Asteria
⚔️
There was a slight disturbance in the still darkness of the chamber and the quiet solitude that accompanied it. It did not come as a surprise – it had been sensed long before, a small thug at the string of fate, a stubborn knot that would not dare untangle itself. It was not a hindrance, no, never, but perhaps an opportunity. Whether it represented an opportunity for chaos or for a steady equilibrium, that remained to be seen.
The door creaked open, enough to allow the expected guest to pass through. Not much could be seen in the chamber: a mirror facing a table and a chair, and some items scattered across the surface of the table. There were many more on the floor, along a candlestick and hardened wax. One’s temper was, at times, the worst of enemies.
A faint hum and a flicker, yet the change would remain unnoticeable to the untrained eye. The reflection in the mirror became momentarily distorted, before settling into an identical and reversed representation of its surroundings.
On the other side, the figure simply watched, mischievously curious as it was.
“All hail the king!”
“All hail the king!”
Viren had heard those words before. Harrow’s coronation seemed a distant memory now, but he could vividly recall the fondness with which Harrow had clapped him on the shoulder that day before stepping into an ode of applause, as well as his unexpected request to join him in the portrait. The warmth he emanated then. The unfaltering trust he had in his friend. Friend. King Harrow would have been nothing without his loyal advisor, and yet he had made him kneel at his feet, right here, right in this chamber, as if he was nothing more than a disobedient subject.
“All hail the king!”
It was betrayal, his presence here. This chamber had belonged to Harrow’s mother and father and then to him and Sarai, only to one day become their son’s refuge – the heir to the crown of Katolis, the rightful king. But it was now Viren who resided among these four walls. He sat on the throne of the rightful king. He wore his crown with pride, not shame.
Until now, he hadn’t dared to remove it, afraid it might be taken away or vanish before his eyes. Yet, hidden and unwatched, he held it in his grip, his reflection staring back at him from upon the polished gold.
It did not feel like a betrayal, none of it. His actions were necessary in the pursuit of his righteous cause.
“Put it back on,” the familiar voice murmured, low and harsh, into his ear.
But, this time, it wasn’t just the voice. A chill ran down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck rising up as to announce an upcoming danger.
Viren knew very well what the danger was or, better said, who it was. He turned around, instinctively, and ended up facing a star, black at heart and white around the edges. When he looked up, his frown was met with a playful twinkle in a pair of golden eyes and a tight grin.
Aaravos.
He no longer was a whispering voice into his ear. Well, he was that still – a voice coming from a caterpillar creeping up his ear, but now, wherever he went, he could also attach a face to that persistent sound. As Aaravos showed no sign of wanting to create any sort of distance between the two of them, Viren was the one to take three steps back and away from him.
And the crown was placed back on his head, where it belonged.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
Viren didn’t humour him. If he appeared to be defensive or if he denied his assumptions, Aaravos wouldn’t let it go. “What is it?”
The apparition chuckled lightly. “Ah, such a cold and distant tone still. I thought we have moved past that phase. Oh well. You have a visitor.”
“Do I?” The present tense seemed… off.
“Yes.” Aaravos seemed content at the thought. “Right now, as we’re standing here and entertain each other, you have a guest waiting. Somewhere else, of course. This room seems a little too intimate.”
There it was. Viren appeared to not trust his words for a moment, only to overcome his own doubt and become disoriented in turn. “Where?”
“Your dark little room. You call it a study, but I would disagree–”
The confusion was replaced by worry. “Can they see you?”
Aaravos shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway.”
Viren didn’t know whether to take his words as a threat or a promise. He stood still for a moment more before heading for the door, Aaravos calmly following him out. Twists and turns, and two sets of stairs – the door to his study came into sight. While Viren didn’t show it, Aaravos must have sensed the tension, for his next words held the tone of advice:
“Easy.”
And that he would be – calm and poised, and unperturbed as he opened the door and stepped inside.
Nashreen Sharma was the first to reach the top of the hill that overlooked Katolis and the valley that lay at its feet – she pulled at the reins, her stallion slowing down into a light trot before stopping completely. The other riders followed her movements as a barked order cut through the air: “Halt!” They too slowed down, stopping slightly farther from her position. Kiaan, the Captain of the Queen's guard, was the only one that approached Nashreen, and he did so quietly.
They were looking at the same sight. Katolis’ gates were flanked by hundreds, if not thousands of tents, their surroundings bustling: soldiers, horses, carts, all moving around in a somewhat orderly manner.
The prince’s words proved to be true. Three nations had gathered around Katolis and they would be willing to go against the largest and strongest kingdom in order to reach Xadia in their pursuit of revenge. Though, that might be unnecessary, considering the latest news: Katolis had a new king, a new ruling family.
