Dawn of Sommers

Prologue Being a prince came easy to Philip Sommers. It was in his nature to be kind and polite. Yes, he was raised to be that way, but it was also who he was as a person. The entire kingdom supported him wholeheartedly, which was something he was grateful for. He was to become the sixth king to rule from his family's bloodline, the sixth king to rule over Hephaestus Kingdom - his kingdom. His father had passed away from an unknown illness when Philip was eighteen, and his mother soon followed suit. So he was crowned on his nineteenth birthday, two years earlier than he was meant to be. He was a young king, but he was also a good king. His people thrived underneath his rule like they never had before, and his kingdom prospered immensely. But his people became worried. Philip had been king for ten years and never took himself a wife. The king was now twenty-nine years old, and he possessed no heir. A king has two jobs, Philip was taught his entire life. First, a king must acquire lands, expand his kingdom, and produce a suitable heir, his firstborn. Philip had excelled at his first task - with their skilled king leading the army, there was not a battle Hephaestus could not win - but it was his second task where Philip had so far failed. "I'm a supporter of free will," Philip had declared to his people. This fact was evident in the rules Philip enforced, doing his best to not be considered tyrannical in the slightest. "I will not be engaging in an arranged marriage with a foreign princess. I will wed once the time is right, and the woman is right. Your queen and our children will be worth waiting for, I can assure you nothing less." When Philip finally took himself a wife, the time was right indeed, but the woman most certainly was not. Descending from the heavens and revealing herself only to the greatest king the world had ever seen was an angel known among humans as the Rampaging Goddess. Every single time she had ever descended to the earth, this angel wreaked nothing less of havoc and destruction. Wars had been won in a single battle; kingdoms had fallen before the monarch ever knew what hit them. But this angel, the Rampaging Goddess, did not visit the earth to destroy Hephaestus. Instead, she visited to help the kingdom grow. The angel had become intrigued, infatuated with Hephaestus's mysterious monarch. How could a king so kind, so loved by his people also be so vicious, his hands so bloodied? Legends spread through the world and made their way into the angels' realm, and this particular angel could no longer contain her curiosity. She flew down from the clouds, her wings the largest, most powerful things Philip had ever laid eyes upon. They were as fiery as her hair and as orange as the sunset, red as the blood mere human bodies spilled. Philip's eyes lightened up the moment he saw her descending. She was the most stunning being he had ever laid eyes upon; how could he not be attracted? The angel landed on the balcony of Philip's bedroom, folding her wings tightly against her back as she introduced herself. "The Rampaging Goddess, Angel of Life and Death, Marenina." The angel introduced herself to Philip. He was so mesmerized by her divinity that he barely processed her title. "I have a proposal for you, mortal King of Hephaestus Philip Sommers." "For me?" Philip finally managed to speak after staring in awe for he wasn't sure how long. "Why else would I be standing before you, human?" The angel had ice behind every syllable. "I have heard stories about you. Legends, to be more precise. On the battlefield, you are your kingdom's most valuable asset, and not just because of your crown. You have felled more armies than you have fingers to count on, spilled more blood than you have jars to contain. I wouldn't be surprised if you no longer kept count of your victims. They're all war casualties, anyways. I can't keep count of my bodies, either." "I know of my past, and I'm aware of what lies in my future," Philip said softly, unable to look the angel in her crimson eyes. "Excuse my rudeness, goddess, but what is your point exactly?" "My point is that you are also kind. There is not a single peasant in this kingdom that does not support you with their every being. Children worship you, and elders trust you. They rely on you for food and coins and do not doubt for a single second that you will not provide." Philip spoke once the angel had been silent for multiple seconds. "Thank you?" "My proposal is," the angel drolled, "teach me to be kind. Teach me to be respected. Teach me to be loved." "I don't believe I'm qualified to be a teacher to you, goddess," Philip replied quietly, his hands fiddling with one another. "You're a king, as close as you mortals could humanly become to being equals with my kind." "Are you sure there is no one better suited to this task?" "Are you questioning me, mortal?" "No, goddess." Philip smiled and tilted his body into a bow. "Then I shall try my best and not disappoint you." After a few weeks, the commoners in the towns and villages soon learned of a mysterious