The Prysm Cycle: Of Glass and Iron.

Chapter 1: The Whispers Of War.

"So explain to me, what causes a war to start?" Professor Cornilius Hues asked his student. The mentor stood at the front of the chamber of the Northern tower, standing beside a board with a map of the world spread upon the wooden planks. The atlas had been detailed, nothing short of an artifact in this day and age. The vast blues and cyans of the seas and oceans complemented the terrains greens, yellows, and greys. The map showcased the five continents of Tricär:
Glydria to the East, one of winds and storms. Thalimar to the South, one of mountains and forests. Pullarus to the West, one of islands and waves. Ignie to the North, one of volcanoes and sand. In the center of them all, a continent known as Alor stood brilliant upon the map illustrated in golds and purples, a landmass of frost and fields. The sole student's voice cracked as he spoke into the dry air.
"In the past there'd been dynasties left to wither and decay. Kingdoms born to flourish only to die in ash and rubble. Empires conquered with bloodlust between one another, fighting for what little they had left, going as far as to wipe cultures completely off the map." Ryker, his student, began. "There's a multitude of different reasons to start a war. When has the world not been at eachothers throats?"
"Although what you say is true, there was an era, long ago. One of peace and advancement that prospered for a thousand years. Until an empire harnessed the powers of the Lords of the Source. Something only capable of a Champion," Professor Hues said, pacing the chamber as they discussed the matters of blood and iron. "The ending of the Serene Era was directly met with the second Prysm war." Ryker nodded at this, as he continued to scribe the professor's thought process, "Which indirectly shattered the world into six, dividing them into raging wars . . . Well that is until allied forces banded together to retaliate against a common enemy. The very empire we serve. The impenetrable wall of Gwynïvere spans the width of the continent splitting Alor in two, all to separate us and them." Professor Hues turned from thought to look at Ryker who began to speak.
"Why did they force us in? I've never understood that part." He asked, tapping a ringed finger upon the wooden desk.
"That's a tale for another night, now you've yet to answer my question. What causes a war to start?"
"Well the War of Retallium. . . the second Prysm War. It was one of religious conquest, right?" Ryker asked.
"The last Prysm war started out as one of religion but quickly spread territorial. Some saw it as revenge even for what the other nations had done to the Scrënians during the first war." Ryker looked down at the words he'd hastily wrote trying to find meaning in the past.
"Why are we talking about all of this?" He turned to his professor, his eyebrow raised. He could tell his professor had brought this lesson on a whim. He'd told Ryker they'd be talking about new Pyromancy techniques, not some futile attempt to drill the world's mistakes into his brain.
"There's a lot I cannot tell you—" he said as the sound of knocking interrupted him. "Hold that thought." Cornilius turned swiftly to the door. A squire opened it before the Professor met him halfway.
"The King requests to see you, Archmage." The squire spoke before the professor ushered him into the corridor leaving the door ajar. Whispered conversation sneaked through the room before Cornelius turned his attention to Ryker, returning back to the study.
"We're going to have to put this lesson on hold for now, you can let yourself out my boy," he stole a quick glance of the prince. His mess of burgundy curls that sat like a mop atop his head, or the deep green of his eyes reminding him of a much simpler time. The dark gold of his skin descending from a foreign land. How Ryker had ended up in the heart of the empire was confusing even to Cornelius, but he was determined to raise him in the ways of the Source, in an attempt to keep his heritage intact. Even if it meant putting himself in danger.

Ryker sat alone in the chambers for a silent moment as he took in the feeling of the still, before the scrape of the wooden chair upon cobblestone floors echoed through the room as he rose to full height. He strode from his professor's chamber up a set of stone stairs where he was met with the dim glow from the moon's above him basking him in green. He stood at the top of the Northern tower somewhere he could escape from the frantic castle life to enjoy the calm the soothing winds brought on. It wouldn't last of course, the sound of footsteps could be heard ascending the tower's long spiraling staircase. Turning on his heels Ryker was met with a familiar figure, albe cascaded in shadows. Ryker could make out his slender frame anywhere, for it had been the only person besides Cornelius' he'd actually enjoyed. Issar stood in the doorway of the tower, the dim glow of torches from the staircase silhouette him in obsidian. There he stood the prince's sworn protector.
"I knew I'd find you here," he said slyly, resting his back upon the archway.
"Why do you feel the need to sneak up on me, you are my Theradrix after all." A word meaning slave in some parts, but to Ryker it had meant a partner, a protector, a friend, maybe something more. Issar had been paired with Ryker when they'd both been the age of nine. Coming from a dynasty to the west of Reighgar (the capital city in Ionad.) He'd been skilled with a blade being swift enough to take down almost any opponent, being a perfect fit to protect the prince. He originated from the Darrius dynasty, the black fox, which was allied with the ruler of Ionad, whose symbol was the emerald dragon.
The boy moved like a lit match to join Ryker, resting a gloved hand upon a metal beam in between the castle's fortified stone battlements.
"Your mother. She's gone into labour." Ryker turned to look at Issar but he did not return the gaze. "They don't want you there." He stared blankly into the quiet of the night, at the dim sea of torches that lit up the city.
"They don't want me anywhere. Afraid I'll catch the entire castle ablaze," Ryker turned to stare into the distance at the mountains that kissed the emerald skies of the north. As smoke began to rise from his palms, the metal glowing red hot from his touch. The taste of soot and blood, wild upon his tongue.
"Just hang tight, I'm sure they'll introduce you when the time is right!" Issar replied. Wrapping a strong arm around Ryker before ruffling his hair with his other hand. They'd been closer to brothers than friends, sharing nearly every waking hour together except when Issar had duties for the castle, or the guard, or the King. Besides Issar and his professor he hadn't a person he could rely on, not even his own father. The King of Ionad. Ryker had grown accustomed to isolation, being alone hadn't been horrible when you'd had enough books and encyclopedias to fill a library. He'd spend most of his days curled up reading a novel searing the corner of the pages whenever he'd needed a bookmark. His professor had told him he'd been born with the Source, something called a Sourcerer. The power of Pyromancy dwelled deep inside him, fueling him, marking him a hazard if he couldn't control it.
"Captain." a voice called from the darkened staircase
'Captain?' Ryker thought, as he turned to see a king's guard standing in the entrance blackened by torchlight. He'd been too distracted to listen in for anybody approaching. Issar turned to greet the soldier brushing past Ryker, as they conversed in hushed conversation barely audible, yet Ryker could make out only two words. "Eastern tower." But that's all he needed to piece things together. How his Theradrix got promoted to captain baffled Ryker to an extreme, and not only that, but he's been summoned to the eastern tower. Which was dedicated to the soldier quarters, and the Kings war room. Ryker hadn't dared step foot into that room, yet that hadn't extinguished his curiosity. Issar turned to Ryker, placing a hand upon his shoulder, but Ryker just stared at the guard.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" His voice was rough with guilt, apologies in his doe brown eyes. Ryker nodded dryly, a ball of cotton lodged in his throat. He stole a glance as they began to leave, before turning back to stare at the stars inhaling deeply as both men left down the passage.

