The Magic of Xerath

0. Prelude

Written by Edward Notzero
Edited by Edward Notzero
Volume 1: Xerath: Stars of the White Crow

It surprised him to see his son cross that door while everyone else remained on the battlefield. His youngest son had abandoned his post and returned without sending word to any messenger about the reasons for his return.

He knew exactly what this was about; it was obvious. Not only could he read his son's aura, but the boldness in his demeanor was evident as he approached him. There he sat, on his throne, the most powerful martyr in the room.

Brounds, a broad and muscular man, wore a dazzling golden armor adorned with incomprehensible magical symbols. His face bore no wrinkles, though his hair had lost its sheen and had turned gray.

Each of his son's steps radiated contempt, yet the powerful king remained calm, unfazed by the situation.

He knew this was all part of a vile act of betrayal by his most naïve son, the youngest of the three. His name was Zatharos.

That was the name he had given him when he'd created and molded him with his own hands. He'd taken the initiative to bestow upon him the most precious gifts, granting him enough talent to become one of his prodigious sons. The rest, he'd have to learn on his own. Brounds had always known that Zatharos was the weakest in comparison to his siblings, but he'd never thought of him as naïve—at least, not until that precise moment, seeing him stand before him, making a respectful bow even before declaring his intentions, filled him with profound disappointment.

Zatharos moved through the throne hall with ease, adorned with carved pillars of molten rock. He wore a black coat embroidered with magical symbols in fine golden threads. His build was slender but undeniably well-defined beneath his garments. His black hair fell casually across his pale face, accentuating his sharp nose and yellow, reptilian-like eyes that emitted a faint glow. Despite his neglected appearance, he was undeniably attractive.

The hall was dominated by a harmonious blend of black and gray hues. His throne was crafted from the planet's most valuable minerals, where they had landed, a muted combination of cyan and crimson that dazzled any who dared to gaze upon it directly.

Zatharos stopped in front of his father and made a respectful bow, slightly bending his knees and inclining his torso forward by a few centimeters, shoulders and head low. When his bow ended, he still couldn't meet his father's eyes. Perhaps it was guilt for what he was about to do, or maybe he was saving the satisfaction of finally looking his father in the eye once his intentions were clear. On the other hand, his father, Brounds, known throughout the universe as the most powerful ruler, "The god who destroyed a thousand moons," held an expression of confidence and authority. But for Zatharos, he was no more than a multi-planetary genocidal figure.

Brounds swiftly brushed aside a strand of his faded gray hair that touched his left eye, as he would any obstacle that irritated him. With a firm voice, he asked:

"Didn't I order everyone to remain on the battlefield until not one of them was left?" he stated indignantly. "Consider yourself warned, Zatharos; I do not tolerate disobedience. If I must punish you as an example to those who dare to defy me, I will."

"I understand, sir," Zatharos replied, his voice soft and passive.

"Knowing this, and yet you still defy my orders!" he shouted in fury.

He had adopted an infuriated, aggressive stance in response to such insolence.

"Speak up, boy, before I sever your head for treason."

"Exactly!" said Zatharos, smiling, filling the atmosphere with sarcasm. However, his head and shoulders remained low, and his gaze fixed on the grayish ground.