Alfirean Age Book 1 - Inheritor of Strength

History in the Making

Sweet emptiness.

Like a dream, he floated in a warm, hazy place between sleep and wakening, neither here nor there. Unconsciously, he reached for his pillow, seeking to snuggle into its fluffy depths and continue his peaceful sleep.

But in a single moment, everything changed.

Excruciating pain yanked him out of his dream and back into semi-consciousness. The haziness that had brought such peaceful bliss fled, thrusting him into the realm of nightmares.

He screamed. It felt as if someone were tearing apart every bone, ligament, and fiber of his being, then jamming them all back together again. He tried to escape the pain, to flee from its greedy maul of never-ending t*****e, but he couldn't move. He was stuck in a hellish darkness, unable to find his way out.

Time carried him on in this endless void of pain, constantly sucking him back into its dark depths, until finally, clawing his way to the surface, he managed to thrust open his eyes.

Reality flooded back in. The darkness fled, and a bright and cruel light flooded his sight. He gasped and closed his eyes.

Jerking his arm upwards, he tried to cover his face, but his arm wouldn't respond. It felt as if someone had tied him down with thousands of strands of tightly woven rope. Jerking harder, he pulled once more against his bonds, frantic to break free.

RIP!

A loud tearing sound reverberated throughout the room, and he stopped moving. What was that? Air fluttered across his now bare arm. Did I just shred my sleeve?

He sat up.

RRRIP! came a deafening sound as the pressure on his chest evaporated, and his shirt burst into tiny threads.

What in the world? he thought as he opened his eyes for a second time.

Again, searing-hot, white light flooded in, burning his retinas, but before he could close them, they readjusted, and the world around him shifted into perfect focus.

The pain faded into the background, and he stared at his room in wonderment. All of his life, his vision had been weak and blurry as if looking through a watery haze. But now the heavy fog had been lifted, and the carved furniture, the paintings on the walls, and the flowers on his nightstand glowed with a richness and sharpness he had never seen before.

Gasping in disbelief, he stared at the picture on the far side of the wall. He could see and read the small autograph at the bottom left-hand corner, whereas before, he could barely see the painting from his bed, much less read the signature.

Am I dreaming? he asked himself. Bringing up his right arm, he looked at his hand in confusion. Blue electricity danced along the inside of his fingers. What in Eldrin's name? 

He jerked his hand back slightly, and an arc of lightning jumped from his pinky to his nose.

“Aah!” he yelped and kicked with his feet as he tried to get away from the crackling strand of electricity.

Suddenly, like a stone slung from a catapult, he flew through the air. The bed crumpled beneath him, and he yelled in panic as he flew over his headboard, did a complete somersault, and headed straight for the wall.

This can't be happening, he thought, but even as the thought flashed through his mind, his body smashed into the solid wall and straight through to the other side.

The sound of crumbling plaster and breaking timber resounded in his ears as he traveled through the wall and back into the air.

“Oomph!” he landing hard on his stomach and slid to a halt.

Laying there, sprawled out on the floor, he stared at the hole he had just made. What in the world was happening? he thought, as he gaped at the jagged opening. Why did he shoot through the air like that, and how could he crash through the wall without getting hurt?

None of this made any sense!

This just can’t be happening, he thought once more.

As the world swirled around him, he tightened his fist, and energy surged down his arm.

Red hot flames shot out of the sides of his clenched hand, burning deep grooves into the floor. Smoke drifted upwards, and the smell of burnt wood wafted into his nose as the broken timbers from the wall caught on fire.

In a panic, he shoved his hands against the floorboards, trying to get away from the fire, but instead of pushing him away, his arms launched him straight into the air.

Not again, he thought as he shot towards the ceiling.

Crunch!

White stars flared in his vision, and his teeth smacked against each other as the nap of his neck blasted through the wooden ceiling. For a brief second, he stared into the attic—old books flew out of boxes; dust motes danced in the wind, and exploding floorboards floated around his head.

Then he fell.

He reached out for the floor rafters, desperate to stop his descent, but as he grabbed hold, the wooden board dissolved under his fingers like touch-me-nots, bursting into tiny slivers.

Flailing wildly, he crashed back down to the floor with a heavy thud.

CRASH!

The whole house shook beneath him; his teeth rattled, and his limbs smacked against the hard surface, snuffing out the flames. Closing his eyes, he grit his teeth, readying himself for the familiar sensation of broken bones and excruciating pain.

