Bloodlines shattered: The rise of a rebellion

Chapter 2: Shadows of War

The halls of the palace were alive with the sound of hurried footsteps, the shuffle of armor, and the urgent voices of messengers carrying news from the frontier. War was coming—though Eryk and Lorian had heard whispers of it for weeks, the confirmation had arrived that morning: the Elven Confederation of Silvanis had declared open hostilities against Arandor. In the council chamber, King Alden stood at the head of the long oak table, his expression as hard as the steel he so revered. His generals sat to his left, their faces grim, while his two sons flanked him on the right. Eryk leaned forward, his fingers tracing the edges of the map spread before them. "They've moved farther north than we expected," he said, pointing to a cluster of villages marked in red. "If they take the river crossing here, they'll cut off supplies to the northern garrisons." Lorian, sitting beside him, tapped a different spot on the map with his gloved hand. "The elves don't fight like us. They'll use the forests to their advantage, ambushing our supply lines instead of sieging castles. We need to outmaneuver them before they can set traps." Alden's sharp blue eyes flicked between his sons. "Then we'll strike first. A decisive blow will show them that Arandor does not falter in the face of rebellion."
"It's not rebellion," Lorian said quietly, but the words carried across the room. The air grew tense as the king turned to face his younger son. "What did you say?" Lorian met his father's gaze without flinching. "The elves aren't rebelling. They've been independent for centuries. This isn't about loyalty—it's about survival. They've lost half their lands to logging and mining. If we keep pushing, they'll have nothing left."
"They'll have nothing left because they're weak," Alden replied, his voice cold. "And weakness has no place in this world. Perhaps you've spent too much time with your books to understand that, boy." Eryk shot Lorian a warning glance, but his brother's temper flared. "Maybe you've spent too much time swinging swords to see the damage you've done!"
"Enough!" Alden's voice thundered, silencing the room. He leaned across the table, his presence looming. "You will do as you are commanded, Lorian. Both of you will. I expect my sons to fight for this kingdom, not question it." The silence that followed was suffocating. Lorian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. Eryk glanced at his brother, wishing he could smooth things over, but he knew it was a futile effort.
That night, Eryk found Lorian in the palace gardens, sitting on the edge of the fountain their mother had loved. The air was crisp, and the stars shone brightly above, but Lorian's shoulders were slumped, his gaze fixed on the rippling water. "Why do you always have to push him?" Eryk asked as he approached, his voice softer than usual. Lorian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Because someone has to. You know I'm right, Eryk. Father's so blinded by power that he doesn't see the cost of his actions."
"I know," Eryk admitted, sitting beside him. "But you can't keep fighting him like this. He's not going to change."
"Neither am I," Lorian said with a bitter smile. For a moment, they sat in silence, the sound of the fountain filling the air. Then Lorian spoke again, his voice quieter. "Do you ever miss him?" Eryk frowned. "What do you mean? He's still here."
"No, not this version of him," Lorian said, his eyes distant. "I mean the father we had when we were kids. The one who used to tell us stories about his battles, who carried us on his shoulders. The one who actually laughed." Eryk's chest tightened at the memory. Their father hadn't always been so cold.
Years ago, when the boys were small, Alden had been more than just a king—he had been their hero. "Again!" Alden bellowed, laughing as Eryk swung his wooden sword at him. The boy's strikes were clumsy but enthusiastic, and Alden parried them with ease, using a training sword. "You're getting better, my boy," he said, his voice full of pride. "But you'll never best me if you keep dropping your guard like that!" Nearby, Lorian sat on a tree stump, watching with wide eyes. He was too young to join the sparring, but Alden called him over anyway. "Come here, little mage," he said, lifting Lorian onto his shoulders. "You're not a swordsman like your brother, but you'll be a fine wizard one day. Just like your mother." Lorian had giggled, clutching his father's hair. "Do you think I'll be able to make fireballs?"
"Of course!" Alden had replied with a grin. "But first, you'll have to learn to listen to your old man." It had been a simpler time, one filled with warmth and laughter. But those days felt like a lifetime ago.
Eryk and Lorian had little time to dwell on the past. Within days, they were marching to the northern frontier with a battalion of soldiers, tasked with defending the river crossing that was vital to Arandor's supply lines. The elves struck at dawn, their arrows raining down like a storm of death. Eryk barked orders to his men, his sword flashing as he cut down an elven scout who had breached their lines. "Lorian!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "I'm here!" Lorian called back, standing in the center of the battlefield. His hands glowed with magical energy as he raised a barrier around their troops, deflecting a volley of arrows. "Hold them off—I can't keep this up forever!" Eryk nodded, charging forward with his men. The clash of steel and the roar of battle filled the air as he fought his way through the elven ranks. He was a whirlwind of precision, his sword cutting down foes with brutal efficiency. Behind him, Lorian's magic pulsed like a heartbeat, shielding their soldiers and hurling bursts of fire at the enemy. When the battle finally ended, the river ran red with blood. Eryk stood on the bank, his armor dented and stained, while Lorian sank to his knees, exhausted from the strain of his spells. "You did good," Eryk said, pulling his brother to his feet. "So did you," Lorian replied, though his voice was heavy with sorrow. "But was it worth it?" Eryk didn't answer.