12 Halcyon

Don't forget to vote and have a bliss stroll across the capital of Antar- The Esseth. :)

The core.

A word that provokes fright in our hearts was once nothing but an endless land of a region unknown. A place where strange but beautiful evolution were nurtured, where seasons changed by weeks and the sun never reached the ground. Neither did the rain. People of faith are said to have declared the grounds to be of holy descent. something that they were convinced, would belong to a higher being. but purity has always been a victim of greed, and it was no different with the land.

When the wealthiest of men were made aware of the value the territory piers, they ripped its resources from its seams. The water- to heal their ill. The spices- to glamour their skin. The gems- to fill their treasury and the people- to fight for a piece of it. Wars among kingdoms, thieves with skill who mined and spies who will betray their friends for a zest of luxury the soil brought, remained a constant catastrophe among them.

That is till the night the ground shook. An earthquake said to be so magnificent that its tremor rattled the realms surrounding it. A crack, the length of a lake separated the land into two halves with a cavity so deep that couldn't be mapped. A bright light, radiant blue seared through its mouth -blinding the onlookers partially, but they insisted what they saw- and they saw people walk out of the core.

Humans.

Or what a human is perceived to be in heaven like.

May be Angels even.

Divine and glorious, dressed in a fabric that reflected the moon. Men and women with long hair, young in skin and rage in their starlit eyes. And they began to kill. Kill all who couldn't flee- without mercy, without noise and petrifying, without a weapon. They occurred dreamlike, with larger pupils and mesmerizing faces. But the only thing a person welcomed was their death the moment their eyes met theirs.

And then, they disappeared. Vanished into a mist above the land. Certainly not back to the surface they crawled out of.

We call them origens. The original of us all. With power unimaginable. With believe of them as myth.

The fatalities were never recovered as the radius of the Core was suspected to have become inhabitable. Clouds of lethal storm hung above, and a line of dead fish surfaced on the sea bed when the rain got varied with the ocean. The wood of the ship began to dissolve And the stench burned the throats. something had happened and none would go back or visit to inspect.

None who would savor their life would.

The survivors who lived to tell fell into a pit of insanity. They would speak of a world beneath their feet. Some would cry apologies for having ruined their home while others would whisper to the sky of how they live among us now. While one confessed that the creature had spoken to them with a message. A promise perhaps- with his words so precise, it must be.

'You ruined our home. We shall now destroy yours'

For hundreds of years, the civilization remained ordinary. The incident faded enough to be considered a part of history. But then, They began to born. Children with abilities, sharp intelligence and hauntingly elegant appearances. A mutation in blood were found- degrees higher than existing bodies. They were half an embodiment of nature in itself- until they demonstrated control over elements.

There were not children of nature. Not when some could annihilate them with the snap of their fingers.

Thunder, Water, Air, Fire, Stone, Voice, Vision, - anything that's a part of nature was now a manipulative weapon in their hands. Soon, the dead scriptures of Core's tale gained life once again, and this wise- it was not here to die. Initially, they were considered a threat to the balance the society works in. But they were too many by then to neglect or execute. Among them were also the odd ones whose blood seldom showcased the modification, but the gift remained in one single family for generations.

The Ezdans and their immunity against the others influence . This made the family a phenomenal candidate for leadership. To the Ezdans- the world remained normal. While rest descended into chaos, the family protected the people and brought a harmony and balance into Antar. When civil war broke out, the king was defeated by their people and the first Ezdanian Mother, Rosalind Elare was crowned the high queen of northern realm. And thus, her blood- rules to this day.

It has been thousands of years since the event of great change took place.

The submission to Core's vitality is a reputed myth disowned by scholars for centuries

It was said a certain age causes a huge reawakening in the host who bears an Arminhood. The age is precisely seen to be Eighteen. It was believed and obeyed by law until the last of the archaic era when the fugitive Ventim developed sheer strength in age so early that it was nothing less than a miracle of time. The creator of the ring.

A ring believed to host the last of Core's stone.

But soon it was realised that the limit of one's power resided in personal practice and not with the cycle of time.

The time that's weak against my command as it will fully submit its secrets to me now. They are not confined to dreams anymore, I don't wake up with a jolt of terror when I envision a past or future. Rather with a painful gasp as the air in my lungs tears away from me at the intensity of such energy that consumes me.