None came.

Wait! He flung back open his eyes. It doesn't hurt. In fact, I've never felt so good in my life, he thought, noting the solid beat of his heart, the sharpness of his five senses, and the overflowing energy rushing through his system.

What in the world is going on? he asked again. Am I even really awake?

No! I can't be.

I died.

I died fighting Vackzilian. I'm supposed to be dead.

Why am I not dead!?

None of this made sense.

None of this was even possible!

Either he was dreaming, or the laws of physics had changed while he was unconscious. Either way, he needed to get to the bottom of this insanity.

His decision made, he slowly pulled his legs in and crawled to his feet.

Taking a good look at the room, he decided not to try and crawl back through the hole into his bedroom; instead, he headed towards the exit way....well, he tried to, but once again, everything went horribly wrong. His foot pushed against the floor with a mighty shove, and the world blurred around him as he found himself soaring straight towards the door.

Flinging out his right arm, he braced for impact, but as his hand reached face level, an arc of lightning shot out of his fingers and eclipsed the room in a flash of azure light. With a mighty Zap! it slammed into the door and blew the mahogany wood into hundreds of smoking splinters.

Milliseconds later, the entire manor shook once again with the booming sound of thunder.

“Oomph!” he moaned as he collided into the wall on the other side of the hall. Slowly, he slid down to the carpeted floor, watching in slow motion as black smoke drifted up from the demolished doorway.

He had had enough. He wasn’t going to try moving again until this horrible dream was over. And, on the off chance it wasn’t a dream... He shivered at the thought. No, this has to be a dream.

The sound of excited footsteps pounded up the staircase.

Oh, what a wonderful sight this will make for everyone to see, he thought to himself as he glanced down.

Wait!

This isn't my body!

***

Olivia felt exhausted. Between taking two extra shifts at the hospital and helping the staff prepare refreshments for the guests coming to Alfonso’s impromptu wake, she'd worn herself ragged. She had finally collapsed at the dining room table as the sun peeked over the horizon.

Of course, she hadn’t needed to do either. The Brockovich staff could have easily handled things by themselves, and the hospital had doctors that would’ve taken her place, but she had insisted on doing both. The grief over losing Alfonso felt like a dull nail being driven into her heart, and every time she had stopped moving, her mind had played scenarios of what could have or should have been. Even now in her exhaustion, images of Alfonso smiling at her with his goofy grin and mischievous blue eyes paraded before her eyes.

She angrily pushed the images away. Thinking about it wouldn't change anything.

Only by staying busy had she managed to keep her grief at bay; besides, doing so had had the added bonus of allowing her to excuse herself from the High Lords' and other nobles' presence. Their conversations with her always ended with one of them asking, demanding, or attempting to coerce her to come work for them, and she just didn’t have the tolerance for such nonsense right now.

Cushioning her head on her folded arms, Olivia, at last, drifted into a restless sleep.

Suddenly, a muffled scream yanked her awake.

She jerked her head up.

Why was someone screaming?

The high pitch crash of breaking plaster and snapping timber echoed down the stairs and Olivia jumped to her feet, sending her chair skidding across the marble-tiled floor.

What was that?

She dashed out of the dining room and into the foyer, only to be met by the deafening sound of shattering wood reverberating throughout the house, followed shortly by a resounding thud.

Her foot faltered on the first step of the stairway. The sounds had come from the room next to Alfonso’s.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Olivia pounded up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Halfway up, the entire house lit up with an electric blue flash of lightning, and she fell to one knee as the estate shook with thunder.

She gasped as the electrically charged air whooshed past her. Her heart thudded in her chest. Whatever had just happened couldn’t have been good. Flinging herself up the rest of the stairs, she skidded around the corner and came to a dead stop.

There, sprawled out in the hallway, sat a large muscular man.

She pulled back.

He was n***d!

Well, almost.

Tattered shreds of what looked like formal clothing hung on various parts of him.

Olivia didn’t know what she had expected to see, but this was not it. Despite herself, her eyes trailed along his stunning physique. In all her years as a healer, she had seen countless athletically built men, yet none of them came close to this man’s muscular perfection.

His physique was flawless; it was as if a master artisan had chiseled his entire body. His torso, arms, and legs were perfectly proportioned. His biceps, pecks, and abs were carved to the ideal depth, well-defined, and startlingly attractive. From top to bottom, not a single imperfection marred his smooth golden skin.

