CYRDEL SONASSON IS AFRAID. When cannons and flintlocks open-fired on the pacifist territory, Alkara, signaling an invasion by Synketros, he is left with no choice but to watch destruction grip more than he is ready to let go. With his fiance and her...
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2412, Iclis 20, Reshpe
The rain came, and it wasn't in the form he expected. Arms around himself, he stood at the lip of the abandoned cavern, frowning at the overcast sky. Thunder rolled in the distance, giving the canopies a bit of character apart from standing over them like a hulking shadow. His mood was as glum as the clump of soil petering out from the side of the mountain stripped of all its color and vegetation.
Rabante had been a bad choice, after all. While the Sovereign was terrorizing Alkara, it seemed she didn't stop there. News from the passing merchants—at least those who could slog through the mud and uneven terrain—told them the Crown Princess of Helinfirth had decided to awaken some hidden power in the mountain and brought it down on the livelihood city at the foot.
The forces that marched to Helinfirth were the main cavalry and those still in training were the ones they faced in Alkara. The Sovereign has that many people on her side? And that many weapons?
Why would they attack Helinfirth? Airene had her own theories. With no standing army, the Sovereign thought she'd merely brave the uneven terrain and take control of the territory. It didn't quite go according to plan, with the presence of the well of ancient magic being thrown into the equation. This fight ended in a stalemate, with both sides retaining damages incapable of being repaired in a few weeks or years.
Cyrdel had other ideas though. He knew Elred Valkalin would never hand over Helinfirth to anyone even if they had no obvious military might. Maybe she had once served Synketros in exchange for security, and somewhere along the way, she and the Sovereign had fallen out of favor with each other. That's why she seemed desperate enough to wreck half of her territory, risk the lives of her people, and cast her cards without shame inside this cruel game.
But who was he to judge her and her choices? It's not like he's doing better in the heir department. If he was, he wouldn't be here, staring up at the lightning streaking through the gaps in the canopies and flooding the gray sheet of clouds with occasional gold webs. He wouldn't be on the run from his own people, and he certainly wouldn't have caused the death of the dynasty.
The cavern they found upon arriving in Rabante was one of the many mines dug at the foot of the mountain aimed to bring out lesium and other ores. The entrance was only uncovered when the torrential rain, which had never stopped pouring since yesterday morning, washed away the mud, rocks, and other root networks clinging to life in desperation. The inside of the cave was dry—a perfect solace for someone who was soaked to the bone and covered all over with mud as dark as dried blood.
The trickle of water dripping from the cracks in the ceiling wasn't helping his mood either. Despite the exhaustion and hunger marring his form, he couldn't find a shred of sleep because of it. So, after a few hours doing nothing but being annoyed at everything, he rose and hasn't moved from his spot ever since.
You should sleep some more, Ravalee's concerned voice flitted through his thoughts, providing a brief respite in the turmoil in his mind. He turned to find her sitting up, rubbing her tired eyes and brushing off the tangles in her hair with her fingers.
