Echoes of the Fallen

Chapter 1: The Golden Boy Returns

Chapter 1

The Golden Boy Returns

Sytre felt cold and empty as he walked through the crowds of Silverseat. They were cheering for his return from another successful campaign beyond the Borderlands. He knew the sun was warm on his skin and that the people praised him with victory but he couldn't find it in himself to share in neither of their warmth.

Everywhere he looked he could see his failure in the weeping faces of those whose loved ones had passed into The Fade.

An old woman squeezed by the guardsmen and marched towards the prince. "Murderous fool!" she cursed, shaking her hand in a ball of fury.

"Get back, woman!" a man of the watch forcefully pulled her from the street, sending a clear message to others not to approach Prince Sytre and the other returning soldiers.

The old one wasn't the only one mourning. She was one of many who grieved, one of many whom he had failed, one of many who would now feel, what the shamans called, the Echoes of the Fallen.

Her face faded into the crowd as he walked onto the keep. Taking a deep breath Sytre stared up towards citadel doors. His father and his older brother would be waiting for him inside the throne room, along with several other members of his family. He wasn't deserving of this today, of all days. The thought of what was to come churned his stomach.

He felt a firm hand rest on his shoulder. It was his new second-in-command. Sytre's lieutenant didn't say anything, the man knew what his lord was going through, and so all he did was nod. Sytre knew the gesture was comforting, but he couldn't make himself appreciate it. A stiff nod was all he could manage in return. Sighing, he took the first step towards Vygar Keep, named after his family and the man whom built the city. After the day's march, climbing a hundred steps in a full suit of armour was less than enticing. Though, it was a welcomed punishment, one far more lenient than he deserved.

He strode through the inner hall, making his way to the throne room. From the entrance above the stairs it was a single, white-stoned hallway to where his family waited. It was said that having such easy access to the throne room not only showed the people that their king was welcoming of them, but also showed them strength and courage in that he did not fear being so easily found.

From down the hall he could see his father, King Garyn Vygar, sitting on his silver throne. A Keeper of the House dashed out, spinning to avoid hitting the Prince, and ran on into the next room. "Sorry, my Prince, but a Keeper's work is never done!" the keeper shouted back.

His older brother, Agron, stood by their father's right. Sytre could see them both smiling, normally he would be swollen with pride and victory but those feelings did not fill him today.

"So, the Golden Boy of House Vygar has finally come home." His brother smiled. "Welcome back, Sytre." Agron gave him a wink with his one good eye, a gesture that was never quite the same after he'd received his eyepatch.

As was customary Sytre knelt before the throne, with his head bowed, and waited for his king to command him otherwise. "Rise, my son," his father began, "you are victorious once again. Your enemies have fallen before you and have been beaten back into the darkness." Now would be the time for Sytre to get to his feet, but his legs felt weak beneath him.

Agron chuckled, "This makes what? twenty-eight successful campaigns for you, little brother?"

"Silence, Agron." Their father always hated being interrupted, though none of his children could ever help themselves. Agron simply smiled.

He swallowed hard and, despite his efforts, tears forced themselves from his eyes darkening the white carpet with wet spots. "I... I am not worthy of praise. I failed." He lifted his head, the shocked expressions on his father's face was obvious. He looked around the room, only his family were present. This was lucky. It would not have been 'princely' to shed tears in front of his subjects. His uncle and grandfather stood together behind the throne, and the rest of his family around the room. Aside from four palace guards, they were the only ones present.

"Why would you say such things, brother?" Agron stepped down from their father's side and offered his hand. "What your diversion did led to victory for my troops as well, we have beaten the Ardumier out of the Borderlands and back into Scorched Peak. We have won."

He knew his brother was right in this. He nodded and took his hand to get up.

Sytre was grim, his hazel eyes distant and hollow. "For... Forty-eight," he bit his lip, unwilling to continue. He looked up to his father, his eyes glancing between him and Agron. Sytre shook his head. "I kept forty-eight soldiers alive. I lost four hundred and fifty-two," he felt disgusted. "And I still receive praise? Just... don't, Father."

A pained look crossed Garyn's face. "My son..." The king walked down to him and placed his hands upon Sytre's shoulders. "It was little more than a suicide mission. You weren't even supposed to be there."

A dark glare shot into Sytre's eyes, "I went because we have no right to ask our soldiers to die for us, if we would not die for them."

"And that is how we Vygars have ruled all this time, but this was different. I was certain I was letting you go to your death, my son. It is lucky that any of you survived. Their noble sacrifices led to a major victory and the reclaiming of lost land." Garyn looked into his boy's eyes, "You did well, Sytre."

His father's words did little to settle his nerves. The victory was empty. More than four hundred wives, husbands and children grieve today. This trauma, this loss, has them all afflicted with the Echoes of the Fallen. It was because he couldn't keep more alive. "I know what you are saying. 'People die, it is part of war.' I just can't accept losing so many."

A rough, deep voice weighed in, "And why is it you feel like this? When you lead the armies of the Third Assault Force far more perish. How is this different?" Barca stepped forward.

"I... I don't know. I don't have an answer for you, Uncle. It... just is. When I look at those who survived, I see that all of their friends are dead and yet I am alive. Knowing that it isn't the other way around kills me." Sytre stepped back from his parent. "Excuse me, Father, I need to be alone." With a sad smile Sytre turned on his heel and marched back out the front and down the steps, leaving Vygar Keep and his confused family behind.