Clang! Clang! Sing!

In the fifth month of the year 1744, the heat of the noon sun peaks through the windows. The small dark reflection of themselves moves rhythmically below them. The atmosphere is silent and almost fresh; a scent of dough and metal lingering in the air. The tension between them is almost suffocating.

Hearts jump as the clashing of the swords resound in the Royal Court as Silas Casteron, the King of the Udriles Kingdom, and Jothan Kersey, His Captain of the Royal Guard, dance around each other in the Royal Court, eyes narrowed in concentration. Neither backing down from the challenge. Forfeiting a duel is subjecting yourself to death, hence the fight continues. A foolish man who forfeits a duel to the King, is a coward who is afraid to look death in the eyes.

The thickness and stickiness of blood drips down Silas' fingertips from the bodies of his guards who lay lifeless around them. Their bravery won't go down in history but at least they died knowing they fought to the very end. He advances causing Jothan to guard and retreat. He scoffs as a sly smirk plays on the corner of his lips. They circle each other, their swords pointing, waiting for the right moment. You can't hesitate or you'll make a mistake and you can't be too hasty or you will surely make a mistake. The timing and skill have to be at a balance in order to try and obtain an advantage over your opponent.

"Scared, Jothan?" Silas taunts, advancing further more and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He likes seeing the flash of fear in his opponent's eyes. An overwhelming sensation of joy burns in his chest as he witnesses them torture themselves knowing that their end is near and there is nothing they can do about it but fight til they take their last breath.

"One would be given..." The shoulder length white haired, pinned in a ponytail Captain trails, sweeping his eyes around at the dead guards laying on the floor of the Royal Court. He flexes his tense fingers and tightens his grip on his sword. He lifts his chin subtly to appear confident, feeling himself waver a bit.

Silas lifts a shoulder in a lazy gesture, his eyes void of emotion as he sweeps his eyes over the bodies. "They were useless, therefore expendable. You, however, are not." This is a recurring thing for Silas. It is regular that he has to replace his guards. Nothing is wrong with them, per se. The fact is simple. Silas is like a five year old boy and the guards are his playthings. After having his fun with them for an extended period, he disposes of them and orders for a new set.

Jothan sighs. He always knew how heartless Silas was but he repeatedly managed to surprise him. Silas always claims he trusts Jothan more than anything but Jothan was always prepared. If it was so easy for him to kill his guards—whose sole purpose is to protect him—then what would stop him from one day killing him? The reason: Jothan is Silas' favorite toy. Though, there will come a time when the child will have no choice but to let go of sentiment.

Silas Casteron is known as the Devil King, taking after his grandfather, Boaz Casteron who was pure evil to the core center of his body. Boaz Casteron had no love in his heart for anyone, not any of his wives nor his children. Fortunately, his son, Gideon, turned out nothing like his father which made Boaz hate him even more and tried to manipulate him into making the people more miserable than they already were. Karma passed through and Boaz took ill. He died in a matter of six excruciating days, where he still tried to ruin others' life to his death. There was never a larger party throughout Udriles Kingdom than the one everyone threw to celebrate his death. Of course, Gideon cried–Boaz was his father after all. No matter how ruthless he was, he still had love in his heart for him.

History repeated itself when Silas Casteron became King. The people in the Udriles Kingdom would pray to whatever gods they believe in that he would one day die. It's what earned him the scar that runs through his left eyebrow to the corner of his eye. The people were tired of praying and decided to take matters in their own hands. Seeing as he is still alive, one would assume he didn't take the threat well and many people died.

They should've known better. Silas Casteron is the best in swordsmanship and has a dragon as an asset. They signed their death wish the moment they formulated their plan. Silas made sure that they would think twice before doing something as idiotic as plotting on his life.

In the battle of the best friends, the weight of Silas' calculating and testing eyes as his stare is focused on his opponent, grows heavier and heavier. Jothan stares right back with almost enough intensity to match his. Both men ignore the minuscule twitch in Jothan's right eye, knowing what it means. He has one chance to make one right move or it's game over. A single droplet of sweat from Silas' jaw slides down and falls slowly to the floor. The hall is so quiet it is as though you can hear when the bead of sweat hits the floor and echoes between them.

Jothan pivots and lunges toward his King, swinging his sword diagonally at his head but Silas sheds by lifting his sword up to block the hit and pushes him back. The duel goes back and forth with Jothan as offense while Silas defends until Silas' wife, Flavia enters in her flowy pink gown and the sound of her heels clanking against the floor.

"Si, someone is here to speak with you." Silas mentally rolls his eyes at the interruption. The thought of cutting his ears off so he wouldn't hear her voice sounds rather appealing to him. Anything is better than hearing her whiny and screeching voice all the time. That is how much he hates her voice.

Everyone in Udriles Kingdom knows how little he cares about his precious wife except her. Or at least she pretends not to know. Either way, she suffers from the mental naivety that she can 'change' him. It's almost sad to watch her be so stupid. They almost pity her because who in their right mind would subject themselves to his adultery and mistreatment.