My body is not prepared for this.

My soul isn't either.

On the night of the attack on the marine of Orphic, my existence had completed a cycle of eighteen years in this world. It had been my birthday.

As a result- I am now a living prophecy that had been debunked or been called ambitiously forbidden thought among the scholars. And In a conjoined journey with a traitor like Ezdan and as a delusional traitor myself, I am obligated to hide this with my life. Because this kind of power shouldn't exist- it's an abomination to be able to surpass the mystery of psychism.

And the worse of all, to be able to alter it.

I lay in the bed facing the smooth brown ceiling, the chiffon curtains create a water-like ripple in its shadows. Under the sheets, I clutch the pocket watch that once used to be the old man's property. It's gold, the most expensive entity that I will ever own, it looks back at me with its glass cracked and time ceased. My fingers move against the thick blanket when I retrieve it, facing the time once again. The time, it had stopped.

03 05

Castle.

The tear in time.

The glass shattered in a pristine line by the middle. Like a sword. Like anger.

Disbelief.

The course. I feel it, I feel my doing. Castle shouldn't be alive by now. But she is. She is because I had accidentally changed its course and nor have i suffered its punishment yet. Somehow I fell asleep with the watch snugged to myself in a room that's allotted for visitors. The Ezdan had his own chamber here which baffles me for he had seldom displayed such a form of bonding with General Slantis.

But tonight, I am not as clueless as what they share.

The heir and the oath are closest to what I would symbolise as kinship. They are practically brothers. And as for Samallie- she is a mother to who she sets her target upon. I got bundled up with fur coats, a jar of sugar-sieved treats, and a tight kiss on my cheeks while we waited for the royal transportation to show up. It will lead us to Esseth, the capital where his home is.

Last night after I had accepted my fate and taken a peak at his past, I heard noises from his room. Argumentative in tone and diabolical with his silence to how enraged Samallie appeared. My vision blurred again when I forced my will to read Ezdans silence. I doubled out in pain and fled to my room while holding the walls for support.

A magnificent power like such would never stay in a host as weak as mine.

And yet it was enough to see through him.

With every touch, i might burn a part of me away and with Ezdan and his bloodline, all left of me would be a memory. During our ride in wagon, I watch the side of his face with curiosity, it was chiselled and shadowed with slight facial growth that I bet he would get rid of once sets foot on the corrupted dirt of a city.

Then a daunting thought of touching his very face dawns on me, I can see him. Unveiling his intentions and his secrets might fetch me the parching answers. But I may not exist to celebrate the success. His blood makes it impossible to reach him with such trivial energy. What such magnificence can't achieve, could easily be done with a knife or bullet.

He is much more humane among us two here.

Vulnerable like all, special like none.

"You remind me of a cat" though it comes out of nowhere, I hold my stare. He leans back in his seat facing me- I dressed too much while he wore what's convenient. I look like a little prince while he doesn't need to dress to present himself as one. "Too much pride and would rather stare than ask"

"A cat. Relieved that it's not a boar" my sass is not a child of my found ability. I am trapped in a box and the keys to my freedom are thrown out in the vast sea. All I bear is my dignity and I won't let him toy with it. I lean to my side, the streets pass by as I watch through the iron door. I listen to the rhythm of horses jogging and connect it to the rock and friction of the coach I sat in.

"So you do want to ask" He confirmed, I breathe, splaying my fingers by my knee.

Silence.

It feels wrong, to have a conversation with him. Every inch of such scene with him crushes my strength till all that's left of me is a pretended poise.

"I ask for my freedom" my voice is softer than the anticipation. He watches me, in a manner so simple as if he hadn't heard my appeal. Oh, what would I give to understand his mind? What does he feel? What does he see?

"Certainly a cat, demanding more than what it has" his lips quirked in a smirk. But there is an almost feral edge to his voice that I observe. I push back in the seat and push my palms into the metal bars. And I couldn't let my doubts be chained when he is open to questions. "What should I expect once we arrive?"

This wise he replied solemnly.

"You stay with me"

Didn't say the reply was in my favour.

He continued.

"You are not to speak, meet or stare longer than necessary at anyone" the patience I have been clinging to decapitates at his apprehensive rules. I frown biting over my cheeks.

"Do I look like a puppet to you?"

His gaze is cold.

