Dawn Of Prophecy

Prologue-2

The guard quickly raised a barrier of vines, that burned away as quickly as they grew. Rhys continued his attack on the guard, the vines protecting the guard soon thinned and yellowed. The guard’s hand raised toward his shield of vines.

The final vines burned away, but Rhys’ hand was subdued by newly formed roots. Rhys moved his hand toward the source of his dismay and burned himself free of the roots securing his hand. His attention corrected only to find the guard had fled.

“A distraction? That was clever boy, too bad I still have to kill you.” Rhys screamed to the air around him. He closed his eyes and stretched his mind to every inch of the garden. He felt that familiar feeling of finding someone using the power of the silver, a slight tingle within his own mind.

The guard hid behind a statue sure he would be safe from another attack. Rhys raised a hand as his mind connected with the other dragon. You’re a worthy adversary. Rhys announced to the other dragon. His hand twisted and the statue shuddered a second before it ripped from its base and fell. The guard uttered a small scream as blood pooled from within his broken body.

Rhys walked to the fallen statue, examining the body as it lay beneath the statue. He knelt next to the green dragon mumbling words of forgiveness under his breath. Rhys raised a glowing red hand at the dead dragon and burned the body as was customary for his people to do.

The body soon fell to ash and a faint green light, one most would not see, rose to the air and eventually disappeared beyond the clouds. A tear fell from Rhys’ eyes and rolled down his dark cheek.

Marishka look what you’ve made me do. He said to himself. The guards body taken care of Rhys moved toward the interior of the castle. Marishka’s room would be on the top floor. Rhys considered transforming, avoiding as much blood shed as he could, but everything screamed that wasn’t the best course of action.

While dragons could use magic in their transformed, beastly state, they could do more magic in the form that his people had dubbed their human form. The dragon form could be used to destroy and fly, but magic was basic. They could topple buildings and carry even the largest mammals on Stelladahn, but that was about it.

The dragons could breathe fire over their prey if they were a red dragon. The other races could only manipulate the element with which they were linked. Still, he would be more productive in this form, so he once again stretched a hand toward the wall. Again, the stone began melting away as Rhys moved his hand, shaping the door before him, creating an opening as tall as his reach.

Soft light poured from the hole in the wall a while later as he stepped inside the room. He had created a doorway into a storage closet filled with unused items. Chests of cloth and decorations littered the floor, making a path to what was once the only entrance to the room. The soft light that filled the room came from the cracks between the wall and door. The door handle slowly descended as he opened the door just a crack.

To his surprise there were no guards waiting in the hall and the staircase was only a few feet from the door. It appeared that the commotion outside went unnoticed as he entered a large open space. The torches were lit, and he realized as he stepped further in the room that this was the throne room, and the storage room he cautiously exited held the seasonal change of décor.

He stepped past the ornate stone steps and looked to an empty hall that housed the Queen’s throne. Marishka had judged many of her people from the confines of the gold laced wooden throne. Rhys moved to the front of the throne, the place where he would be judged, if this was that kind of moment. She’s renovated the castle. He realized. This should have been the waiting room, not the throne room. It was almost harmonious, no more waiting for judgement.

Before Rhys fled the castle, the throne room sat on the second floor in a room that was far grander than the one, he now stood in. The previous throne room was filled with ornate statues and paintings. It was bright with tall windows to let the natural light of day in. At one point the Queen had hired a brown dragon to create stained glass windows. It was a place that one would enjoy being at the end of the day.

This new throne room was dull and the most ornate piece within was the throne that culminated in a halo of gold raised above the Queens head. Truly the halo was the only pleasant piece in the entire room as it was decorated with gold, silver and many different colors of gem.

The Queen was proclaiming her holy nature with that halo. Everyone else was drab and did not deserve her time. The throne said to each person that passed before it they should feel honored to merely stand in her presence. Rhys considered destroying the halo for a moment, his hand even took on the brown aura that would allow him to do so with just a flit of the wrist, but he chose not to.

Rhys moved back to the staircase and began his ascent. His mind raced to ideas of where Marishka may be. The obvious answer was that she was in her own quarters, four flights above the new throne room. Rhys checked every floor that he reached.

The old throne room was still magnificent he realized as he gawked at the large open room. The moonlight shone through the stained glass, giving it a blue tint as the light stretched across the floor. Rhys saw the pews that once allowed those who came before the Queen stacked in a corner.