Nashreen didn’t know if she could meet the former king, Ezran, or if he was still in Katolis. She didn’t know what the new one was capable of. Much was uncertain and, while her role was to dispel that uncertainty for Aanya, and therefore for their home, for Duren, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. And she was already outnumbered, that much was clear. She had brought with her only ten riders from Duren, of which half were part of the Queen’s guard.
Flags fluttered in the wind. She could distinguish them from one another, despite the distance: the elephant of Neolandia at the middle, the dragon of Del Bar and the dragonfly of Evenere at its sides. Katolis’ flag rose from the stronghold, tall and intimidating. Duren’s was now present as well, atop the hill.
It had been a young queen that had dissuaded the Pentarchy from going to war and now it was a young prince that convinced them to act otherwise.
“They are here,” Kiaan spoke, stating the obvious. Nashreen was quiet by nature, but in this situation her silence was disheartening.
“They are,” she easily approved. “Do you think that what I am doing is madness, Kiaan?”
He sighed in return. “Perhaps. But you have your way with such things, I will give you that.”
“Good.” Kiaan caught a glimpse of a smile through the long and heavy strings of gold that covered her nose and lips; a veil, and yet no fabric.
Nashreen clapped her heels to the stallion’s sides – a light trot began and then a rapid gallop as it went down the hill. The Captain followed suit, the others soon to come.
They had been seen and expected. A guard stood at the foot of a hill and while he recognized the flag, he continued to look behind the riding party. He had expected… well… more.
“Present yourself,” he addressed them, a little insecure, as they, once more, came to a stop. His gaze continued to travel beyond the riding party. No. No one had been left behind.
It was Kiaan who spoke and introduced her. “You are in the presence of Nashreen Sharma, Queen Regent of Duren.”
Nashreen let the hood of her blue cloak fall in the meantime, revealing the blonde curls underneath. It covered much of her, the cloak, but there was a glimpse of the white dress behind it and its gold accents.
“I would like to see Prince Kasef,” she added, “I believe that I am expected.” He was, after all, the one who had reached out to all of them. She had sent him a positive response at the time, but, of course, she had delayed her arrival. And now, that she did arrive, Nashreen hardly imagine that he would be too pleased.
The guard offered a nod. “Of course, Your Majesty. But… shouldn't we wait for the rest of your party?”
“No.”
Nashreen’s confidence in her answer didn’t leave room for more questions. The guard didn’t ask more either. “Follow me.” And he would lead them to the camp and through it, closer to its centre, where Prince Kasef’s tent would be.
Once they would reach their destination, Nashreen would dismount – her intention wasn’t to appear to be above him, no. Her intentions would come out, in time.
The door creaked open, enough to allow the expected guest to pass through. Not much could be seen in the chamber: a mirror facing a table and a chair, and some items scattered across the surface of the table. There were many more on the floor, along a candlestick and hardened wax. One’s temper was, at times, the worst of enemies.
A faint hum and a flicker, yet the change would remain unnoticeable to the untrained eye. The reflection in the mirror became momentarily distorted, before settling into an identical and reversed representation of its surroundings.
On the other side, the figure simply watched, mischievously curious as it was.
“All hail the king!”
“All hail the king!”
Viren had heard those words before. Harrow’s coronation seemed a distant memory now, but he could vividly recall the fondness with which Harrow had clapped him on the shoulder that day before stepping into an ode of applause, as well as his unexpected request to join him in the portrait. The warmth he emanated then. The unfaltering trust he had in his friend. Friend. King Harrow would have been nothing without his loyal advisor, and yet he had made him kneel at his feet, right here, right in this chamber, as if he was nothing more than a disobedient subject.
“All hail the king!”
It was betrayal, his presence here. This chamber had belonged to Harrow’s mother and father and then to him and Sarai, only to one day become their son’s refuge – the heir to the crown of Katolis, the rightful king. But it was now Viren who resided among these four walls. He sat on the throne of the rightful king. He wore his crown with pride, not shame.
Until now, he hadn’t dared to remove it, afraid it might be taken away or vanish before his eyes. Yet, hidden and unwatched, he held it in his grip, his reflection staring back at him from upon the polished gold.
It did not feel like a betrayal, none of it. His actions were necessary in the pursuit of his righteous cause.
“Put it back on,” the familiar voice murmured, low and harsh, into his ear.
But, this time, it wasn’t just the voice. A chill ran down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck rising up as to announce an upcoming danger.
Viren knew very well what the danger was or, better said, who it was. He turned around, instinctively, and ended up facing a star, black at heart and white around the edges. When he looked up, his frown was met with a playful twinkle in a pair of golden eyes and a tight grin.
Aaravos.
He no longer was a whispering voice into his ear. Well, he was that still – a voice coming from a caterpillar creeping up his ear, but now, wherever he went, he could also attach a face to that persistent sound. As Aaravos showed no sign of wanting to create any sort of distance between the two of them, Viren was the one to take three steps back and away from him.