"You may not appear like, but you are one" he closes his eyes running a hand over his mouth and jaw. The greys are darker than before when I meet his stare again. I don't see the quiet silver in them. "If not me, someone else will play you. Someone much worse and I can't let that happen"

It takes a humble minute to let his conditions deliver their meaning. And when it does, my heart falls to my stomach.

"The man- he lives in the palace," I inquire with a hurting heart, my question, a weak answer in itself.

His silence has always been louder than what he ever says. But this time, he speaks to me with a convincing voice.

"The palace-" he looks outside the window "-is a madhouse. Think as them, and you'll see through them"

It's can advise. And I intend to believe him because I see him. A boy brought up by the walls and border of assets that hasn't been like the rest. And neither is the girl buried beneath the avalanche of snow. To think as them and look as them may have suppressed our identity- but for how long?

For how long is it not to know oneself and how annihilating to let it all go?

Think as them-

What do I think about him?

You'll see through them.

What will I see in him?

Julian Ezdan.

To see through him is to see through all.

***

There are rows, and there are many. People shuffle and cheer as the guards and commanding committees hustle by. They throw flowers and letters by the road, the Nobles and Highborns ride through. The eyes of people shine with pride as they welcome the laureates and warriors back into their city. I stick my gaze through the glass of the wagon cart- its agitating strength causes my eyes to flicker from one vehicle to another. The chaperone suggested that ours would join the parade in a manner that would eliminate the doubts and rumours among the common attendees.

Thus indicating the attack on our ship has been kept a secret.

The Ezdan nods once and resumes his passive brooding. And I press my nose to the glass firmly this wise. This transportation glides like a sail in water. Classy, with dark interior and raven iron sliders and a resisting glass, none of the voices from outside sneaks in.

It also meant none of our conversations could be heard out either.

There is a small box which the chaperone undoes whenever he has to share a word with His Highness -The Prince Of Thievery and Kidnapping.

And also a man who can still kill me with my screams absorbed by his suffocating vehicle if he decides that I was a nuisance.

The wheel rolls and the mild jerk of my body is the only movement I do. The palace gate, I could see it from here. An aligned pillar of gold and white shines like melting stars under the beams of the sun. It's small and far. By not so much as the wagon slowly folded away the distance. The crown, I could hear them now. Pulsing with roar and love, I don't look for it. But I feel the extent of flaming respect with bows and courtesy.

Though faint, I listen to the fading chants, I see him slide the glass open and wave at them.

Ezdan The Fated.

I see him smile softly against the roar of his people at the sight of him.

Ezdan The Chosen.

The chants. They are much sharper now as he had let the barrier remain open. His dimple deepens with the stark smile and his admirers could only do much but exclaim. And among them, I hear the mention of not the title by birth. But him.

Julian The Hope.

He shuts the window and relaxed in his seat, his head against the resting cushion he looked at me before I could steal my apprehended gaze away. He no longer smiles, in its place a calmness hems his features.

I count his breath by looking at his shoulder.

One

Two

Three...

"You bear no knowledge of me. Do you?" I despise the need to look at his face as his voice condemns enough confidence that he has in his words.

Four

Five

Six...

"I am not hated"

Seven

Eight..

Every revelation is pain. And they let my mouth run.

Nine

Ten.

"But you deserve to be" my voice is a cascading whisper in the thick quietness. I tremble at the coldness of his gaze but hate burns brighter than his demeanour. "You deserve to be disliked. Like me. Like us"

The click of stop doesn't go unnoticed by both of us. Lost in such a trance we hadn't seen or felt us enter the palace ground, the door opens at his part with a clump of men dressed in impoartant suits welcome him. His ignorance as he is greeted by them is so clean, I am breathing an air so new that it fills a life me.

I get out, looking around and over with fervent and needy eyes. I don't see them but could feel. My search leads me to the view of girls and boys from the trials same to ours. These waves emit an excitement so heavy in their hearts that I pity the illusion that surrounds them. Their bravery and courage are nothing but innocent still, war doesn't require it. It demands inhumanity. And their skin has it mastered and so, has their subjects.

The footsteps drum on and more shuffle to get a peak at the Ezdan. A large marble statue mounts by the centre of arrivals. Its sea-green body glistens like a forbidden divinity. The robe, the curly locks of hair, the hollow eyes of the woman and the Crown on her stone head. There was no mistaking who she is. Queen Rosalind Elare Ezdan. The first sarkim of Antar.

