The Damsel and her Knight

♚ The Dark Sorcerer

♚ The Dark Sorcerer

CLAVE

"I knew you would come." These were the first words the young boy had heard when he snuck inside a sinister room. He quietly closed the door behind him. There was something in this place. Perhaps, it was the voice that had spoken—ragged and deep; someone else in this room besides him.

Most parts of the castle were still uninhabited. It was late in the morning a day after the war had ended. Words of mouth said that the new king had already been proclaimed yesterday, in the hour before daybreak, when the skies were the darkest.

The king's guards stood at the gate, overthrowing the militants. Only a few patrolled the desolate castle during certain hours.

It did come out as a surprise that the boy had finally found another person—one that was breathing, anyway. He wanted to know the identity of the man, but the room was as dark as the hall that had led to it. Heavy curtains concealed the windows. This was the only part of the castle wherein daylight had been deliberately obscured.

But it had been a great help for the boy. For if the halls that led to this room didn't look unusual, the boy wouldn't have even thought of going here.

He felt at ease right away, despite being in an unfamiliar place and all the threats it should have imposed. Even when he was younger, he was fond of darkness. It was that one place where he could feel his heart beating evenly. It placed on him a sense of belonging. He was attracted to it. It should disturb him, but the boy also knew that there was a certain darkness inside him that hadn't been easy to contain.

The boy held his breath, without making a sound. The smell that filled the room was horrendous. Even if he couldn't see it, he knew that the stench was coming from rotting flesh and dried up blood.

It was the same smell from his memory. When he was young, he once found a small shack that contained a dead man's body. It fascinated him. He was eight at that time, and that eerie event had appealed to his curiosity. He visited the shack during his allotted playtime, carefully watching as the dead man's flesh rot until only the bones were left.

He had indeed gotten the right room. This was perhaps where he could find what he was looking for.

When he took a step to his right, seemingly away from the man who had spoken, the boy's foot landed on something. It was stiff and rigid, but perceptibly an arm of a person. Was this him? But the remaining life patterns left on the body hadn't indicated so.

The boy felt the slightest disappointment. It wasn't who he was looking for. But from the smell that covered the entire length of the room, there should be more than one body. And he could feel that the one he was searching for was near.

He wasn't filial, but it made him wonder why he couldn't feel his father's lifeline anymore. The young boy hadn't kept track of it. He had other things that enticed his attention more than the affairs of his dutiful father.

But for the descendants of sorcerers, blood wasn't forbearing. Even if one renounced recognition, it would find a way to let you know when another one's lifeline ran out. If he would describe it, the young boy would say that it was as if a line that was once linked with his own had been snapped. That was when he knew that something had happened to his father.

He was dead.

His father was said to be one of the greatest sorcerers alive. Curious, the young boy wondered how he had been killed. What spell did he create that he ended up like that?