Of Kings and Pawns

Chapter 1 - The Dream

Heavy rain poured over the quiet village under the domain of House Hollander, drumming softly against the rooftops and cobbled streets. The land had been untouched by the war—a distant, looming conflict started by Hanz Eigermann. Once the mighty ruler of House Eigermann of Prossenberg, he now found himself exiled, hiding in neutral territory, his every step hunted by soldiers of House Frank.

He sat restlessly in the small, weathered chamber, far removed from the grand opulence of his former life. Where there had once been tapestries and marble floors in his bedroom at Prossenberg, there were now cracked walls and creaking wooden boards. An open window let the cold night air sweep in, chilling the room further. It was a place unfit for a king—but Hanz was no longer a king.

He had not slept in three days. Fear had kept his eyes wide open, terrified of closing them and seeing it again. The dream. But no—he was certain it was not just a dream. It was a prophecy, and bad things happened to those who dreamt such visions seven nights in a row. Tonight would be the seventh.

His gaze drifted to his son, young Crown Prince Otto Eigermann, lying beside him, still too innocent, too young to understand the horrors unfolding around them. Otto slept soundly, unburdened by the weight of the future that now seemed inevitable. Hanz envied him, but also feared for him.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Hanz felt the familiar pull, and when he opened them again, he was no longer in the dark room. He stood atop a cliff, overlooking a foreign city. The morning air was clear, the city peaceful. But that peace was an illusion, shattered in an instant. The city erupted into blue flames, ice-cold fire devouring stone, metal, and flesh alike. He could feel its unnatural heat—burning, yet freezing at the same time. His skin prickled as the fire crept toward him, but all he could do was watch as the city and its people were reduced to ash.

From the smoldering ruins, two great beasts emerged. An eagle, wings outstretched and silver eyes burning with fury, descended upon the inferno. But from the heart of the flames, a bear rose, its fur blackened and singed, its eyes glowing with a fierce, malicious light. The bear lumbered forward, dragging fire in its wake, its sharp teeth gleaming, poised to bring the eagle down into the blaze.

The two clashed—talons and teeth, flame and smoke. The sky split with each strike, and the earth trembled beneath their battle. Hanz tried to cry out, to command the eagle to flee, to rise above the destruction. But his voice was swallowed by the crackling of the blue fire.

Suddenly, the eagle faltered. Its piercing shriek echoed in the burning air as the bear tore into it, its powerful jaws sinking deep into the eagle's wings. Blood as red as the setting sun spilled across the scorched ground. The bear roared in triumph as the flames consumed them both. The blue fire surged again, creeping toward Hanz, searing his flesh. He could feel his skin blister and burn, but it was not the heat of fire—it was something colder, something far more dangerous.

"Eyes of brown and purple," an eerie voice whispered through the flames, a chant growing louder with each passing second. "Brings fire of blue."

Hanz awoke with a start, his body drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, but the pain of the fire still lingered on his skin, as if it had followed him out of the dream. Beside him, Otto was screaming, his young voice filled with fear.

"Father!" Otto cried, his small hands clutching Hanz's arm. "What's happening?"

Hanz pulled him close, his breath ragged as he embraced his son tightly. "It's all right, Otto," he whispered, though he knew the words were hollow. Tonight had been the seventh dream, but he was still alive. The prophecy hadn't taken him—yet.

As he held Otto, the pieces of the dream began to fall into place. The eagle, with its silver eyes and fierce wings—that was House Eigermann. His house. His legacy. And the bear... the bear with its cruel eyes and burning fur was unmistakably House Rus, their mortal enemy. But the blue fire? That was still a mystery, though Hanz had his suspicions. He could feel its magic, and magic was something long thought dead in the world, tied to the Elvish, a people whose power had faded from memory.

But now he understood: the dream wasn't about him. It was about Otto. Otto was the eagle. The last Eigermann. The dream was a prophecy of his son's rise—and of his inevitable fall—at the hands of House Rus and the Elvish.

Hanz knelt before Otto, gripping his shoulders. "You may not understand this now, Otto, but you're destined for something great," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "You will restore our house, the throne of Eigermann. But it will come at a price. One day, Rus and the Elvish will come for you, and you must be ready."

Otto's eyes were wide, confused. "But, Father, what do you mean?"

"It isn't the Franks, or the Merricks, or even the Brightons you should fear," Hanz continued, his voice growing more urgent. "It's House Rus and the Elvish. The blue fire, Otto—it's theirs. When it comes, there will be no banners left, no sides to take. Friend or foe, everyone will burn."

Otto shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. "But why? I don't understand."

Hanz's heart ached at his son's fear, but he kissed his forehead gently, knowing there was no time to explain. "One day, you will understand. You are the savior of this world, Otto. Never forget that."

The rain outside had slowed to a faint drizzle, but through the window, Hanz heard the distant shouts of men. His blood turned cold as he saw the glow of torches flickering in the distance. The banners of House Frank. Their soldiers had found them.

"Do not forget," Hanz whispered fiercely. "Eyes of brown and purple, brings fire of blue."

"What's happening, Father?" Otto asked, his voice trembling.

Hanz turned toward the window, tears welling in his eyes. "There's no time, Otto. You have to go." He scooped Otto into his arms, despite the boy's protests. "I'm sorry. I love you, my son. Be strong."

"No!" Otto cried, kicking as Hanz carried him to the window. "What are you doing? Father, stop!"

Hanz gave his son one last, tearful smile before throwing him out the window. Otto fell into a pile of hay, gasping in shock as he scrambled to his feet. He looked up just in time to see his father, standing at the window, his eyes filled with sorrow.

The door burst open behind Hanz, and the soldiers of House Frank stormed in. Otto watched, helpless, as his father was dragged away by the men.

Without another word, Otto turned and ran, the rain masking his tears as his father's final words echoed in his mind.

"I will remember," he whispered through clenched teeth. "I will."