The Lost Throne

Prologue

 The dark streets were a distraction from the true horror underneath the blinding night sky. The ground was splattered with the blood of the fallen enemies, their lifeless bodies sprawled out on the ground like unfinished puzzles. These men didn't go down without a fight, just as we anticipated. Heads were scattered from one end of the kingdom to the other, labeling our first victory out of many to hopefully come. The walls of the wooden buildings were covered in the red liquid of life.

My crew walked down the dirt road with blood-soaked clothes and dulled swords, and a smirk pasted happily on their faces as they admired their work. Some even decided to snatch what they could from the bodies, be it gold, food, or clothes, not caring for the little amount of money the bodies had on the persons. I stood with my sword in my hand and my head held high as I turned to face Captain Parry. He handed me a handkerchief to wipe the blood from my face and looked around at the bodies of the enemy. He watched his men celebrate as a child retreated into a nearby house, tears staining her cheeks.

Though the crew was loud, the night was quiet.

As we gathered in the center of the town, Captain Parry stabbed his sword into the ground and raised a fist in the air. The men raised their fists as well, some with swords, some without, and I took a knee for the captain. Captain Parry lowered his hand, his people soon followed his lead, and he forced me to rise again. My eyes connected with his and I noticed that the wrinkles around his eyes and between his brows were getting deeper each day. He smiled at me, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. He took my hand, and in it, he placed a heavy gold medallion. I closed my fist around it and examined it closer. It didn't take me long to realize what this meant.

"My father gave this to me, and now it's my turn to give it to you," he explained. I carefully took the medallion from his hands and ran my fingers across its smooth surface. I could barely keep my excitement at bay as the skull-carved medallion glinted in the eerie, dull moonlight. Captain Parry grinned, his smile straighter than that of most common folk, despite the stereotype of crooked-toothed pirates. "Malvis," he started. I was never a fan of his speeches, but I listened intently this time. The way he said my name told me this was important. "You're the closest thing to a son I've ever had. For generations, my family has had this ship. Continually we have traveled around the world to gather misfits and outcasts to help them find a purpose. I have seen great potential with you, and I would like to pass the title of captain to you." I looked him in the eye and his soft smile was enough for a single tear to stream down my cheek. There was no way he was doing this without a reason. He then took his sword out of the ground and handed it to me carefully, his fingers lingering a little too long on the hilt before he opened his fist to allow me to grab it. I took the sword with the same gentleness that you would a newborn child and admired my reflection in the blade. Captain Parry patted my shoulder and I had a realization; he wasn't much older than fifty.

"Captain, I don't mean to pry, but why would you give up your position at such a young age?" I asked him. He brushed my hair out of my eyes and hugged me; the most sincere hug he had ever given me - the first hug he had ever given me. I hesitated before hugging back, and I could feel the other crewmates watching us. I pulled out of the hug and awkwardly sheathed the sword, a million questions ran through my head as I looked him in the eye.

"We will talk about this back on the ship," he stated. I nodded in agreement.

The trees watched as we marched our way to the ship through the gravely paths and under the dark midnight sky. Some crewmates were drinking and celebrating, while others walked proudly with their heads high and their swords still shining with the crimson blood of the once-powerful army.

We climbed aboard the ship and Captain Parry led me into the captain's quarters. I had been in the room many times before, but this time seemed different. I didn't know if it was the atmosphere or the maps strewn across his mahogany desk with various, undeterminable markings on them. Something was horribly wrong, but there was no way of telling what.

I straightened my posture the best I could and the captain's gray-blue eyes locked onto my dark green ones. I nearly held my breath as he walked around me, looking for any imperfections in the way that I presented. Rule number one of being a captain: Never let your confidence falter. If your crew doesn't think you're confident in yourself or your decisions, they aren't going to trust you to lead them.

"Everything seems to be in order," he stated. He tilted my chin up slightly, seemingly to adjust my near-perfect posture. "It seems I've made a wise choice for my replacement." As he started to walk to the chair at his desk, he stumbled slightly and gripped the desk in front of us to steady himself.

"Sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask why you-" he cut me off.

"It's not a matter of why I'm doing it, boy," he stated, "but I know you, and I know you're going to pry until I tell you. So, if you wish to know, I am very ill. I need to start your training now because, as said by the alchemist at Hursha, I have less than a year left to live." My heart sank.

"What? Sir, what kind of sickness could tempt you to give up such a position?" I questioned with only a hint of worry in my tone. I watched as he tapped the hilt of his sword, a nervous tick he often displayed and one that only someone as close to him as I could pick up on.

"That doesn't matter. What matters currently is training you and getting you in the correct condition to lead a crew. Do you understand me, mate?" He shuffled to his chair and seated himself upon it, his weakened legs wobbled as he did so. I pretended not to notice.

"Aye aye, captain!" I replied. I noticed that my stance had faltered and straightened out. He glanced at me from where he sat and I made sure to take in every aspect of his features. The crow's feet by his eyes, his slightly crooked nose (courtesy of his father breaking it when he was just a boy), and his sadness-stained soul. This impression on me would be the one that would stick forever.

I lifted my hand to salute him for the last time.

(A/N: I will attempt to update this once a week. Every Wednesday, the chapter will be published at midnight. Keep your eyes out for new chapters! And welcome to the new world of Tergia!)