Olivia shook herself; now was not the time to lose her wits—not that she was the only one staring, though. The man himself seemed infatuated with his body. In fact, he kept looking at his arms, legs, and chest like it was the first time he had ever seen them.

Gathering her wits, she pulled her eyes away from the tight and formfitting underwear—the only viable piece of clothing he was wearing—took a deep breath, and cleared her throat.

“Ahem.”

The man stiffened and slowly turned to look at her.

Her breath caught in her throat. His face was as masterfully carved as the rest of him: a chiseled square jaw, a straight aristocratic nose, and deep-set eyes combined to make the man somehow irresistible. However, what made her breath catch was his eyes; his amazing, captivating sky-blue eyes shone like stars. Olivia felt like she was swimming in an ocean of pure-blue as she gazed into them.

The man’s cheeks blushed, and her own heart skipped a beat. She ripped her eyes away from him once more.  Think Olivia. Think! she thought to herself.

She swallowed hard, once, twice, before she managed to shakily demand, “Who are you?!”

The stranger's smile faded, and his gaze clouded over as a blank look spread across his face.

“I...I’m Alfonso, I think. Or I was,” he stuttered, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “But...but I died. Vackzilian blew a hole straight through my chest. Yet, here I am... in this man’s body.”

Olivia blinked in disbelief. The world tipped in front of her, and she reached out to steady herself against the wall. The man claimed to be Alfonso! But that was impossible. This had to be some kind of cruel and s******c joke.

She searched the stranger's face, fully expecting to find a hint of deceitfulness or malice hidden underneath his puzzled facade. There was none. In truth, he reminded her of exactly how Alfonso used to look when he was confused.

Wait! What about...? She drew in a sharp breath and dashed down the hall, past the man, and to the next door, barely avoiding tripping on what appeared to be the shattered remains of the waiting room’s entranceway.

Grabbing the doorknob to Alfonso’s bedroom, Olivia twisted sharply and barged in. Flowers lay scattered all over the bedroom floor; the bed sat in a broken heap of timber and blankets, and a large hole gaped in the wall behind it. Her eyes frantically scoured the room. Gone. Alfonso’s body was gone.

Alarm, anguish, and anger threatened to overwhelm her. This can't be happening! Who would do such a thing?

She gazed at the hole behind the wall, the crushed furniture, and then at the protection and preservation spells that were still fully intact. Placing her hand on the panel next to the lantern beside the doorway, Olivia connected to the internal mansion's security system. She was the first to open this door since the last viewing; moreover, the windows were still closed and had remained so all night. No one had entered or left the room without their knowledge.

Which meant the only way this mess could have occurred was if Alfonso did it himself.

It was ludicrous, of course, to think such a thing. Even if Alfonso miraculously came back to life, he wouldn't change appearances so drastically.

Besides being scientifically impossible, it just wasn't plausible. But, she pondered, if it wasn't Alfonso, why would anyone go through so much trouble to make it look like it was?

Olivia stood adrift in her thoughts, attempting to reason everything through when a chorus of numerous voices and footsteps echoed in the corridor.

As more and more people arrived, the noise reached an ear-piercing crescendo, making it impossible for her to think. Until, at last, Harold’s voice boomed, "What in Eldrin's teeth is going on here!?”

Olivia took her hand off the wall and marched back into the crowded hallway. If anyone could figure this out, Harold could.

"Alfonso's body is gone," she said in a calm voice tinged with fire. "And this man,” she said, pointing at the barely dressed stranger, "claims he is Alfonso."

At her statement, the hallway lapsed into silence. Her words hung in the air, potent and full of possibilities. Then they struck home, and the crowd exploded into unintelligible babble as the household staff, and the resident senior healers all tried to speak at once.

Harold drew himself up, and Olivia felt the frequencies dance and spin around him as they converged into a sound amplifying spell.

 “Quiet, please!” the butler’s voice roared, echoing off the walls and hammering the out-of-control staff.

Instantly, the babbling ceased.

“Good,” Harold said. He straightened his vest with a calm, collected motion and stepped forward to examine the mysterious stranger.

Half a minute later, Harold stepped back, shook his head, and returned his gaze to the muscular figure sitting on the floor. His grey eyes narrowed; the corners of his mouth turned downwards, and his brow scrunched in bewilderment.

Olivia had seen that expression on her teacher’s face only a few times in her life. “Harold?”

