Prologue
968 Words
"Beware..
for the time who tells will now speak
It's walk over generations has stopped
The luck he carried has turned
For her words were of anger and tears"
The night grew deep. It was the hour of rest but at a room inside the renovated old castle, candles were lit in a circle.
A person was kneeling inside the circle. His hands reached for his throat, his stomach, his chest, his head... he was in immense pain.
"The readings are the same, my lord," a person in a black cloak spoke sullenly. Hiding the fear that crept in for being unable to achieve the result that the person he is serving hoped for.
An old man with strong features remained silent upon hearing it. His face darkened as he stared at the youngster who was in pain but never groaned or cried, nor ask for his grandfather to stop the divination so the torment would stop, too. The youngster endured silently.
After some time, the old man finally turned to leave. The cloaked man bowed in respect. He sighed as soon as he heard the sound of the door closing. He walked towards the circle and murmured some words.
The lines that glowed gold inside the circle slowly vanished, and as soon as it did, the candles all blew off.
The youngster inside slowly took a deep breath. He never faltered and remained kneeling despite the lingering pain.
The cloaked man stared at the youngster with both pity and contempt. Pity, for the suffering that he carried. Contempt, for the blood that ran on the youngster's veins.
The cloaked man gave him one last look before he left. However, the moment he closed the door, he found that the old man was there, waiting for him. He hurriedly bowed at the old man's sight.
"Beware.. for the time who tells will now speak. It's walk over generations has stopped. The luck he carried has turned. For her words were of anger and tears... what does that mean?" The old man asked.
The cloaked man had been doing his readings on the youngster for years. He read that divination for how many times. But this was the first time that this old man asked him what the reading meant.
He opened his mouth to answer, "A divination is precious, the words of the heavens all the same. This humble one cannot fathom."
The old man sneered and kept silent. He knew this would be the seer's answer. He knew for a long time, that's why he didn't take the time to press him more for it's meaning. A fake is a fake after all.
The old man heaved a deep sigh and nodded. "Thank you for your hard work."
The cloaked man took a step back and bowed his head lower, not daring to receive the gratitude of such a high person.
When the sound of steps faded, he finally gained the courage to lift his head up.
The helplessness, fear, and lowly aura subsided in a second. The trembling eyes calmed as it stared at the empty hall. He threw a short look at the door, seemingly remembering the youngster inside before he finally walked away. Leaving short murmurs on his way— too soft that it couldn't echo at the covered hall, no one heard it. A pity.
"The power you seek brings rain
Alas, emotions are knots undone
Greed would always bite back
For you cannot swallow such
Fake is real and real is fake
'Cause the bearer of the victor's flag
Are authors of the past."
And as the last word faded, the figure of that cloaked man faded as well, leaving wisps of smoke where at a closer look, you would see that it's a bit similar to that of the spirit dusts of the seer's of the past.
Inside the closed door was the youngster who remained kneeling. Blinded and deafened by the searing pain, he tried his best to even his breathing.
When he did, he slowly stood up. His footing weren't stable. It would wobble because of weakness but he was firm and successfully stood up.
He exhaled and bent to pick up the candles. Sweat would constantly drip down the floor but he remained indifferent to it. To the pain, the hope, and the expectations of being accepted despite being... powerless.
After placing the candles on the table, he sat on the bed then let his back hit the soft mattress. The room may be dark but with the full moonlight, specks of illumination crafted his well toned body, from the arms, chest, abdomen, to the defined mermaid lines. A sculpted body to survive the torment of every full moon; a reading in hopes of changing his fate.
He lifted his hand and rested it over his eyes.
He murmured the reading that was the same throughout the passing years.
"Turned luck because of anger." A curse.
Crowned Agony. This was what his ancestors called this torment.
In fact, for him, this curse wasn't a big deal. But for the whole family, it was.
As fancy as the name may say, it wasn't as beautiful. The curse eats out the hosts magic force, turning them into someone with no power. And in this land, being powerless means death, for magic is everything.
But Liam didn't care. He could live without it. But for years too, the family has been searching for ways to release him from the curse. And it hurt more than being powerless.
He slowly closed his eyes and decided to succumb to the pull of the dream land. In his dream was the young him being told over and over to not just accept his fate.
°°°
This ability sealed
Keys they will hold
- Writer