woman living with their king in his castle. Rumors began to spread, and to protect his name, the angel agreed to marry Philip. Then, after much consideration and much begging from Philip, the angel Marenina Sommers agreed to bear him a child. The pregnancy was normal, and nothing ever went wrong. The birth was primarily quiet; Mare - as Philip had taken to calling her - never screamed or even shed a single tear. After hours of waiting, two cries finally cut through the silence. The first of the two, the older twin, was a boy they named after his father. The second twin was a baby girl whom they called Anastasia. These two babies were different from other babies; Philip could tell with a single look, not just because they were his. The young boy's eyes were grey, the same colour as thunderclouds, but whenever he began to scream and kick, his eyes became the same b****y shade as his mother's wings and hair. The young girl's angelic genes were more noticeable. Anastasia's eyes were the brightest green Philip had ever seen, exactly like Marenina's, and on her back laid a pair of tiny wings, as red as the hair she had also inherited from her mother. These were nothing compared to the angel, but Philip knew one day both children would grow to become a force to be reckoned with. And, even though Philip already loved his twin babies more than life itself, he suddenly felt immense guilt for giving them such an immoral mother, praying that Mare's way of bloodshed and hate would not transfer to their son and daughter. When their children were two years old, Philip being thirty-seven, the goddess Mare took him on an adventure against his will. She informed their people, the people she never found an interest in, that they would return eventually, that they were taking a short vacation. While on their vacation, Mare presented Philip with an elixir she had made from her own divine blood - an elixir with the power to turn a mortal immortal. Philip refused her potion. "I wouldn't be able to watch our children die before my eyes." But Mare didn't take no for an answer. "It is your destiny to become all-powerful, Philip," she had told him. On their last night, Mare slipped the elixir into Philip's dinner and watched with joy behind her cold eyes as he drank it ignorantly. The following day, Philip woke up with wings of his own - feathers as blonde as the sun and his hair with tips as blue as his eyes. Philip awoke with rage like he had never felt before, betrayed by his own wife. Swords were unsheathed, and after hours upon hours of fighting, Philip beat his angelic spouse using his newfound power. He made Mare swear to never set foot in Hephaestus again for as long as he lived, which would now be forever. Mare agreed, and they left on their separate ways, Mare back to Heaven and Philip to Hephaestus. It was two months short of a year when Philip returned to his kingdom, and his people welcomed him with open arms. But Philip didn't stay for long. His adventure with the angel had made him realize just how corrupt power could make a person, and when he looked down at his children, he was reminded of this cruel mentality. Philip the Second, or simply Second as his family had taken to calling him, had the apparent skills of combat and war even at the young age of five. He would sit out on his balcony and watch the guards train beneath him, shouting what they were doing wrong. At first, the guards didn't take his advice, but after a couple weeks, they started paying attention to their young prince and realized how much weight his small words held. They did what he said, and soon enough, their fights had begun to go on for twice as long, then three times as long, four, and kept increasing until it seemed no one would ever win. Anastasia exhibited similar skills. After years of admiring the royal archer's from her window, Philip presented her with her very own bow on her sixth birthday. Granted, it was a flimsy little toy coloured in her favorite colour of red, but Stasia, as she preferred to be called, didn't seem to mind. Her plastic arrows were coloured in lime green, and she made them flash through the air just as fast as a real arrow would. Philip had ordered the trainers to teach her to shoot with her flimsy compound bow, but they soon reported back that the princess did not seem to need any training. The majority of her shots landed bull's eyes, the suction cup of her innocent arrows knocking the target over on its side. Her string would often snap and need to be replaced, and she threw multiple fits because Philip insisted that she was too young for a real bow. "Once you're older, Stasia," he had told her what seemed like every day. "Promise?" The princess had asked with widened emerald eyes. "Even better," Philip smirked as he took Stasia's hand, wrapping his littlest finger around hers, "I swear." "What does swear mean?" "A swear is like a promise, but deeper. We promise with our words, but we swear with our hearts. The day I break a swear to anyone, especially you, will be the day I die." After that, Stasia stopped