“Olivia, look at him with the eyes of a healer,” was all he managed to say.

Hearing the barely disguised wonder in Harold's voice, she turned her full attention to the trespasser and channeled energy into her eyes. This was the first technique all healers mastered, for it enabled one to see things such as broken bones, magic patterns, and various other oddities. This technique was known as Ra'avah, although Harold frequently referred to it as the eyes of a healer.

Invoking Ra’avah, she turned her gaze towards the stranger and gasped in amazement. The intruder had the largest pool of magic power she had ever seen. Indeed, her own substantial magic pool looked like a small pond compared to his ocean.

Gathering her wits, Olivia pushed past his vast ocean of energy and closely examined its pattern. She blinked—she knew that pattern. Olivia had seen it countless times as she healed its bearer of broken bones, cuts, and bruises over the past decade. It was Alfonso’s!

But, but how could that be?

It couldn’t! she decided immediately.

Then again, she knew full well no one could mimic someone else’s energy pattern; it was even more singular than that of DNA.

She focused her eyes further and scoured the man’s entire form, determined to find a hidden spell or something that might explain this, but there was nothing, nothing at all.

This man, without a shadow of a doubt, was Alfonso.

Somehow, the young man who had once been so weak he could break an arm or leg just by falling or tripping had not only come back from the dead, he had also gained the strength and magic power to equal that of the Emperor's, if not more.  

Taking her eyes off him, she glanced around the room. Harold, along with the other healers, appeared to be in the same mystified trance as she.

“Harold, is this possible?” someone finally asked.

“As far as I know... No,” was all the empire's foremost physician had to say.

Olivia shook herself and drew a scrying circle in the air. Water and light coalesced into two images. The first showed a recording from her memory of Alfonso’s energy patterns, and the second of the strongman’s currently sitting on the floor. “They are exactly the same,” she stated with authority.

The stranger stared up at the scrying, which displayed the frequency wavelengths depicting his patterns. “So am I really me?”

“Yes, Alfonso, I think it safe to say you are you,” Harold replied.

"But then, what happened to me? Why do I look so different? And how come I'm so strong?”

“I think you would know more than us how that happened,” the butler answered.

Alfonso switched his gaze to Harold. His eyebrows scrunched together in puzzlement. "How would I know?”

"Hmm," Harold rubbed his chin as he pondered the situation. “What spells did you use when you fought the wizard?”

“Just the spell I use every day,” Alfonso replied. Then a sheepish look crossed his face, and he looked away as he quietly murmured, “and the f*******n spell ‘Sever.’”

Olivia swallowed. Everyone knew Harold's stance on the usage of f*******n spells—he was strictly against it. 

In truth, Alfonso’s family had always believed that all knowledge was better left in the open than hidden, seeing as the allure of f*******n knowledge could lead to dangerous actions. Consequently, in their library, they had all the f*******n books of magic available for everyone to read. However, under each spell, it listed why it was f*******n and the consequences of using it.

Once, when Olivia asked Alfonso’s father about it, he told her, “If I tell you not to do something without telling you why not to do it, you will do it just because I told you not to. On the other hand, if I tell you, you can do this if you want but these are the consequences, you won't want to do it. I believe it is the same for most magic.”

And so far, he had been proven right, for no one in the estate had ever used a f*******n spell though they had free access to them... until now.

She glanced nervously at Harold, waiting for his reaction, but to her surprise, Harold didn't even bat an eye. Instead, he said in a quiet, firm voice, “That is what I thought you used. And personally, I understand why you used it. However,” Harold stared at Alfonso, his face stern and his voice hard, “You are never to use it again. Understood?”

Alfonso emphatically nodded in agreement, clearly pleased to be off the hook so easily.

“Good,” Harold stated. "Nevertheless, neither of those spells could have done this to you,” he continued. “Is there anything else you used?”

“I did use some scrolls to summon a set of armor, a sword, and a steed to make myself more formidable looking. But that couldn’t possibly do this to me... could it?”

“Hmm, they must have run out of time before we arrived. As for the scrolls changing you, no, absolutely not. Summon scrolls employ a much weaker version of the teleportation spell than that which is placed on the teleportation stones and could never achieve such an outcome. Are you certain you employed no other spells?”

Alfonso leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. After several seconds, he opened them again and said, “Yes.”

