The Shattering

Chapter 1

-Liurnia Cathedral-

Dark clouds hung in Liurnia's sky like a heavy, dreadful veil. Thunder crackled into the air, threatening the landscape with icy rain.

It was appropriate weather. Supposedly a king was to be buried today, along with his boy.

Rennala sat in the courtyard, gazing at the dead sea beyond the stone fortress. It should a beautiful sight, had the earth not begun to rot a millennia before she was born. The waters were grey, putrid, and cold. Fish had not thrived for years. Not since the Erdtree planted its roots.

"My lady." A young apprentice approached with an umbrella. "The processions will begin soon. Let us get you inside."

Rain began to freckle the stone and a chill wind scattered leaves across the courtyard. Rennala glanced back and gave a small nod, before standing and following the young lady inside.

Had it not been for the somber ceremony that was about to begin, Rennala would be drafting some retaliation for the people, the man, that did this. The one who is the cause for this funeral.

She took her place in the gathering, and waited as the priest stood at the stone podium. The enormous stain glass windows stretched upwards towards to dome ceiling of the cathedral. Raindrops speckled the glass, though the murmuring of rumors could still quietly be heard.

"...slain in his sleep, he was." A woman whispered to her companion. "A  dreadful end."

"And his boy?"

"I heard he followed the noise of the struggle. He was still a young babe... only seven."

"By the two fingers..." The old woman shook her head. "Bless their souls."

Rennala remained quiet. Death was common in this land, no one dared question that. What was unique about this was the boldness of it. Two lords, slain in their home. Over what? Land? It was thought that war died out ages ago, when the gods grew weak and humans grew weaker, more complacent. Now, talks of war simmered in the background. Ever growing with each violent act. This seemingly senseless murder was tactful. The man responsible was undoing generations of reluctant peace, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

After the funeral, Rennala returned to her home and place of rule, The Academy of Raya Lucaria. As she stepped into the Great Hall, she passed bustling students and the books and scrolls that lined the walls, as if the tomes were the foundation of this place. Endless knowledge lay within the academy. If one was seeking to learn the divine arts, it was a privilege to study here.

Her apprentices trailed behind closely as students parted with her approach, bowing their heads with great respect. She simply stared forward and continued into the grand library, the apprentices shutting the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, she pulled off her black cape and tossed it to the floor. One of her apprentices scrambled to pick it up.

"What could he want?" She muttered, a quiet rage burning at her throat. "Why now?"

Her female apprentice stepped forward and bowed her head. "Perhaps the queen would like to retire to her chambers? May we draw a bath-"

"No." The queen shot a frustrated glare at the apprentice who sheepishly averted her eyes. "It is no use. I won't be able to sleep at this rate, I have to prepare."

The male apprentice stiffened. "Shall we summon your lords?"

Rennala stopped her pacing. She stood in place, thinking, deciding her next move. Her apprentices shifted in the uncomfortable silence. She finally looked at them both and nodded solemnly, "Yes. If I am to meet the slayer of kings tomorrow... I will need to be careful. I will need to be ready. Tell them to come."

The apprentices stood at attention, bowing their heads, and then shuffled into the depths of the academy.

That night as she sat in her bed, she thought of the day spread out before her. She would meet with the slayer of kings, and they would discuss all manner of useless politics. The kind she would never be able to focus on, knowing that they would meet on the battlefield mere days later. As he spoke of treaties and territories, she would be contemplating all of the ways she could to slice his throat.

She placed a hand on her chest, clutching the fabric of her gown as she drew a heavy sigh. She had never engaged in war; and though she would not admit it, she was afraid.