The Last Aayu: Book 1 - Ashes

Prologue: After a millennia, we remember.

The days of the Utalakaan were coming to an end. The once-great nation of Otana Ma, home of the red-skinned Utalan people, had been ravaged by war for the past forty years. The Avarian Empire, supported by the small human states, the aquatic Norukain, and the "Betrayal of the Blue Bloods"—who led the reptilian Imor-Tang and the insectoid Lu'kuata to turn against their red-skinned brothers—had pushed the once-proud race of warriors and artisans to their final few strongholds.

Kaan Tso'durey, seeking to gather support from the remaining warriors in his homeland, was ambushed by Na'a Sadra, his domestic rival and strongest challenger to the throne. The two lords of the Utalans were now locked in battle at the bottom of the Valsat Valley, their actions being watched from a distance by a third Utalan, Rotham Aayu.

On the dusty plains, littered with ancient temples of red sandstone, the warriors under Lord Aayu readied their weapons, donned their golden and bronze armor, and honed their Ardorian magics. The gleaming braziers, statues, and monoliths added to the magnificent sight. In the bright sun, the armor of the Utalan race shimmered like stars in the abyss. As Utalakaan Tso'durey and Na'a Sadra engaged each other's forces, two lords, Lord Rotham Aayu and Lord Qishai Dtarma, took command of their respective warriors and prepared for the impending battle.

"They fight amongst each other while our homes are about to be invaded," Rotham spoke grimly, holding his helmet in his left hand as the wind gently blew through his black, braided, and jeweled hair. He looked on with a strange mix of awe and disgust. The sight of the Utalan warriors in combat was truly magnificent. Standing on a rocky crest, one of the lords was ready to hold the line. His dark red skin and bright yellow eyes, starkly contrasting, penetrated the horizon like black smoke in a clear blue sky. Lord Dtarma joined him, standing on the rocky crest overlooking a canyon. Within the canyon lay multiple homes and dwellings of the Utalan people. The scattered dots of fleeing civilians added some life to the otherwise still landscape as they screamed and panicked, some saying their goodbyes and preparing for battle as the invasion approached.

"It is the way of our people to seek power," Lord Dtarma replied calmly, as Lord Aayu's proud seven-foot-tall silhouette appeared to sag slightly, his broad chest and thick thighs blocking the sun behind him.

"It is the destiny of our people to rule the world, but we cannot do that without our crowning jewel," Rotham replied bitterly. Despite his ambition often conflicting with his loyalty to the Kaanate and its subjects, he never wavered.

"Do you truly believe that the humans will defeat us here, Rotham?" Lord Dtarma's steel and silver armor, decorated with gold flecks, Ardorian magics, and war runes, was a stark contrast to, yet a complement to, his ally's armor. His long claret surcoat, emblazoned with his house crest, flapped in the gentle breeze as he prepared for battle.

"Most of our forces are dead or have fled, half of our ports are burned, and the Isle of Vainal has been conquered. Our home is a shell of what it once was. Utalan warriors do not retreat, but those who cannot fight must be evacuated," Rotham spoke as he clenched his long-fingered hands tipped with blood-red and obsidian claws. He shrugged his shoulders to make the weight of his armor, a series of overlapping Bronziron plates imbued with magic and trimmed with gold war runes, more comfortable. His cat-like eyes, hidden behind tough cartilage tendrils, watched the battle intently. The shadows cast by the midday sun made him appear daunting and cold, emphasizing his eyebrows, jawline, and cheekbones.

"Do not worry, Rotham," Lord Dtarma said confidently as he ran his finger along his necklace, tracing the large ruby in the center of a golden brooch. "We have a legion of warriors, and with your sword, the enemy will be routed by dawn." The ruby, set in the center of a series of spiraling fluted curls, created an image of the sun, while the rest of the necklace coiled around his neck like a python on a branch.

"In war, we are born, in war, we thrive, in war, we shall die." These words gave Rotham solace, as he knew that this was the way of the Utalan people, to live and die by the sword.

He tightened his grip on the hilt and raised the blade, feeling its weight and balance in his hand. He was ready for the battle ahead. His mind was clear and his heart was steady; he was a warrior of the Utalan race, and he would fight to the death if need be. He was prepared to face any challenge, to protect his people, and to claim victory over their enemies. The sun shone down upon him, casting a warm glow upon his armor as he stood tall and proud, ready to face his destiny.

A volley from a mangonel, followed by countless arrows, emerged from the other side of the valley. The alliance, warriors of the Avarian Kingdom, began to descend into the valley. They crashed into the mix of Utalan warriors fighting for the crown. They were being overwhelmed.

Rotham and Qishai stood at the crest of the rocky outcropping, watching as their people were consumed by the chaos below. Rotham's eyes widened in horror as he saw his kin being cut down by the enemy's blades. Despite the ferocity of the Utalan warriors, they were vastly outnumbered and outmatched.

"We should do something, Rotham. We cannot simply stand here and watch as our people are butchered," Qishai exclaimed, his voice giving way to urgency.

"Then let us begin," Rotham replied, his voice equally filled with determination. "We must rally our forces and lead the charge. We are the lords of Utala, and it is our duty to protect our people, no matter the cost."

"For Otana Ma! For our people! For our home! Charge, my brothers and sisters! Show the Alliance the power of our might and the ferocity of our spirits!"

The warriors roared in response, their voices echoing in the sky like a thunderstorm. They drew their weapons, their armor reflecting the sun, creating an aura of light. Rotham led the charge, with Qishai close behind, their combined strength and powers a formidable force to be reckoned with.

As they charged into the fray, the ground shook beneath their feet. The clash of weapons and the cries of battle filled the air, as the Alliance tried to hold their ground, but the warriors of Otana-Ma were relentless.

They, with their battle cries, charged forward, driven by Rotham's orders. Dtarma, not to be outdone, added to Rotham's commands. 

"Use the magic of the land! Call forth the fires of the earth and the winds of the sky! Let them know the might of our people!" Lord Dtarma roared. The mages among the warriors quickly channeled their energies, calling forth the elements to their aid, while the rest of the warriors continued to press forward, their weapons singing as they went.

The battle was fierce, with both sides exchanging blows and spells. Bodies of soldiers and horses alike littered the ground, and the smoke and dust obscured the battlefield, making it difficult to tell who was winning. But despite the odds, the Utalans held their ground, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of territory.

In the chaos of the battle, Rotham called to his lieutenants, "Lord Rakots, take your men and evacuate the civilians from Black Rock, then enter combat from the eastern plateau. Lady Rimmiu, take your retinue around the western flank, past the Ashun River. Sally forth, and fear not the embrace of death, for the Gods are with us!"

With his commands given, Rotham turned to face the enemy once more, his war-blade at the ready. He felt the ancient magic of the blade coursing through his veins, and he knew that he was more than ready for this fight. He exchanged a look with Lord Dtarma, and the two of them pressed deeper, trying to pierce the Avarian line.

The battle was intense and brutal, the clanging of blades and the roar of magic filling the air. Rotham and Dtarma fought back to back, their skill with the blade and mastery of magic unmatched. They fought their way through the enemy lines, their warriors following in their wake, cutting down anyone who dared stand in their way.

There was still hope to push back against the Doom of their Kin.