asking. Instead, she trusted her father - First, as Second had coined him. She trusted him with her entire being, both her and her brother. "Swearing seems important," Stasia told Second as they sat on the balcony the following day, watching the sunrise. "First wouldn't break a swear, right? He always keeps his promises, so a swear shouldn't be any different." Three years after Philip returned, Second confessed something to him that made his blood run cold. "First," the little six-year-old spoke with a shaky voice, frightened more than Philip would ever see him. Even as a young child, Second didn't show his emotions very often, saving them for nights when he was alone in his room. "First, I'm scared." "What's wrong?" Philip's paternal instincts kicked in, and he scooped the tiny prince against his chest into his arms, cradling him like the infant he no longer was. "Did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Your sister?" "No," Second sniffled and gripped Philip's shirt in his tiny hands. "There's something wrong with me... something wrong with Stasi...." "Oh, I don't think so, prince," Philip chuckled and tousled Second's hair, sitting him on top of a stack of books on his desk. "You and your sister both are perfect, just the way you two are." "No, First!" Second cried out, burying his face in his hands. Philip could tell something indeed was wrong, something inside of Second. "Philip?" The king called his son by his real name, something that only happened during special occasions when he was trying to get Second to really listen to him. "You can tell me anything, just whenever you're ready, okay? I'll still be here, even if you never tell me." "What if I tell you, and it makes you hate me? What if you hate Stasi? Or look at us differently?" "That could never happen, Second. I love both of you more than you will ever know. Nothing on this earth could make me hate you." "Promise?" "Swear," Philip smiled and removed one of Second's hands from his face, hooking his little finger around his son's. "Whenever you're ready. I'm not going anywhere." Second took a deep breath and looked up into his father's eyes. "I hear voices." "What do you mean?" "Stasi, too. We both have this little voice in our heads telling us to do things." "That's your conscience, prince. It's nothing to worry about." "That's what we thought, but it's not. It tells us to do things we don't want to do." "Like what...?" Philip asked cautiously, suddenly remembering the angel with whom his children shared half of their blood. "Words we don't really know, but they sound scary. Murder, slaughter... but there are some words we understand." "And what are those?" "Blood... blood for the blood king...." Those words made Philip's blood run cold, his skin becoming covered in goosebumps. Blood for the blood king? What did that mean? Second was Philip's firstborn, destined to succeed him as king of Hephaestus. What did this mean for his rule? Then Philip remembered he had said his sister heard this, too. "Does Stasi hear the same things?" Second nodded and sniffled once more, tears lining his eyes. "How long have you heard these... voices?" "I don't know about Stasi, but I don't remember them ever being quiet. They're always there, except when I'm alone with Stasi. She's the only person that can keep them quiet." "Are they speaking right now?" "Yelling. I can't really hear you." "What are they saying?" Philip raised his voice slightly, trying to help his son drown out the voices in his head. "Take your throne," Second said quietly, thinking that Philip couldn't hear him because he couldn't hear himself. "Use her to take your throne." Second's words didn't frighten Philip in the slightest. He had faith in his son, faith that he wouldn't harm his father. And if he did, Philip now knew that it wouldn't be Second who ended him. Instead, it would be the monster trying to control him. "Don't be ashamed, Philip. Those voices aren't you, and they're not your sister, either. You would never do that to me. I know you, and you are not a monster." Stasia soon came to talk to Philip, and they had the same conversation. "Blood for the blood king," she kept whispering under her breath, her hands over her ears as if she was trying to drown them out. "They're only quiet when Second and I are alone together. I don't know if it's because they hate him or love him." Explains why they're always running off together to gods know where Philip thought to himself. His twin children were always together, slipping away to whatever adventure they had decided on for the day. That night, neither child slept in their own bed. Not long after being put down, Second waddled his way across the hall and crawled into Philip's bed with him and Stasia, who never entered her own bed to begin with. It was that night that Philip had an epiphany. Raising his children in a giant castle where he could not keep an eye on them was not going to help them through whatever they were experiencing. Philip needed to keep them in check to ensure they didn't pay too much attention to their voices. When