As the goddess gaze gradually withdrew, the darkness yielded to the morning sun and everything was back to normal again. I have never been so scared in my life. I had gone about it like I did my trial and subsequent execution. The confidence of not giving them the satisfaction of seeing me break, but I wasn't expecting this. None of us were.
I stepped down from the goddess palm as the crowd went down on their knees in homage. I had seen the court members escape but I made no attempt to have them stopped. Last thing I need is a cornered beast. They will be back, there's no way this is it for them, but at least they have given me a chance to breathe. I don't know why the goddess thinks I am Daran Dragonhart but if she can't take this from me, then who can? I'm going to make sure no one can! Absolutely no one.
"Greetings, soldiers and people of Drakoria." I began, "We have survived yet another attack by the enemies of our great nation, but we survived not by our abilities but the providence of luck. It never should have gone this far. What would have happened if the knights weren't enough? What would have happened if the goddess didn't come to our rescue at our time of cowardice? "
My gaze swept across the gathering, the collective unease radiating like a distinct aura.
"We have failed yet again but make no mistake, " I continued. "You will have a chance to redeem yourself. Evil knows no quit. They will be back and the next time they do, we won't listen. We will fight till the last man, or live to see the end of our nation. For Drakoria!"
"For Drakoria!" echoed the crowd. "Long live the king! Long live the king"
I watched as the crowd picked up. This is nowhere near enough, it will do nothing. All that matters is strength and the other side have that. Even if all of the citizens were to fight by me, they probably won't last beyond the hour, and if the old mage is as ambitious as I think he is, he will kill everybody if he has to. I know I would. There's only one answer and one answer only. Level up the playing field.
┌─────── ⇦♕⇨ ───────┐
The shout of frustration of Ulric Von Hohenberg shattered the glasses of the windows of his grand castle chambers. The once-stately room now bore the scars of his impetuous fury, as shattered shards littered the polished marble floor below.
His impatience has cost him everything. 12 years! 12 years of work just washed down the drain in one night!
"...are you done?" Her voice, a mere whisper, pierced the air as Ulric Von Hohenberg turned to face the doorway, his eyes meeting his wife's enigmatic gaze. A cool detachment veiled her features, a façade that concealed the depths of her emotions. With a grace that matched the grandeur of the castle itself, she moved lithely across the room, her steps measured and deliberate. "I ask you if you are done,"
Her words, a subtle command, hung in the air between them. Ulric's seething anger was palpable, a tempest that churned within him, yet her demeanor remained unflinching, untouched by the turmoil that raged around them.
Silence enveloped them for a moment, a tense picture of unspoken words and unresolved tensions. His gaze remained locked with hers, the unspoken tension radiating like magic in the charged atmosphere. Then, with a heavy sigh, he finally relented, his anger yielding momentarily to the weight of their shared history.
"Not now, Marta," he replied, his voice tinged with weariness as he turned away, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his shattered dreams.
"When then?" Her voice held a mocking note of quiet insistence, the words a delicate balance between curiosity and exasperation. Her gaze shifted casually, sweeping over the aftermath of his outburst that now littered the room. With an unhurried elegance, she strolled towards a portrait that graced the wall, its ornate frame a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded it. Vendric Von Hohenberg's stoic countenance stared back at her, marred by the scars of Ulric's unchecked fury, much like the room itself.
Her fingers traced a delicate path along the edge of a major tear in the canvas, her touch a soft caress against the backdrop of her husband's impulsive rage.
"You never should have stopped that fight." The statement was laced with a quiet certainty.
"It couldn't be helped," he murmured, his voice tinged with remorse as he surveyed the wreckage that marred the legacy of his family's ancestry. "Mustapha would have fought to the death, and then there's the old monster," he explained, his regret palpable in his tone.
Her disapproving click of the tongue conveyed a subtle disapproval of his choices. "For the greatest mage in the continent, you sure are a coward," she chided. With a graceful pivot, she turned to face him, her gaze piercing through the turbulent emotions that swirled within him.
"How sure are you that that bitch didn't set you up?" Her question, laced with suspicion, hung in the air like a veil of uncertainty.
"She wouldn't," Ulric's voice wavered, uncertainty tainting his words as he grappled with the implications. "She wouldn't dare."
"Did you confirm if he was a witch?" Her query hung in the air, a demand for accountability that went unanswered. The silence between them spoke volumes, a testament to the unspoken doubts that had been allowed to fester.
A sigh, laden with resignation, escaped her lips. "You will have to leave the kingdom for now," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of a decision made in the midst of uncertainty.
"Run? From the likes of him?" His retort was laden with bitterness, the taste of his own defiance a sharp tang on his tongue. "He is not stupid!"
"Maybe," she mused, drawing nearer as her words carried a measured weight. "But you have ruined our plans with your impatience, and I won't stand by and watch you inflict further harm upon them."
A graceful step back conveyed her resolve. "You will go to Bairro and remain concealed for a while until," her directive continued, each syllable imbued with a sense of command. "We will be able to make you the king of Drakoria, but we will be doing it my own way from now on."
As she was leaving, the distant rustle of wings caught her attention, prompting her to pivot on her heel. Her gaze fixated on the horizon, where a solitary black raven emerged, its wings slicing through the air as it drew closer. The bird's dark form contrasted starkly against the sky, a harbinger of impending news.
With graceful steps, she approached the raven as it alighted upon the jagged remnants of the shattered window. The bird's hoarse cry pierced the silence, a primitive yet strangely fitting signal. Her fingers reached out, deftly unfastening the message that had been bound to the raven's side. Delicately unfurling the parchment, she cast her eyes upon the words that had been delivered. Her lips curled into a knowing smile, her expression saying more than words ever could.
"Change of plans, dear," she announced, her fingers weaving an incantation that engulfed the read message in fiery tendrils. The parchment crumbled to ash, her fire magic consuming the words. "It appears our young king will be leaving the confines of the palace soon"
"Why would he do that? Where is he going?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"The Isle of Elgwood," she revealed, a calculated glint in her eyes.