The Sins of the God King

Chapter 7 : Sartos

As the dawn's gentle light pierced through the dissipating smoke, the remnants of the enemy fleet retreated, their dark silhouettes fading into the horizon. The shoreline bore witness to the aftermath of the harrowing battle—a desolate landscape strewn with the lifeless bodies of soldiers, both friend and foe alike. The shores, was now marred by the grim reality of war.

Sartos walked along the shoreline, his steps heavy with the weight of sorrow. The images of fallen comrades haunted his thoughts, their sacrifices etched deeply into his soul. The beach, once a place of camaraderie, now resembled a battlefield graveyard, where the fallen were laid to rest by the unforgiving waves.

Amongst the lifeless bodies, Sartos saw the faces of brave warriors, their expressions forever frozen in the throes of conflict. It was a sight that pierced his heart, a painful reminder of the price they paid for their loyalty to the kingdom. The stench of death, mingling with the saltwater breeze, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life.

As Sartos continued his solemn walk, a figure emerged from the chaos—a figure that embodied both power and authority. It was the King himself, flanked by his loyal royal guards, a smile adorning his weary face. The soldiers, both surviving warriors and the remaining faiths, dropped to their knees in reverence, acknowledging the presence of their sovereign.

The king's voice rang out, filled with pride and triumph. " I am honored to stand among such extraordinary warriors. Each one of you has demonstrated unwavering loyalty and unmatched skill. You have proven that courage knows no limits, that bravery is the very fabric of your beings. This victory belongs to all of us, for it is the result of our collective strength and unwavering commitment.," he proclaimed, his words resonating across the battlefield. The soldiers bowed their heads, grateful for the king's recognition of their valor and sacrifice. But Sartos, burdened by the weight of his losses, felt no solace in these words. The cost had been too great.

As the king approached Sartos, his expression shifted, his smile fading into concern. "Where is Master Helias?" he inquired, scanning the beach for any sign of his trusted companion. Sartos felt a pang of unease, for he had last seen Helias near this very spot. He searched the area, his eyes darting among the fallen bodies, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friend.

"I last saw him here, your grace," Sartos responded. The absence of Helias weighed heavily on his heart. The thought of losing yet another comrade-in-arms added to the already heavy burden he carried.

The king's expression turned grave as he realized the significance of Helias' absence. A shadow of concern passed over his face, momentarily eclipsing his regal countenance. "We must find him," he declared with a sense of urgency. "Helias has proven his loyalty time and again. He is a beacon of hope in these troubled times."

The soldiers formed a search party, combing the shores. They scoured every inch of sand, their eyes straining against the rising sun, desperate to find any trace of their fallen hero. They knew that their victory was incomplete without the presence of Helias.

As the search continued, Sartos couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at his soul. He prayed that Helias had not succumbed to the horrors of war, that he would be found alive and unscathed. Their friendship ran deep, forged in the fires of countless battles across high seas. 

Scoured the shores and the wreckage of the defeated enemy fleet, the hours turned into an agonizing afternoon. Each body that was turned over held the potential to reveal the fate of their  comrade. 

The faiths of the Highmoon and the forgers, their duty fulfilled, had departed, leaving behind a solemn atmosphere. 

Amidst the search, King Eldrick sat on the make shift tent made with expensive fabrics and adorn of the Torryn banner along with all the lords, seemingly oblivious to the grim reality that surrounded him. His royal guards attended to his every need, serving him wine and delicacies as if it were a celebration. Sartos couldn't help but feel a tinge of bitterness at the contrast between the king's comfort and the turmoil that engulfed their lives.

"Why did I tell you, my fellow lords and Your Grace?" Lord Xart boasted, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Laughter erupted among the gathered lords and the king as they shook Lord Xart's hand, some of them patting his back in acknowledgment. All except for Lord Terha of Ughren, who quietly sipped his wine, his gaze fixed on the bodies washing up on the shores.

"Don't be a sour nut, Lord Terha. Join us," King Eldrick called out, noticing Terha's somber demeanor amidst the revelry. "The Navo'ri is giving us quite the entertainment, and here you are, brooding alone."

"I'm not brooding, Your Grace," Lord Terha replied, setting his goblet down with a measured motion. "I'm simply overwhelmed that the Navo'ri came so close today. And I have this lingering feeling that I can't quite extinguish."

The laughter around died down slightly as the lords turned their attention to Terha. King Eldrick leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, Terha? What feeling?"

Silence fell next, every lord and the king awaiting Lord Terha's answer. Lord Terha took a deep breath. "You're right, Lord Xart, about vouching for that conjurer Helias. He somehow came through..." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But isn't this a little unsettling? The fate of our defense resting in the hands of a single Xeldorian, a former enemy? We've unconsciously given this man too much power over us. I have the feeling that this is not a good thing."

Lord Polter of Rha'lo interjected. "Then why didn't you speak your mind earlier? I know your history with the Xeldorians is not pleasant, but you have to move on. The Xeldorians and the others have the same stakes now as us."

Lord Polter continued, his voice gaining momentum. "Instead of this  unwarranted issue from  Lord Terha, what we should be discussing is expanding our empire to the southern islands. There's a wealth of resources there waiting to be claimed."

"You've been smudging that idea in our faces for years, Lord Polter," King Eldrick said. "And the answer is still the same." He paused, letting the tension build in the room. "Conquering the islands will make us vulnerable to Navo'ri, based on past trials. We'll be caught between the island forces, the Navo'ri Empire, and the Wailing Sea. We can't afford that. Unless, of course, you have a way to take these lands without sailing through them."

Lord Polter's face reddened, but he held his ground. "We can't expand our influence without taking risks, your Grace. The southern islands are rich with resources that could secure our future."

King Eldrick shook his head. "It's not just about resources, Polter. It's about survival. We can't spread our forces too thin or expose ourselves to multiple fronts. "

a strong gust of wind swept across the shores, carrying with it a sense of foreboding. The once-clear sky became shrouded in darkness, casting an eerie pall over the scene. The sun, obscured by a massive shadow, seemed to cower in its presence.

King Eldrick turned his gaze to the source of the disturbance, and what he saw struck fear into his heart. Hovering before him was a creature—a creature of death and despair.

It was a dark Screecher.

Sartos, observing from a distance, recognized the imminent danger. With a voice that carried a sense of urgency, he shouted, "Get to the water! Dive into the sea!" The soldiers, sensing the imminent threat, followed his command without hesitation. They knew the nature of the Screecher and the devastating consequences it could unleash.

As the soldiers leaped into the water, the atmosphere grew tense. The air was heavy with anticipation, punctuated only by the sound of crashing waves against the shore. The Screecher opened its maw, unleash a dark and melodic scream—a sound that struck at the very core of one's being, a song of death that could spell doom for all who heard it.

Then, silence descended upon the battlefield—a silence that was deafening in its intensity. The soldiers, submerged in the water, held their breath, waiting for the inevitable. The sea, once a sanctuary, became their refuge, shielding them from the wrath of the Screecher.

As the seconds stretched into eternity, the absence of the piercing scream filled their hearts with both relief and trepidation.

Sartos, his senses heightened by the imminent danger, peered cautiously from the water's edge. The dark Screecher is nowhere to be found. All left is the lifeless body of the king and all that was left behind.