The Exiled King

The scar was somewhat faded, aged to a pale pink over an intense red—it had likely been a while since that scar had first appeared.

Immediately, the implications dawned on Haverik, who asked quietly, "Then… Do you resent me? For taking your powers… for leaving that burn?"

Jaron shook his head.

"Of course not! You are everything I could have hoped for in a successor. I always knew the time would come, when I would have to train a successor to inherit my power, though I had hoped that time might have come later—when times were less tough… less strained."

He continued, "I hope you will at least let me train you the best I can in the time we have left. I'll be straight with you—something big is coming… something terrible. I can sense it, like the dampness in the air before rain, or the dragonflies before a storm… and were any of my companions still in this realm, they'd report similar feelings."

The companions that Jaron spoke of were, of course, the other guardians. After the demon war, some fifty-odd years ago, all of the guardians vanished as if they had never existed. Jaron was the only one who survived, having fallen unconscious from a blow to the head and laid out cold for the remainder of the battle.

Galion cleared his throat loudly, his eyebrow arched, “It is nearing midnight, my lord. I shall take them back now. The new silver guardian must undergo the purification ceremony before you may begin his training. I do hope you will train the others as well, as you are the one with the most knowledge of guardian powers.”

Jaron nodded, and Galion continued, “I will take them to the winter palace. I hope you will join the ceremony tomorrow.”

The walk back to the city was swift and no one said anything. Passing through empty streets as the distant sound of drumbeats echoed through the listless night and bright lanterns lit the distant town square in a vibrant red hue, the group were led to the winter palace—this time on foot, not by the winter queen’s teleportation magic. The magnificent structure rose up at the end of the city as the town buildings melted away and they entered a circular clearing paved with cobblestone. Sprawled in front of them was a massive, glistening tower of glazed, white-blue marble. It was tall and rose in pointed spires. Graceful columns lined the walkways connecting several wings to one another, creating a structure that looked impossibly delicate, yet stood firm.

A row of neatly dressed elves stood lined outside the door and bowed deeply when they neared.

<--<< >>-->

“I feel like we’re being led around like cattle to the slaughter,” Haverik complained, laying on his bed and gazing at Jason and Altein, who shared the room with him.

Their beds were lined up in a row with a comfortable amount of space between them. The room was sparsely lit and decorated in deep blue hues, but a massive window was above each of the beds—where sunlight would likely illuminate the room fully.

A loud snore from Altein’s bed was the only indication that the dwarf, who had been lying still for the past few moments, had fallen asleep.

Jason chuckled and lay down on his own bed, pulling the covers up snuggly.

“I think it might be a good idea for us to get some rest. We’re in foreign territory and they’ve been muttering stuff about a ‘ceremony’, you said, so maybe they’re sacrificing us to their god or something,” He said dryly.

Haverik sighed, but got up and extinguished the candles, rendering the room pitch black, before navigating back to his bed gracefully and sliding under the covers.

What have we gotten ourselves into? He wondered, then his thoughts scattered and he fell into dreamless sleep.

It felt like barely a moment had passed before Haverik was awoken, not by the gentle chirping of birds as sunlight streamed into the room through the large windows and the fragrant scent of flowers drifted around, but by ice-cold water thrown all over his head. His eyes snapped open and he shot up, his arm reflexively darting out and hitting something firm.

A cry had him raising his head and he saw Eryna drop a large, rusted metal pail, still dripping water, to the ground with a clang. When she saw him staring, she grinned guiltily.

“Cousin, it’s time for the ceremony! Here—put these on,” She shoved some soft, white fabric into his hands and disappeared out the door, but she quickly reappeared and dragged Jason and Altein, bleary-eyed and half-awake, out of the room and slammed the door shut.

Dazedly, Haverik shed his clothes and changed into what he discovered was a soft robe with inner fur-linings—too heavy for a spring coat, but oddly appropriate given his newfound status as the winter prince, he mused.

As he was fastening the sash of the robe, the door swung open again, but this time it was not Eryna who stood bathed in the hallway light. It was Galion, who bowed and explained that he was to be Haverik’s escort to the ceremony.

“What about my friends? The ones you left in the barracks?”

Galion smiled and replied, “They will be there… to watch the glorious rebirth of our winter prince!”

Rebirth…? It really does sound like they are trying to sacrifice me, Haverik thought.

Should I try to run for it?

No… the others are basically hostages and I can’t abandon the people who accepted me despite my strange appearance…

It would be best to cooperate for now, he concluded.

It was a sombre procession that headed to the centre of town. Where there had previously been vibrant Haelin festival decoration, all had been removed. There were no decorative lanterns, no hanging banners, no torches. In their place were strange, mystical magelights, floating eerily in the darkness of the streets and glowing iridescent blue.

He heard them before he saw them—the low whispering voices of people, all gathering in one place.

It's really happening, Haverik thought, This is scary…

“Galion… what’s going to happen?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Galion gave him a reassuring pat on the back and said, “All you have to do is step into the centre of the magic circle and shed a drop of blood that will activate the magic. Just don’t move and everything will be fine. Your friends will be there for you—as will your family.”

He pointed to Dethemina, who stood on the side with Aranel by her side and Eryna. Jaron stood beside them and grinned, waving at Haverik as he walked in. Haverik chuckled, recognizing the distinctive snow-white hair that graced the family line.

Family… a strange thought. Mother and father were my only family back home. Mother died when I turned ten and father descended more deeply into drink after that. They had always loved drinking, but father took the loss of mother really hard.

He strode forward and stepped into the magic circle that was glowing subtly white and pulsing. Right in the middle lay an ornate dagger with a thin, sharp blade. Looking around at the faces, Haverik spotted the fall queen, Aira, and the elven king, Nicon, as well as the worried faces of his companions.

He took a deep breath and lifted the dagger, hearing the sharp intake of breath from the audience and the silence around the magic circle. No words were uttered, no sound passed the lips of those watching as gazes landed on the dagger. Haverik held his hand up, palm facing upwards, and carefully pressed the blade lightly against the skin. Immediately a line of red opened up and Haverik withdrew the dagger, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. He closed his fist and squeezed, hissing as pain raced along the cut. Bright crimson drops fell, dripping onto the ground and soaking into the dirt. Immediately, the circle flared to life, glowing brightly.

Haverik dropped on his hands and knees, gasping. White-hot pain coursed through him and he cried out. His ears, his eyes, his whole body burned like he’d been submerged in molten lava. Tears streamed from his face and his hands gouged the dirt beneath them, desperate for some respite from the unending pain. His tear-streaked eyes met Dethemina’s anguished and horrified gaze, before black spots clouded his vision and blinked rapidly, trying to clear them. His gaze met Lirya’s, and she gasped. A thin, glowing thread appeared from his circlet to the middle of her forehead. That thread spread out further, spinning a web of glowing threads that merged and formed a circlet on her forehead.

W-What’s going on? He wondered.

All the sound and all the pain seemed to drop away as Haverik watched the mesmerising circlet take shape. Lirya’s hazel eyes sparked and turned blue. All around her form, little flickers of blue lightning showed. Suddenly, the thread disappeared and the sound rushed back. Agony returned and overwhelmed Haverik, who collapsed.

Black clouded his vision, like the obsidian of Lirya’s circlet, and he knew nothing more.