And the crown was placed back on his head, where it belonged.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
Viren didn’t humour him. If he appeared to be defensive or if he denied his assumptions, Aaravos wouldn’t let it go. “What is it?”
The apparition chuckled lightly. “Ah, such a cold and distant tone still. I thought we have moved past that phase. Oh well. You have a visitor.”
“Do I?” The present tense seemed… off.
“Yes.” Aaravos seemed content at the thought. “Right now, as we’re standing here and entertain each other, you have a guest waiting. Somewhere else, of course. This room seems a little too intimate.”
There it was. Viren appeared to not trust his words for a moment, only to overcome his own doubt and become disoriented in turn. “Where?”
“Your dark little room. You call it a study, but I would disagree–”
The confusion was replaced by worry. “Can they see you?”
Aaravos shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway.”
Viren didn’t know whether to take his words as a threat or a promise. He stood still for a moment more before heading for the door, Aaravos calmly following him out. Twists and turns, and two sets of stairs – the door to his study came into sight. While Viren didn’t show it, Aaravos must have sensed the tension, for his next words held the tone of advice:
“Easy.”
And that he would be – calm and poised, and unperturbed as he opened the door and stepped inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nashreen Sharma was the first to reach the top of the hill that overlooked Katolis and the valley that lay at its feet – she pulled at the reins, her stallion slowing down into a light trot before stopping completely. The other riders followed her movements as a barked order cut through the air: “Halt!” They too slowed down, stopping slightly farther from her position. Kiaan, the Captain of the Queen's guard, was the only one that approached Nashreen, and he did so quietly.
They were looking at the same sight. Katolis’ gates were flanked by hundreds, if not thousands of tents, their surroundings bustling: soldiers, horses, carts, all moving around in a somewhat orderly manner.
The prince’s words proved to be true. Three nations had gathered around Katolis and they would be willing to go against the largest and strongest kingdom in order to reach Xadia in their pursuit of revenge. Though, that might be unnecessary, considering the latest news: Katolis had a new king, a new ruling family.
Nashreen didn’t know if she could meet the former king, Ezran, or if he was still in Katolis. She didn’t know what the new one was capable of. Much was uncertain and, while her role was to dispel that uncertainty for Aanya, and therefore for their home, for Duren, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. And she was already outnumbered, that much was clear. She had brought with her only ten riders from Duren, of which half were part of the Queen’s guard.
Flags fluttered in the wind. She could distinguish them from one another, despite the distance: the elephant of Neolandia at the middle, the dragon of Del Bar and the dragonfly of Evenere at its sides. Katolis’ flag rose from the stronghold, tall and intimidating. Duren’s was now present as well, atop the hill.
It had been a young queen that had dissuaded the Pentarchy from going to war and now it was a young prince that convinced them to act otherwise.
“They are here,” Kiaan spoke, stating the obvious. Nashreen was quiet by nature, but in this situation her silence was disheartening.
“They are,” she easily approved. “Do you think that what I am doing is madness, Kiaan?”
He sighed in return. “Perhaps. But you have your way with such things, I will give you that.”
“Good.” Kiaan caught a glimpse of a smile through the long and heavy strings of gold that covered her nose and lips; a veil, and yet no fabric.
Nashreen clapped her heels to the stallion’s sides – a light trot began and then a rapid gallop as it went down the hill. The Captain followed suit, the others soon to come.
They had been seen and expected. A guard stood at the foot of a hill and while he recognized the flag, he continued to look behind the riding party. He had expected… well… more.
“Present yourself,” he addressed them, a little insecure, as they, once more, came to a stop. His gaze continued to travel beyond the riding party. No. No one had been left behind.
It was Kiaan who spoke and introduced her. “You are in the presence of Nashreen Sharma, Queen Regent of Duren.”
Nashreen let the hood of her blue cloak fall in the meantime, revealing the blonde curls underneath. It covered much of her, the cloak, but there was a glimpse of the white dress behind it and its gold accents.
“I would like to see Prince Kasef,” she added, “I believe that I am expected.” He was, after all, the one who had reached out to all of them. She had sent him a positive response at the time, but, of course, she had delayed her arrival. And now, that she did arrive, Nashreen hardly imagine that he would be too pleased.
The guard offered a nod. “Of course, Your Majesty. But… shouldn't we wait for the rest of your party?”
“No.”
Nashreen’s confidence in her answer didn’t leave room for more questions. The guard didn’t ask more either. “Follow me.” And he would lead them to the camp and through it, closer to its centre, where Prince Kasef’s tent would be.
Once they would reach their destination, Nashreen would dismount – her intention wasn’t to appear to be above him, no. Her intentions would come out, in time.
Lucyfer
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