Chapter 000 - 15 Years Later

  The tale of beginnings.

  RrodKa had everything in the name of Strength, every banner and reason shouting to their men, “You will fall, but rise again and fight!” Even a new recruit would be welcomed by those wealthy freaks who hadn’t picked up a single blade. They basked in their fruits and women, but the humble marched through the Streets of Rest—of course, they’d name it that, for all the men could do was slouch and plop a grape in their mouths and let the slaves do the work. But from the one storing banks in their luxury homes to the one begging for a scrap in their sheds, all had strength. Everyone had control of something. Money, power, freedom, sacrifice, RrodKa had it all. Strength.

  But on this day, rodents and flies roamed the fields. They traced the scent of blood back to the source. Their little legs rushed to feast on bodies across the floor, bodies sprinkling from one end of the RrodKa to another. On this day, the sun hid itself behind thick layers of cloud, where silence felt louder than when there was noise. This day and onward marked the new age of what it meant to have Strength.

  The slave district was once a marketplace roaring with pans clanking against clay counters, people conversing, and children running. But for once, the ground could be seen. All of it. One pot filled with oil was left on the stove. Fire kept burning in the furnace. Water fountains near the central regions kept running. Carriages remained abandoned. The streets fell quiet with no people around. A ghost town.

  Flames devoured a shack and left nothing but blackened timber. Pillars of smoke hung in the air and fogged the land. A banner sagged nearby, with ashes covering the vibrant colors. Even the arenas, where strength was honed, now stood hollow. Battles were endless in these rings, things the men of this nation hungered for—but now were collecting dust.

  Truly, the land of RrodKa was forsaken. Everything had lost color, had lost all that was used to roar the name of Strength.

  Near the central region of this kingdom lay the largest colosseum of all, looming with thousands of seats. Inside its walls whispered its own horrors and echoed with dread.

  Donnor walked, his worn boots on the stone floor echoing across the passageway leading to the arena. Darkness filled the empty tunnel. He walked toward the end where the cloudy day met rancid air, and behold, the colosseum where one man awaited.

  Years after the Second Overturn, the Ark Colosseum had no guests for the first time. What could hold up to fifty-five rows of men spanning across the vast amphitheater was now zero. Though far be it from the truth. Because on those fractured stone benches sat every man and woman and child. All, sitting still with eyes hollow but open. They were not cheering, nor did they lift a finger from their seats. No smile broke. No blink or breath. The crowd was gone. Lifeless.

  Their hands rested on their sides, backs slouched forward, heads faced outward at the arena. The dead audience stared at the center, where the young man knelt on a blood-stained sandstone canvas. But he didn’t care about the colors around him or the metallic stench piercing the air. As dead eyes met him, he faced the floor with his mind deaf to his surroundings and eyes blind to the corpses applauding him in quiet.

  Donnor advanced, stepping on dry blood as he went while wearing a haggard face, clenched teeth, and short breaths. His cloaked armor was tattered, some pieces missing. He trudged unevenly. Mud and bruises covered him.

  When he stepped on the elevated arena, he met the man in the center, whom he had known for a while: Vynelor.

  His hands rested on his folded knees. Blood had covered his robe, drying up and hardening the fabric. His expression revealed no trace of guilt or rebellion. Not an iota. Donnor stopped in front of him, eyes glued to his wretched state.

  “Vynelor,” he said, though no reaction came. His voice grew shaky, like a crushing burden. “Had I not taken her out, you would’ve been in a restful home, in a loving home. You’ve become a terrible person. But… did you want this?”

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  Silent. His breathing was eerily still, appearing not to be breathing from Donnor’s view.

  A man. Lost in his world. Lost in what he had achieved, the power that collapsed in itself, the strength that surpassed the founders of this nation, the one of Strength. This lone one captured what it meant to have power and seize control, but so with allegiance to his calling.

  Then… a distant howl echoed ahead of him in another passageway. Donnor narrowed his eyes, viewing a ghostly figure shining through the darkness, walking through the tunnel. She moved with ethereal grace, and a lilting hum followed her. The melody carried behind it a twisted history that disgusted Donnor more than he thought. It echoed across the empty hall and out into the air. And finally, she entered the arena.

  Luminar walked steadily, her figure alabaster-pale and her white dress in its most elegant form. A thin chiffon draped around her shoulder, translucent enough to see her skin emanating magic. Part of that magic manifested as a phantom figure trailing behind her. She levitated, standing on air as she walked as if treading on ground. Each step cast a ripple, her bare feet leaving no trace of steps behind. And most disturbingly, she had an unyielding smile.

