First Light of a New Age

Chapter 104: Dawn of Liberation

Kingdom Of High Tarxa, New Tarxa, High Elven Ville, Tarxan Palace, Inside The Throne Room.

1st Year of God, Tuesday, 4th Week, Month Of Jonah.

In the city of High Elven Ville, the streets were bustling with activity as elves, both men and women, moved hurriedly through the markets and alleys. Whispers of mounting defeats circulated like wildfire, defying the iron grip of King Acheron and his lackeys, who tirelessly flooded the media with tales of fabricated victories and propaganda against their sworn enemy, the Iron Kingdom.

But beneath this facade of control, an undeniable sense of dread began to take root. Something monumental was on the horizon, something that would reverberate across the Kingdom of High Tarxa, beyond even Acheron’s reach. 

While the upper echelons reveled in their delusions of power, the inferiors bore the brunt of the war. Forced into labor, their sons conscripted as disposable cannon fodder, their daughters shipped off to serve as “relief” for the frontline forces, resentment simmered in their hearts.

Anger, sadness, despair, frustration, helplessness, and all these emotions coalesced into a volatile mix, threatening to ignite rebellion. The tipping point was near, and all it would take was a single spark to unleash their fury inside the hearts of these inferiors.

And that spark is now about to come. Just a little more patience is all they need.

Far from the city center, an elven messenger was riding profusely on top of a Land Dragon with sweat beading on his brow as he rushed toward the palace. Such frantic deliveries had become disturbingly frequent as the days and weeks passed by, which confirms the suspicion among the upper class that all was not well. Whatever news he carried, it would undoubtedly spell further doom for the war effort. 

As he approached the palace gates, the messenger’s haste betrayed him. His mount collided with a guard, sending the armored elf sprawling to the ground. Without so much as a backward glance, the messenger dismounted as his singular focus was on the throne room. 

The guard who had been knocked off was fuming with anger. He wanted to teach the Elf who hit him with his Land Dragon to be taught a lesson.

“Who does he think he is?” he muttered under his breath. But as the guard stood back up, the messenger had already disappeared into the palace halls.

The guard reluctantly conceded that the news must have been urgent. Even so, he vowed to wait for the messenger’s return and planned to deliver a well-placed punch to settle the score.

Such was the nature of the superiors of High Tarxa, self-interest and ego reigned supreme, often to the detriment of all else.

Meanwhile, the messenger, who was drenching in sweat, raced through the palace corridors toward the throne room. His heart was palpitating, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs grew heavier with each step, especially his vision began to blur.

That's not what he needs or cares about. He needs to deliver this message at any cost. Minutes felt like hours as he stumbled forward and paused only briefly to catch his breath before pushing onward. 

At last, he reached the grand doors of the throne room. Gulping for air, he steadied himself and pushed them open, bracing for what lay within.

However, he didn't expect what he was about to see, though despite all the rumours going inside and out of the palace and from the entire Kingdom Of High Tarxa, he should've expected it.

The current king is an absolute idiot who only follows his lower body parts and his tiny brain with a comically large ego.

Truth to be told, even among the court’s most loyal members, there was a pervasive, unspoken truth that the kingdom would have been better under Floria Melian Shelberry, Acheron’s sister. Though her rule had been marked by controversy such as her radical ideals inherited from their father often sparked division, she was a competent leader.