Cetha
1037 Words
The moment Aelthrys stepped foot back in Mhoryga, he knelt on both knees and kissed the ground three times.
When he left, he had no idea when he would be able to return, or if he would be able to return at all in the first place. Aelthrys and Aislin left Mhoryga without their honor— as prisoners after losing the war Drakos had selfishly waged. It was a painful experience to be forced to leave home after finding its permanence in an entirely separate realm, and he loathed all the decisions that had to be made that took Aislin and him away from it all.
Unlike Alfheim, it was sunny in Mhoryga. He suddenly realized that the realm ran opposite to Earth in terms of seasons and weather, and that winter was rather odd in its shortness in this realm. Aelthrys shed his rabbit’s fur cloak, tossed it aside, and stood to gaze at the sea crashing against the rocks below the cliff.
He chose this spot to go back to because it was his favorite spot in all of Cetha. Even though it was a risk to come here, not knowing whether this was still friendly territory or it had fallen to the hands of the rebels, Aelthrys couldn't care any less. It was his home and he would return how and where he wanted to. But he looked over his shoulder, his eyes scanning over the tall grass plains, and found no sign of any banner that claimed the land. He was safe for the moment.
He let himself breathe in the salty air one last time, closing his eyes as he memorized the notes of fresh grass and earthy soil in it before he opened another portal that would take him straight to the front gates of his family’s manor right at the heart of Cetha.
“Oh, gods, is that General Aelthrys?”
“We’re saved!” one female sobbed to his far left. “Thank the gods!”
“Quick! Do you see the Princess with him?”
Aelthrys ignored all the whispers and exclamations, wondering instead why there was a crowd gathered outside of his home. He pushed the gate open and let it swing close behind him. Ahead of him, running and almost tripping over the front steps of the red marble of his home, Jilt headed for him at full speed. His steward was blue in the face as he called after him, a huge smile on his face while his waistcoat fluttered behind him in the air.
The other butlers and maids were all lined up at the entrance to the foyer, no doubt surprised by his appearance as well. He nodded to Jilt when he was a few feet away, but the steward did not stop.
Aelthrys’ eyes widened as he realized that he was going to collide with him. He held out his hands belatedly to stop Jilt from crashing into him, but it was too late. Jilt threw his hands around his neck with a bright grin, almost forcing his entire weight on Aelthrys as he screamed at the top of his lungs.
“General, you are back!” he cried, wet tears splashing on the shoulder of his black uniform. “You came back!”
He grunted at the force of impact but held his ground. Jilt weighed nothing next to him but he couldn’t help but marvel at the twiggy thing. No one— not even Aislin— had ever given him a display of such elation because of his presence. He had a reputation after all, and that discouraged anyone from being this close to him in public.
But Jilt… he had no such aversions to him.
He blinked at him, steadying the steward on his own feet. Jilt grinned again.
“You’re back!”
Aelthrys cleared his throat. “It would appear so. Thank you for taking care of the estate for me, Jilt.”
His already comically wide eyes widened even further. “You do not have to thank me for that, sir! I am most pleased to serve your house.” Then he looked over Aelthrys’ shoulder.
He shook his head before he could ask. “The Princess remains in Alfheim,” he said. “Don’t worry about her. She is taken care of well in their court. Could you please start making calls? I want every update and live report on what’s happening. Where is the regiment stationed?”
Jilt winced. He clasped his hands together and started rubbing them, a nervous tick of his that, despite his many teachings, he had not done away with. “At the moment, they are spread a little too thin, sir. Sergeant Lorsan had been trying to keep the western front in formation but the latest report early this morning said it had already given way.”
“West? How far along?”
“Not far,” Jilt said sadly. “They have already taken Maywick. The evacuees…” He gestured to the people waiting outside. “They thought coming here would provide them safety.”
This was bad. The situation was worse than what he had imagined. He bit back a curse as he tried to figure out what in the world his soldiers had been doing for them to be this ineffective. Has he taught them nothing? Had he wasted all of his years training them?
A snarl slipped past his gritted teeth. Jilt took a big, cautious step back.
“Y-You kn-know what, sir? Let me make those calls for you now. I shall have your war room set up at once.”
He stiffly nodded once. “Yes, you do that.”
Jilt ran again, but this time in the direction of the manor. He began shouting orders and mobilizing the staff. Aelthrys looked up at the manor, its red marble facade more imposing than ever. Then he turned to the people standing outside his gate.
“I’ll make this right,” he promised them, even though he was not sure he was heard.
A woman grasping the irons, however, nodded. Her bloodshot eyes were full of vengeance, never once leaving him as he returned home.
- Writer