She isn't supposed to last more than a year; everyone bet on it. Except when she did, they thought she softened him and began plotting for her head. The Varusans almost killed the poor girl but when they found out how invaluable she is, they sent her back to him. It was a matter of time before he grew bored of her presence and got rid of her himself. That was the bet now; how she would die. Either send her back to her family unharmed or kill her himself. It was a cruel thought to ponder on but that was the way of the world.

"Tell them to come back later. I'm busy." He ducks as Jothan swings at his head which annoys his Captain. He winks at him as a tactic to antagonize further.

He knows what his friend feels for him. He knows how much he hates him but he also knows that he is too loyal to kill him. Yet he does these brutal matches with his knights and guards over and over again, hoping that one day Jothan's loyalty will wear thin and he would actually kill him. He would rather die by the hands of his friend than anyone else's. But time and time again, they've only gifted each other with scars.

"I'm sorry, my King but this cannot wait." Octavia, the guest bursts in behind Flavia and three panicked guards rushing behind her. It is a bold move on the woman's part to enter the King's court without permission and everyone knows this. The guards bow upon seeing Silas's tense body posture and watch with fingers crossed behind their backs, silently praying that she makes it out alive.

"Speak, woman." He lifts his head to the ceiling, closes his eyes and lets out a low growl of annoyance. His hands fall to his side and keep his back to her. She is interrupting his fun time, therefore he is annoyed. There's also a dark part of him that finds it thrilling to cut her limb to limb, cook her and feed her as soup to the Church.

However, it must be extremely important for her to risk her life for this message or else her head will be on a pike in front of his castle for everyone who passes to see. Since the cock crowed in the morning, he is feeling a bit twitchy and thirsty for blood. Nothing will satiate more than bloodshed.

I'm a sick man, he thinks and chuckles to himself then tunes back into what the seer has to say.

"I had a vision not minutes ago. Someone in Naelund has possessed a dangerous amount of power that will doom us all. More importantly, you, my lord." Octavia is a famous seer in Varusa, who makes a living off reading palms but delivers news to Silas on occasion.

On hearing the premonition, Silas stops and turns to face the red-headed woman with the terrible makeup, unkempt hair, that blue amulet necklace she always wears claiming it's to ward off evil and an undertone of incense that lingers in the air whenever she is near. His head tilts to the side and his eyebrow cocks waiting for her to continue.

"Did you see who?" He presses for more information. He feels like she is dangling a bone in front of him and he must whine like a dog for it. And if there is one thing people know about Silas is he will not beg.

"No, just darkness." Silas rolls his eyes, not pleased with her report—or lack thereof. It was better if she didn't say anything at all because this report hardly helps him. Looking for one person in a group of almost one hundred was a problem he couldn't be bothered to handle. He would have to go about this another way. A cleaner and easier way. At the end of the day, he wouldn't have to worry about this little mishap.

"Well, off you go." He waves his hand for the guards to escort her out. "Flavia, send whoever is left of the guards to kill everyone in Naelund. Not even a dog should be left alive." His wife looks at him with fear in her eyes. She shouldn't be surprised by the words that left his mouth but she was. Even knowing his reputation, she couldn't believe he was willing to kill an entire nation of people because a seer told him that someone had forbidden magic. He hardly asked any questions to confirm if what she said was even true.

For all they know, she could have a personal vendetta for someone in Naelund. She should've known that it didn't matter because for the longest time, she had to listen to him go on and on about how much he wanted to remove Naelund from the map. It didn't matter what the reason would be, as long as they are gone. However, she nods her head not risking to defy his orders and goes off to relay the message.

"Is that really necessary?" Jothan questions, already regretting that he asks such a stupid question. He knows better. No one questions the King's motives.

This is Silas Casteron, his sociopathic best friend who executes a plan at any means necessary. The man who almost killed an infant because he cried when he looked at him. Nevertheless, the question has to be asked, so he can reconsider what he is doing. To ponder to himself—that somewhere deep down—his human conscience must be telling him that what he is doing is wrong.

"Someone in Naelund has incredible power that threatens my existence. We have no idea who the person is and what they are capable of, so I might as well get rid of them all. Don't you think so? They are a waste of space anyway." Jothan dared not to disagree with him, knowing his temper. Silas knows that Jothan does not agree with his methods, the Captain being the more practical and intact with his emotions.

"No matter, I'll send Kalodor with them and I'll burn the place to the ground." Kalodor is Silas' dragon, a specie that's been in the family for years but he's the only one to use it. The Casterons are a long line of family with old and powerful Gaidde magic. Every heir to the Varusa throne is supposed to choose an animal to link their soul with.

Except for the Casterons, no one in the Udriles Kingdom is supposed to have any source of magic since they were supposed to be wiped out sixty years ago by Silas' grandfather. As far as Silas knows, if anyone is even close to being more powerful than him then they must cease to exist.

12/02/22

Au revoir...

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