The second the wooden door closed Ryker slammed his fist upon the stone battlement sending emerald embers into the night. Adding green stars to the ever glimmering sky as the cinders rose to the heavens. Had this been his destiny? To stay locked within the castle walls, forever tethered to this stone prison? Oh how he ached for something more, something to give cause for the fire he created so effortlessly. If anything this Source burning inside him acted more as a burden than any sort of real power. This raw brutal force, just begging to explode. If he'd been born with the Source, why did it feel more like a curse than a blessing?

Travelling from the top of the Northern tower to the prince's chambers, Ryker found himself maneuvering through the maze of cobblestone walls. Passages leading to dungeons, and underground tunnels connecting to the grimy pipes of the sewage. Yet he'd lived in these walls all his life, making it exceedingly easy to find his way around. Ryker turned down a corner before he approached his chambers without any cause of harm. Pushing open a set of heavy oak doors lined with iron. Ryker breathed in the room, the smell of roasted wood, soot, and rich fragrant oils met his nose as he entered the circular room. Eagerly he strode to the hearth, taking note of a set of sturdy new looking wooden logs. 'The castle's servants must have exchanged the charred morsels of charcoal from the night before,' he thought before the snap of his fingers ignited a burst of green fire in his palm, a wisp of jade flame rolled across his fingers as he flicked a spark towards the direction of the dry kindle, setting it ablaze with the slightest contact. The fire caught as the sound of the flame's ravenous quest for fuel cracked and popped throughout the room.

The hour had grown late. Ignotus and Cälyd two of the moon's of Tricär shone northward directly in from his window; they'd been brilliant shades of green and orange, casting emerald moonlight upon the realm as Ryker lay sprawled upon a feather filled mattress, falling limply into the inky abyss of the subconscious. That is until he was met with the silence, the dark, the thickness in the stale air; completely deprived of the Source. Ryker found himself walking, awake? Had he been dreaming? His footsteps disturbed the still surface of a vast ebony pool. It felt like a dream, or an endless darkness, perhaps a midnight sea? Like the ones that crashed upon the obsidian beaches in Ignie? Ryker's thoughts exploded into the empty space trying to find meaning in the abyss. His breath swirled in a thick cloud as he exhaled, the hairs on his neck rose in attention as an icy chill ran down his back. Ryker could feel it, concealing its features in the darkness that spread as far as the eye could see, had he been in a realm of eternal Dusk? He darted his eyes around until he caught the glimmer of light. Two orbs of white that forced him into a stare as the rest of the figure appeared out of the inky abyss. He could barely make out the tall, looming silhouette, but it stood watching, its beady white eyes stabbing into him.
"I've seen this before," he whispered, primarily to himself. The place felt strangely familiar, for one reason or another. Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, the sound of a babe crying caught his attention as it echoed through the emptiness. He suddenly recalled that his mother had been in labour, keeping alert to the now fading cry. The watchful figure had vanished, and it was at this moment he realized he was deserted even by his subconscious. His heart pounded in his ears, a thumping reminder that he was still alive, as he continued deeper into the endless void. Ryker tried to spark up a flame, an effortless task for him, yet the flame hadn't come. He looked down at his hands, cloaked in the darkness like midnight gloves. He attempted a spark again, the lack of fire weighing like a pit in his abdomen. He felt his painfully empty stomach turn, honing in on the gnawing realization that he didn't have the Source to save himself here.

The inky black water surrounding him rippled, shattering the once-mirrored surface as the roar of a dragon tore through Ryker, forcing him to turn to where the thunderous noise originated. Gleaming jade eyes shone within the darkness, as deep green flames could be seen crackling throughout the scales as if its chest had been wounded. Ryker could identify the beast anywhere albeit the dragon looked substantially grander than any he'd ever seen! Although he'd only seen them illustrated in the encyclopedias that adorned his shelves. Ryker stood frozen in a state of paralysis unable to move a muscle, as the beast fixated on him. The flames grew from the dragon's chest until a violent blaze erupted from his maw, travelling to him. Ryker trembled with realization, taking a final frantic look at the beast before shielding his eyes from the flames. As violent emerald fire consumed him; waking him from a dream.