He saw his throne, where he once advised the Queen on the matters brought before her, crushed where it once stood. Rhys realized Marishka had transformed and crushed the throne with her dragon’s strength. A tear fell from his eye as he turned to the next staircase and moved to the next floor.

A new door stood before him and his mind puzzled with where this door may lead. He opened the door and witnessed something almost as beautiful as the old throne room. He found himself looking out over the valley below. Marishka had removed most of the next floor replacing it with a balcony. He admired the serene nature of the world before him.

The moon hung low in the sky lighting the valley at the base of the cliff. Rhys stepped outside, the door closing behind him and admired the beauty of the castle’s natural surroundings. Marishka wasn’t going anywhere he thought as he took a moment to view what lay before him.

His mind turned to what the next day may hold as he stared at the sheen from the snow-covered peaks beyond the valley. Tomorrow this will be chaos and it will all be my fault. He didn’t want to admit that Marishka had created something beautiful. That would mean he could be wrong about everything, but he knew he wasn’t.

Dragons were not just tools to be wielded and thrown away when their use expired. The Birthed were people just like him and just like Marishka, the only difference was the way they were born. He needed to tear down her rule to pave the way for a clear and peaceful future for everyone.

“I knew you would be back.” The soft sultry voice emanated from above his back.

Rhys hung his head before slowly turning toward the castle, realizing for the first time that a balcony rested on the next floor. She stood in a dark green gown leaning on the rail to the balcony. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. The love he felt for her pushed through the anger he felt in her actions.

“I’ve come to end this madness with the Birthed.” Rhys said to the Queen.

She smiled sadly at him. “My heart breaks every day we are not together my love.” She spoke. “I will not discontinue the creation of my army just for you though.”

His heart ached. Once again, his head lowered, the greyed locks of hair fell forward. The tears truly began flowing as he realized he never really mourned the loss of their relationship.

Had he been looking at her he would have realized that her almond shaped eyes were also shedding tears. Marishka had dedicated her life to the protection of her people and the only person who ever came close to understanding was crying just like her.

His beard softened with the tears that flooded the whiskers. He looked up at her, his bloodshot brown eyes met her dark green eyes. “I still love you, but I can’t stand idly by while you do these things. Leave the Birthed project behind, let those that exist live on and we can be together again.” He begged her.

She smiled slightly at the black skinned dragon before her. “You’ve aged since we last saw one another. Your hair was darker than the night, now it screams of old age.”

Rhys stared down at the ground. “I’ll ask only one more time my love. Leave them be, stop creating them and let the ones you have created live a long and fruitful life.”

She stood up, tears no longer falling and her voice cracking ever so slightly. “Kill him.” She announced as she fled the balcony.

Rhys’ mouth fell. She was lost to him forever and this point was made clearer by the two dragons that fell to the ground before him. Rhys stared at them both, drawing his long-serrated sword. “Tell her one thing for me if you win?” He asked the dragons.

The blue armored dragon nodded as the red only stared.

“Tell her I will lover her until the end of time.” Rhys said. His right hand grasped the air as it took on a red aura like before, but far more focused and deadly. Instead of a stream of fire flowing from it, the length of fire formed a sword which he held at his waist. He stood there for a moment, waiting for the dragons to make their first move. When neither did he swiftly moved to them.

The red dragon met him halfway, dropping his double handed claymore toward Rhys’ head. Rhys made no move to block it, instead simply moved out of the way. He thought he was safe until the claymore swung past Rhys and rapidly changed direction. The red dragon was quick Rhys realized as he rose his left hand to meet the oncoming sword with his own.

The blue dragon’s hands danced in the air and a stream of water left a small pouch hanging from his belt. While Rhys’ sword met the other dragons, the water split into three separate entities and, as the dragon moved her whole body, froze entirely. Three sharp icicles hovered before the blue dragon as Rhys pushed the claymore from his own sword.

Rhys was distracted by the quickness of the red dragon’s attacks when he heard a soft whistling streaming through the air toward him. Instinctively Rhys raised his fire sword and poured more of his energy into it. The spike that would have impaled the back of Rhys’ head melted, instantly turning to steam.

The claymore thrusted toward Rhys. He raised his leg and kicked downward, pushing the blade into the ground. As the blade dug deep into the grey stone floor of the balcony the red dragon suddenly jerked forward, tumbling over his sword. Rhys thrust his single-handed sword toward the red dragon who flew at him.