With a drop of ink on a piece of paper, the day ended. The hand which held the feather tip relaxed and moved away from the desk when the owner stood from his seat.
The candle sitting atop that desk burned with an alluring white flame, dancing elegantly and giving the dark room a source of light. Outside, the beautiful stars of the day sky gave the people a light in the darkness.--
Once he finished his tedious day of work, the man walked to the window of the dark room, looking down from the mountains and upon the city that lied beneath him in the far distance. Like a speck of stars alone somewhere in the galaxy, the lights of the city shone ever-so lustrous.
Looking at his reflection from the window, beautiful purple eyes with a variety of blue, violet and white reflected the starry sky of his home to the smallest degree. The eyes of the man complimented his short, locked raven-black hair.
❝Another day of work finished,❞ he whispered and allowed a sigh of disappointment to escape his mouth when coming to view the city far away from the mountains that he lived in.
How could a conurbation be lively and dazzling, yet so barbarous to its people? Do away with millions of women each day, hold them as slaves and operate them as reproduction machines to create soldiers for a pointless war? To serve whatever "punishment" as an individual all because one holds more magic over another?
With gritted teeth and a scoff, the purple eyes of the man turned from the window to the piece of paper that he had written on earlier.
With quiet footsteps, he approached the letter, viewing it one more time to check if there were any mistakes in his spelling. Yet upon reading the paper, frustration and anger washed over the face of the ravenette like waves against the shore.
It was unacceptable for the man to scan the writing from the message.
"To Cyril Casey, the crown-prince".
Cyril, the prince of Aezane, working for a system that he despises.
After checking that his response to the letter had no flaws, Cyril stepped outside the room and down the beautiful hallway filled with gold and silver pillars. Underneath him lied a red carpet that led him down the palace with every step muffled by the soft fabric.
Aezane's prince found himself in his own personal public bar for the people. The people filled with music, chatting and laughter and a warm, harmonious atmosphere.
A tall, muscular, man stood behind the counter of the bar, cleaning a glass. The man had brown hair paired with silver-specked brown eyes.
Cyril moved towards the man, leaning against the counter and sending him a friendly smile.
❝Arlen. I haven't seen ya for quite some time. I hope ya didn't mess 'round with your co-workers again,❞ he teased the brunette.
❝It's been some time, Cyril. About four months now,❞ Arlen responded to his black-haired friend and laid down a glass of sweet red wine with strawberry flavor, Cyril's favorite.
The prince snickered, grabbing the alcohol and taking a sip from it before sending the bartender a flirtatious grin.
❝You still seem to know me more than anyone else, Arles. But that's being expected after knowing me for three centuries. So no points for you!❞
Sharing sips of wine with his friend, the brown-eyed man observed his friend and his demeanor, frowning at the clear exhausted look on his face, he won't like hearing what comes next.
❝Syreen is almost done with her duties. She's already all set for the next interview and welcoming. I managed to get a few new people in.❞
With a small grunt the ravenette let his head drop to the floor, of course he had more to deal with after his work-hours. The welcoming's certainly didn't go by too fast, nor did they have any recent ones.
YOU ARE READING
Tales of The Nightborne: The Reign Of Ashes
FantasyCYRIL IS A WARRIOR He has lived many lives, mastering the art of survival and war. But like all who have faced his grandfather's ruthless reign, he dreads the shadow of his past. Cyril will soon learn that reclaiming his future will come with untold...