  It was a serene smile that broke all reason, a smile that made Donnor question. The lullaby she sang made him uneasy, as if it didn’t belong to her style. She stepped foot on the elevated platform, meeting Donnor and Vynelor at the center.

  They faced each other for a long minute, between two siblings who shared a long history. Winds swept through, carrying only silence in the dead colosseum—no interference but the quiet man kneeling in between their space.

  “Are you proud of this?” Donnor asked. “Is this what you have envisioned? All of this?”

  He raised his hand out to the crowd around them, tears brimming. But Luminar was silent, eyes pinned on him and simply watching.

  “One of them must be one of your devoted followers. They’re dead now. Dead. You must be proud of yourself.”

  She spoke softly, tinged with pity, “You have lost so much, Donnor. I can feel it in your voice. It must hurt—”

  “Don’t give me that nonsense. Tell me, is this what you expected?” Donnor thundered, stepping forward, “How can you smile like that when no one is alive? Luminar! There were children! There were among them those who wanted to walk beside you! Your people! They’re dead because of you!”

  And he left it on a pause, letting those hang in the air and echo across the walls and the floor. Then he asked calmly, “Do you not have even a bit of guilt for what you have done?”

  Luminar’s smile faded. Her face softened, giving her a more relaxed look. A measured breath accompanied the straight face. She exhaled deeply and replied, “I do feel… heavy. There is a dark reality in this world, where freedom has a cost. Donnor, I imagined a world worse than this. My mind gave glimpses of that world. So I brought a solution in fear of my visions. This whom you see before you, is the solution.”

  “Again, the same tone,” Donnor rejected, shaking his head. “It’s like you can’t drop that lofty speech. It’s because you are covering up your guilt by sounding calm, aren’t you? This prophecy you keep talking about? Delusion.”

  “Do not be mistaken, brother,” Luminar interjected, raising her hands slightly. “Who was the one who took me out of our homeland? You had known we were not like you. You took me to this place, believing a world beyond is more fulfilling than what was in our home. Who is at fault here?”

  He was silent, unable to respond to that. So, Luminar continued, “Brother, I am simply fulfilling my role. Now…”

  Luminar lowered her head, and she lifted her hands higher. She commanded with trembling, “My lord, if you will, hear my voice.”

  The man on the ground twitched his fingers.

  “Rise to your feet. Remove what may keep your crown from standing.”

  And so, the man stood on his feet. With an unsteady pace that felt intentional in every movement, he faced Donnor. His darkened eyes, cast by a shadow, glared right at him. Donnor froze, his hands releasing his cloak.

  It was unmatched. He knew it was impossible to resist. Vynelor made the air around him twist despite not having raised a finger. That piercing stare prickled Donnor’s spine before anything had happened. As the two men were in a standoff, Luminar raised her head and said softly, “So long, brother. I will remember you.”

  For the first time, Donnor heard a voice so different he thought she was crying. But he could no longer see her sister, as the one before him covered the view. And any movement would mean one thing… He remembered how Vynelor fought, how he ended battles swiftly, delivering death upon death for all who faced him. There was no contest. Not with him.

  So, Donnor could only close his eyes and look down. He whispered, “The days when we were still together before Vynelor came. We have kept the peace, and you have been a proud marshal. But things have changed, haven’t they?”

  He looked straight at Vynelor’s lifeless eyes. Those dry pupils had one motive. Donnor exhaled and raised a hopeless smile. “I guess this is it for me. I’ll join the rest… Lu, I will always ask why you have changed, why the one who saved turned against the very same nation. Why…? If only I could’ve known before this—”

  Memories resurfaced, carrying him fifteen years back, to the time when Luminar carried smiles without shadows behind her eyes. How he longed for those days.

  All because Vynelor had lived, the man of ominous talents. It was he who changed her. Who else would’ve done it? Who else had the power to change Luminar? The one who could overwhelm her would have strength far beyond hers. And here he was: Vynelor.

  Years before her sudden disappearance, when she decided to leave the council and vanish for a measured time, before the old government had been overturned and the new one crowned her as queen, before any of that, the story began fifteen years before this. Long before all such events and tragedies came, as Vynelor was about to be born, let the tale of beginnings begin…

  15 Years Ago