Where the Bravest Met

Prologue -

It must be a dream, he thought. This wasn't the land of stone and fire. His hands were weak and his head was light. He stood there, all alone in a room. He struggled to turn his neck, to see a glimpse of where he was standing on. As he looked around, he saw a light. Not a warm, welcoming light but a harsh, cold ray that comes from the only window he saw. He moved, without thinking, and he remembered that he tried to climb. He saw the shackles that stopped him. He was dressed in ragged robes. A once proud azure cape dabbed with gold, the colours of the River Kings, was now a filthy brown rag. He fought to scream but there was nothing. Silence, and the window of the cold sun. 

He didn't remember them come in, but guards, in garbs with a proud insignia, a greathelm, embedded in their breastplates, walked towards him. He trashed and the shackles burned his wrist. The guards, whose faces he will never remember, pushed him down and chained his neck and they pulled him towards the only door. He did not see them unlock his bounds but he was moving, pulled, until he saw the same light from the window on the door. 

Time seemed to slow as they moved closer and closer to fresh air. Until it finally stopped, and the world changed.

He was now in the lands of Riverhelm, in the Valian plane. He saw its beauty, its simplicity. The stone wall that was built by Avenfar of the Vanguard, who under his watch defended the river kingdom from the Divines themselves, stood proud and strong. The canopy of Riverhelm was a calm blue and the streets that are usually busy, were empty. The sandstone houses, astonishingly bright under a healthy sun, were abandoned.

He saw himself now, through different eyes. His body, with the ragged robes and rag cape, hung from an Arch that stood higher than the walls themselves and kneeled around you as you entered the Azure Palace. His hair, once a silky black, looked almost white even with a warm glow from the sun. From where he saw himself, he noticed that he was in a crowd of familiar faces. He noticed that everyone was there, royalty and commoner, and they were all in the square before the arch. There was Old Farmar, the herald, who was as fast as he was loud and he was regarded as the loudest voice in the land. There was Erin, the maiden of the temple, whose beauty is unmatched but her hand will never be touched by any man, and her handmaidens, lady bodyguards, who followed and made sure she that she was safe. Uriel, the seamstress, who lived beside the winding roads of the Novish houses, the commoner dwellings. There was even Bonder, the town drunk, who had a tongue that wowed kings and queens yet never accepted any offer of shelter or money in exchange for his wits. 

They were all there in the square. Not one word was uttered. The man whose spirit was not in his body was as calm as if he didn't know the hanging man. It went on forever until a loud boom echoed throughout the main roads of Riverhelm and with a blast of wind that blew through the sandstone buildings that covered the riverside. The mountain, where the Azure palace rested, rumbled. It was the boom and blast of wind first, then, the fire started to eat through the many buildings and trees that had once made Riverhelm the most beautiful city in the known world. The wave of flames inched closer to the borrowed eyes and yet with panic in their hearts, they stood still.

Soon, the flame covered all but the Arch where the hanging man was. As if to make the dead king see his kingdom fall in his time. The man could now see from where he hung and he saw only fire. He waited for it to consume him, to end his torment. Then out from the burning depths, a hand, rough and strong, reached for his leg and latched on. A body was soon seen. The drunk's eyes were black as ash. As if it was the only thing that was seared of by the hellfire. Then, more ashen eyes and hands covered him. They all pulled him down and they started to cover him. As their grip reached his neck, he remembered that he screamed. The hanged king, Aniuras, screamed. 

And he woke up.

He struggled to place the dream in his memory. He forgot most of it but the death and the screams; his imprisonment and his hanging.

He looked around and saw a pyre at the corner of the royals' tent and he cringed. He was in a tent with an azure and gold greathelm embedded in the middle of each corner. He walked over to a table beside his bed and buried his face in a bowl of water to wake himself up. When he took out his head, he wet his white and gold tunic and the water showed his excellent build. He was the epitome of a true warrior and leader.

He saw no ragged robes or dirt capes and there was enough light and warmth... but he felt cold and dark as he did in the stone room in his dreams.

He was now scared. Can you believe it?, he thought. I, Aniuras, the Valian of Riverhelm, scared.

In stories, moments of glory are remembered. In his mind, he thought if the braves of the land felt fear. If the heroes whose names were forever bound in time had, in one moment, felt helpless. If the greatest ones were, at times, overwhelmed.

He couldn't answer his question as Baric, one of his generals, stepped into his tent personally and announced that the King was needed in the war tent.

Aniuras called for his squire and soon he was dressed in his armour. It was a simple piece of work. A design that fit the River King title. It was strong, simple dark steel with polished gold shoulderguards, shins, and boots, with gauntlets that were covered in emeralds and sapphires. His squire, Aries, combed his long, jet black hair back and handed him the greathelm of the River Kings' lineage.

Aniuras looked at it and examined it. It was white but not too white that it didn't match his armour. He thought it must have been godsteel. It made his head immune to any damage while weighing no more than a feather. Over the canvass that he declared as godsteel, were the decors that previous kings and bandits placed on it. Patches of gold, here and there; sapphires and amethysts and many other gems. But the most apparent and terrifying addition was the horns of Amythas the Demon King of the River.

It inspired courage on all, he thought. And fear to the rest.

He was done thinking. He walked, as graceful as a king should towards the opening of his tent and now, time did not slow and stop. Time was now all he had. A war could begin now and he needed to lead his people. So he placed his own fear aside and walked on. His greathelm, lodged between his arm and hip.

He was Aniuras Valian. The 1st River King of the 10th era. And the Ashen kingdom threatened his realm.