The trainees were gathered by the fountain beneath her, the statue itself pouring its hue into the reflection of water.

"You must be jaded from the journey Your Highness. Allow me to escort you to your chamber" the officer similar in age to Chief Caelum says as I round the wagon to reach him. I feel the horse sniff me while I pause at a respective distance from him.

Stay with me. Don't talk with anyone.

The warning of his resurfaces and unconsciously I oblige. For it all to be a hassle in end, his advice was Ernest. I move past slowly, a step at an interval to not rise confusion. But in vain-

"Stay right there boy" a gruff man commands, his humongous body shadows me. He is so tall that words I search for die in fear. His fist can clench my neck like it was a mere wrist. "Who let you roam here? Where is your instructor?"

Don't talk.

Don't speak.

I look at Ezdan in fragile desperation. The officers too looked at me with irked curiosity. As for the Ezdan- he remained quiet. So pleasantly quiet and unwavering that I began to question my time with him.

"Speak up lad" a vice grip land on my shoulder and I am staggering.

"I-I am, not that -i

"He is with me. You can rest easy Arsalan" I slouch at his voice, the tension tingling in my spine decapitates. The guard- Arsalan though mellowed is not fully convinced and redirects his bounty hands to his loyal sides with a frown. The officers pass an uninterested glance my way and then attempt to speak to the Ezdan. But he pushes pasts them and walks to me, he pats my back, twice.

Asking unspeakably to walk.

Such as a manner to stroll a horse.

My mind is occupied with paranoia as I follow him. Eyes and whispers follow like dead fish in a stream. We walk past the statue and the tortured curiosity of people only grew harsher. I am sensing too many vile emotions at once. It bites my skin to feel their envy, resentment and intentions bristle. To be judged without being known. To be labelled without being tested.

Similar to what I did with him for years.

The Ezdan.

I hated him without understanding him.

Now that I perceive him in a different light, I am determined to spite him more.

He routes his stride to a margined opening, its isolated to its niche and the murmurs and prattles shrink away in the wake of a path so empty of people that I hear my blood rush and heart race. Paintings of celebrated Armins and lords hung by the half corridor while pillars of silver and black reach expansively high into the monolithic ceiling. Our footsteps don't do anything to put life into the deserted hall. The dim fluorescence from the enclosed space keeps the sunlight to its need. The white walls are grey with shadows and I play along until I cannot.

I stop.

The drop in my footing doesn't go unnoticed. His halt is learned. Almost like a slowing melody. He turns, shoving his gloved hand into his overcoat. If anything I ever had to physically admire and loathe about him at once, his eyes would sleeve the bet. It has a voice, it ranges with so many purposes despite remaining the same in colour. It drenches in rain and shines with mischief, it reminds me of storm and yet the sky alight with moon. It hides the tranquillity but looks dead so well. It is alive one day and voids the next.

And now, I see fury.

And I shouldn't care about it, I can't help but believe it has something to do with what I mentioned earlier. He waits.

"I am not going anywhere until I have met my companions" it's the most I ask for at the time and he nods once with ascending steps, once he was closer his denial sinks in. He has more to say- and not a morsel that ever comes out of him benefits me. It sure does stomps over the very roots of my plans and ideologies until all that's left behind is a tortured thought in my head.

"Please take me to them" I beg, blinking the fragility away only for my voice to crack "I need to know that they are fine"

It must be an illusion. But once again, it changes. Him. His intensity dilutes and I able my eyes to rest on him. I want him to know the importance of my situation. It may not be much for him, but it's the whole world of mine.

He closes his eyes with a classic grunt, he grabs my arms and pulls me to him. Our bodies barely touch but the heat and proximity are unbearable. His gaze rakes my face and his Ezdanian energy is a torment to not flush from. A thin line forms between his sleek brows as if he was in sleazing pain himself.

"Don't ask me things so small that I can't provide yet" his utterance is low, faintly a snarl. My subtle regard is interrupted by the racing beats of my heart. Unable to choose between staying angry and remaining grounded I twist my arm to release it from his hold when I hear a voice-

"Is something a bother Julian?" Like a razor it cut through us, the question echoes the hall and steals our banter. The Ezdan peels away from me and behind him stood a man so unnaturally celestial that it defined the lawlessness of what the mutation from core had done to our them.

