Dark Prince Rising

Prologue

Cyran's blood turned to ice in his veins when he laid eyes on the Loramor Manor. "Oh, gods," he whispered, his eyes wide. "How could this happen?"

The manor that had stood so proudly just days before now lay in a pile of ash and rubble. Pieces of the stone walls stretched into the sky like a broken skeleton rising from the ash. Smoke still billowed from crevices in the pile, thick and black against the pale morning sky.

Cyran dismounted as he reached the ruins, hoping against all odds that maybe his best friend and his family had survived somehow. His boots crunched against the cold ground, frost and ash melding into one. Memories of Seyveril and his two little children flashed before his mind's eye, and his eyes filled with tears. The gods wouldn't take that happy family away, would they?

He stopped at the edge of the ruin, scanning the top of the ash for footprints or disturbances, any sign that someone had come this way. There was nothing.

Slowly, he stepped into the ash. His boot sank into the grey powder, and he could feel the heat of coals underneath still burning. It was too dangerous to try and find anything to salvage, but from the way it looked, Cyran doubted there would be much of anything to save. This fire had burned hot and fast, leaving almost nothing in its wake.

He picked his way carefully around the ruins, calling out for his friend. He and Seyveril had been friends since childhood, inseparable even when they both came of age to run their own households. Seyveril's daughter was the same age as Cyran's son, and the two were almost as close as their fathers had been.

Charred skeletons lay scattered among the ashes, no doubt the remains of his friend's household staff. No flesh or clothing had survived the blaze, so it was impossible to tell gender or age.

After a short time, he laid eyes on a blackened skull among the ash. One of its arms stuck up at an odd angle, and a flash of gold caught Cyran's eye. He stopped, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to collect himself as the world shifted beneath him. No, no, no...

When he opened his eyes again, he carefully stepped into the rubble for a closer look. He felt his hope for his friend die inside him as he studied the ring. It was exactly the same as the one circling his own finger. This was Seyveril's corpse. 

He knelt to the ground and said a quick prayer to the gods for safe passage to the Palace in the sky. When he stood, he felt completely drained of all emotion. Now, he trudged around the pile like a dead man; the only thing keeping him walking was the hope that maybe, maybe the children had survived.

Cyran passed the burned remains of a wall, and he froze. There, burned into the wall with a fire so hot it had melted the stone, was the Mark of Eris. The star-shaped symbol glared down at him from a point much too high to be reached by human hands.

It wasn't the good gods that have stolen this family. It was the goddess of darkness.

He turned away from the rubble, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. Why? Why would the goddess want this family destroyed? They had never done anything to offend her.

But now he knew that there was no chance of a survivor.

He started back towards his horse, his anger boiling up inside of him to replace the pain of loss. He expertly shut it down, closing it into a box and tucking it away. Anger would do nothing for him now.

Suddenly, a flash of motion in the forest near the ruin caught Cyran's eye. He slowed, peering into the dense foliage. After a few moments, he shook it off. It was just an animal.

But when he began to move again, the thing rustled again. He stopped, and a small voice called out. "Uncle Cyran?"

Cyran's heart leaped in his chest, and he ran towards the child. "Yes, it's me!" A tiny blur of gold raced out of the woods, hurtling across the grass. Cyran scooped the child up, a burst of wind tossing his hair as he did.

He laughed, tears of joy blurring his vision. A whirlwind surrounded them, and he knew that it must be Seyveril's daughter, Cira, that he held. He held her tiny body close, so glad that he had been there to rescue her. The men of the village had refused to come, claiming that it had been devil's fire that burned this place. And nobody survived the fires of Eris.

Until now.

Cira's clothes were torn and coated in ash, but she appeared to be physically unharmed. Even dirty and exhausted, she closely resembled her father. She had the same honey-colored hair, with eyes to match. She looked up at him, her big golden eyes filled with confusion. "I can't find Rennyn, Uncle. I shouted and shouted, but the fire was so loud, and he didn't shout back."

Cyran smiled sadly at the little girl, her innocence and fear almost too much to bear. "I'll keep searching for him. But we need to get you back to my camp. It's a day's ride to my palace, and I suppose you'll be living with me for a while. Until Rennyn comes of age, at least."

Cira nodded, and Cyran helped her up onto his horse. She clung to him with her thin arms as they rode down the mountain, and Cyran made sure not to jostle her too much. She had to be exhausted, but she forced herself to stay awake through the entire ride.

When they reached the camp, the rest of Cyran's men cheered and shouted. A child had survived! Cyran's fatherly instincts kicked in, and he carried the little girl to a tent so that she could escape the clamour of so many men preparing for a search party.

"Uncle," Cira whispered before he laid her down. "Please find Renn. I promised him that I would never leave him." Her eyes filled with tears, tears she hadn't shed throughout this miserable experience. "Promise me you'll find him. Please."

Even the air itself stood still as the girl anticipated Cyran's answer. Finally, he nodded. "I cannot promise that I will succeed, but I will give everything I have to find him."

This seemed to satisfy her, and her winds returned in a flurry. She smiled a sad little smile and hugged his neck.

As soon as he layed her down, she was asleep. She sighed contentedly and buried her face in the blanket. Cyran smiled again, bittersweet memories of Seyveril and his wife playing through his memory.

I will watch over her, Seyveril. Your family is my family. As we promised.