he woke up in the morning, Second and Stasi were sitting out on the balcony, Second braiding Stasi's hair while her eyes glowed from the sunset. Philip smiled and decided to leave them to their rare peace and quiet, waiting to enact his plan later. It was at breakfast when Philip asked the twins what they felt about the situation. "We don't have to stay in this castle. We could go somewhere where I could be more involved, where we could find help." "But if we left, you wouldn't be king anymore," Stasi peered up at her father, her glass of fresh milk resting between her two hands. "King is simply a title I was assigned at birth," Philip smiled and took a drink of his own milk. "Father is a far more important title that I chose. I'd give all of this up in a heartbeat if it meant you could have a happier life." "The voices are saying no," Second finally spoke after a long silence - at least silence for Philip. "They're saying we have to stay, so I want to leave. I want the opposite of them." Philip smiled and nodded at his son before turning to Stasi. "And you, princess?" "They're telling me to stay, too, so I want to leave." "Then we'll set out tomorrow at dawn. We will tell no one, for they will all try to stop us." And that's precisely what they did. The three of them traveled to a small village near the border, a place where none of them would be recognized. Philip and Stasi kept their glorious wings hidden under black capes that hugged their shoulders, and Second did his best to keep his eyes their natural grey. Philip bought a cottage outside town with the small fortune they brought and met the man's daughter from whom he purchased the house. Philip and the daughter Catal soon fell in love and were quickly married, having their first child together when the twins were eight. They named their son Terrance, and he was the spitting image of his earthly mother - hair and eyes both as dark as the dirt they walked upon, his hair just as curly and untamable as his father's and two older siblings. Four years later, they had their fourth and final child, another son whom they named Thomas. As far as appearances were concerned, Tommy was a tiny Philip. He inherited his father's sunny golden curls and mesmerizing blue eyes. Terrance and Tommy were inseparable, much like Second and Stasi but without the morbid backstory. Wherever Terrance was, little Tommy was sure to be close behind. Terrance found his younger brother annoying at times, they all did, but he never turned him away. No matter how loud or obnoxious Tommy became, they still loved him and put up with his antics. As far as personalities were concerned, Terrance was an exact replica of his father. He had a sense of humor and put his family above all, but most importantly, he was charismatic. Even though he was never told of his royal lineage, Terrance acted like the prince he indeed was. His vocabulary was worthy, and he held his head high. Second and Stasi were more alike than either would care to admit. They were hunters by trade, the primary providers for their family - Catal had fallen ill after having Tommy and Philip was too preoccupied with caring for her. They tracked their prey with ease, Second using his beloved broadsword and Stasi wielding her favorite bow, gifted to her by Philip on her tenth birthday just as he had promised. The twins hunted together, more in sync than they realized. They took down several animals every day they worked, keeping half for food and selling the other half in their village's marketplace. Their favorite time of the day was sunrise. They had always been early risers, and they would meet at a nearby cliff where they had a fantastic view of the reds and oranges of the dawn. "It reminds me of your hair." Second told Stasi one morning, speaking in the monotonous and unemotional tone he had adopted. Second was what the villagers called stoic, never showing emotion outside the comfort of his sister. He feared the voices would use them against him. Up into adulthood, Second and Stasi remained the sole source of true silence for one another. They never understood why they calmed each other's beasts, but they speculated it was because they were twins, even though they weren't identical. They not only quieted the voices but quieted the person. Stasi was the only one on earth that could bring Second down from a fit of rage, and Second never failed to soothe Stasi's outbursts. They were always together, only apart to shower and for other personal actions. They had no fears other than not being there for the other when the voices became too much. That was the only thought that terrified them, and it terrified them to their core. It terrified Philip, as well, but Terrance and Tommy were never told of their siblings' dark secret. They worried that their younger brothers would look at them differently, the same reason it took them years to tell their father. Philip wanted to tell them, but it wasn't his story to tell. Second and Stasi did their best to keep it hidden to those outside their bubble, Philip being the only one to know.