that King has summoned me just to punish me… perhaps I've gone too far this time. I should have just sent proposals to Noble Ladies of our faction…
Artemis sighed inwardly. He just didn't know what to say to his younger brother. He truly knew nothing of him.
"I think you'll do well, wherever you go." Willow whispered.
Artemis's eyes widened. His smile grew a bit larger, chuckling. He placed a hand on Willow's head, his gaze warm, with a semblance of sentimentality.
"And I you. I think all of the things our father believed in will flourish with you in charge. Don't ever forget him, my brother. If you try your hardest to follow in his footsteps, you'll definitely find that the path behind you has been most beautiful in its journey."
Willow's face beamed, holding the blade tightly in his hands.
"Our family's mantra… isn't it quite similar?"
Artemis nodded his head.
"The beauty of the future lies in its past, and the present."
He looked back towards the carriage.
"We'll do quite well, won't we?"