He was beautiful.

Silver-white hair falls across his forehead like threads of silk. The suit he wore is starkly white with three silver links cuffing the font of his suit. His hands are tucked back and when his mystical blue eyes finds a fib in the room, it lits up in a smile.

In a sinister smile that pushes my senses aside.

His boots click as his gaze sweep to the Ezdan. The Ezdan comes to stand ahead of me, shielding my pathetic presence entirely. It felt like a refuge from the man, but I could still hear him speak. And it stirs everything that's denial in me.

"Not until you arrived," Ezdan says in a tone so disinterested that I'd be ashamed if I was the man it was directed at. But he brushes off the insult as if it was never uttered. He grins, showcasing his aligned set of perfect teeth and curve of smile.

"Look at you Julie- treating me like a little brother" he walks to a pillar and leans his side against it. Crossing his arms across his chest and with a crystal view of me, he winks "Does he not snowflake?"

The adoring names that come from him are like threats with the apparent waves he emits, but Ezdan masks along with the facade with a tired tilt of body.

"I am a month younger than you Erix"

He chuckles. A throaty and neat laugh.

"And yet you behave worse than my father used to" he muses. Erix, the man somehow as young as Ezdan couldn't be more than twenty-two. These men were mere couple years older than me, yet I feel smaller with them than I used to be during my childhood days.

Erix, the name. I know I have heard it. I have read it somewhere. No- it was a topic that surfaces among the trainee's parlours ever so often when the high borns are mentioned.

Lost in his charms one can easily forget how deadly the people who reside under the Palace of Falls are, they run the kingdom and ruin what's not mendable. Be it lands or lives. They are the prey of the finest kind.

There are two kinds of abilities that divide the ones even with power.

High blood are physical in power with their strength limited enough to survival, touch and self-healing. Anything out of their bodies weren't a range or destruction until they are in contact with the host.

Like the venom from the aspirant in Found or Dorin's mother who could live without food for weeks.

And then there are high borns with Elemental Power, they are considered to be of direct descent from the original awakenings. Most of the elemental highborn's live under the protection of law and are married into a family of high prominence in a vision to create offspring's that could produce a potential Elemental ability. Hence the majority of highborns hasn't been born out of Esseth province in years.

Except for this year when Dorin and a girl displayed fire and lightning to be their expertise.

Erix.

He is a highborn. His chin brush against his dramatic collar when he looks down at me. The predatory smile of his vanishes into a tight-lipped squint and I move my toes inside the boots, throwing all my tension into that one little limb of mine.

"Is that the Dragon Boy?" He frowns, comically looking surprised. He walks towards me and I don't move.

Don't speak. Don't stray. Stay with me.

He leans by me, his eyes glistening like two sets of diamonds echoing the bluest sky.

"He looks too fragile to have aliferous for an instigator" he ruffles my hair and throws his arm around my shoulder. The stare the Ezdan passed over was so empty that I could hear his brain stop. He was captivating too many emotions at once and inwardly I shudder at the vicinity of the man by me.

He squeezes me in a side embrace and scoots away.

"Welcome to Esseth snowflake," he says, his scent is clear as dew and the air around him shifts with a non-sensible coldness. His movements whisper a nostalgia I cannot put my finger on. As frivolous as it may seem, the fleet of what he mentions to Ezdan next doesn't prepare me for it.

"Guess you won over the puppet sooner than your enemies could Your Highness" he fell into a stiff, mocking bow. But when Ezdan smirks, my whole understanding of the scene moulds into a complete puzzle.

I am a pawn in their twisted game. To each their intention. The Ezdan wasn't a saint- for the one who planned ahead of rest, for all it be. He has to be the king of forgery and manipulation. I may not know who fools me more, him or myself for letting be fooled.

So so foolish as I see him play with my whole life.

Such idiot was I when i finally hear him address Erix by his title.

"See you around Lord Morana"

What a shame was it to have forgotten the voice that froze a woman to death.

I am stooge to have him stand by me and not recognise.

Lord Morana.

The keeper and supreme of north.

Erix.

The ruler of Ivyaki.

So...we have a face to the man who is...literally cold. He is winter baby. The real action begins now:)

P.s unedited.