Harold rubbed his mustache, raised his eyebrows, and a distant look entered his eyes. Olivia knew that look; left to his own devices, Harold would spend the next several hours probing and investigating every possible cause, and Alfonso would be left sitting in his undergarments, stranded in the hallway. Which meant it was time for her to intervene. As Harold began to produce multiple scryings in the air, Olivia swished her hand, dispelling her own,  and interrupted him.

“I believe it would be prudent to put the investigation off till later. Perhaps when our guest is a little less, um…,” her face flushed as she caught another glance of his well-muscled physique. “Exposed.”

For the first time, Harold seemed to realize just how under-dressed Alfonso was.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “You are right,” he said, then turned to a group of maids. “Would one of you go fetch my nightrobe? Meanwhile, someone retrieve a blanket to cover him, please.”

“I’ll get it,” Heralda, Hailey’s mother, said as she reached down and scooped up her daughter, who was inching closer to the prone Alfonso.

Harold nodded and handed Heralda the key to his room as she passed while one of the household staff disappeared into Alfonso’s bedroom. When the girl reappeared bearing a blanket, she moved to Alfonso's side. Leaning over, she attempted to help him stand up so she could wrap it around his waist, but Alfonso refused to move. “Are you okay?” the maid asked in concern.

“Yes, never better, in fact. But the last time I tried to get up, I put that hole in the roof over there. So I think it's best if I stay seated until everyone has cleared the hallway.”

She glanced back at the door that was no longer there. “Oh, I see,” she said with a touch of nervousness in her voice. Draping the blanket on top of him, she quickly stepped back.

Olivia couldn’t blame her, especially since the charred remains still released swirling clouds of black smoke. She raised an eyebrow at Harold, “Harold.”

“Yes, I agree," he said, catching her drift. He clapped his hands to garner everyone's attention. "Everyone, back to their daily tasks. And those of you off duty, please wait by the stairs.”

As the others removed themselves from the corridor, Olivia reached down to help Alfonso, but again he refused to budge. “You too,” he insisted.

Feeling a bit miffed, she walked away. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the far wall next to the stairway.

As it turned out, it was a good thing he had refused her help. By the time Alfonso managed to stand up straight, he had put his foot through the floor, his hand through the outside stone wall, and his elbow halfway through the stone barrier as well.

With growing amusement, Olivia watched as Alfonso stared at the large, fist-shaped hole in frustration. “I never thought being strong could be so annoying. I barely move a muscle and I break something.”

As if to punctuate his words, the floor groaned beneath him, and Alfonso's face took on a pale, panicked look.

She couldn't hold it in anymore; Olivia burst into laughter, and once she started, she just couldn't stop. The heartache and stress of the last twenty-four hours found their release as she leaned over, and tears streamed from her eyes as she laughed and laughed and laughed. Eventually, the sound of Harold chuckling joined in. And then a deep masculine chuckle echoed in the corridor.

Startled, Olivia looked up and met Alfonso's eyes.  His lips curled in a teasing grin, and her heart leaped in her throat. She recognized that smile—that sweet, mischievous grin. It was Alfonso's. And finally, it dawned on her. Alfonso was alive! He was really alive. The steel vice gripping her heart vanished, and her slightly hysterical laughter morphed into one of pure joy. She almost ran forward and hugged him, but a quick glance at the broken floorboards and perforated wall convinced her to wait. He would probably squish her to death. Instead, she settled for returning his large grin.

Soon after, Heralda scampered down the hallway, bearing one of Harold's nightgowns. Scrunching the garment up in her hands, she said in a mothering tone, "Alright, young master, time to get you dressed. Put those hands up."

Alfonso's muscles tensed and he glanced at her, uncertain.

"It's okay," she encouraged. "Just lift your arms."

Alfonso nodded and hesitantly tried to do as she said.

But as he raised his arms, his right hand shot up and smacked against the outer wall, shattering the ancient stone and causing a large portion of it to fall away. A brilliant ray of sunshine flooded into the corridor and a distant voice from outside hollered in fright.

Olivia, Heralda, and Harold chuckled in amusement. Alfonso, on the other hand, did not think it was funny.

“My family has owned this manor for hundreds of years, and in one day, I've done more damage to it than it has seen in three generations.”

Olivia covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughter. What he said was true. Indeed, the manor had powerful spells in place which kept it from degrading. As such, the structure had seen little to no damage throughout the centuries. However, in Olivia’s eyes, this fact only added to the humor. With one last chuckle, she stepped away from the stairs and rushed over to offer her assistance.