In the far land of Asxairo, off the distant ruins of the Rovien Sea lives a damnation to the kingdoms. She is something beyond the great bounds of the ancestors and the Gods. She is an unstoppable force and she has a mission to complete.
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The gray sky was still in its early hours of the last few dwindling minutes of night it had, barely any sunlight penetrating through the rather thin fog that surrounded the desert tribe ground.
It was a rather cold morning, the howl of the wind sweeping past the pebbles that littered the rough earth and the tumbleweeds that made their way across the dry sand to the other side of tribe ground.
Towards the beautiful miniature castle, where the guards stood still behind the closed double doors and inside the structure where the red-carpeted hallways were silent as the souls that rested inside of them was a shadow, a whispering soul lingering throughout the second floor, hard footsteps brushing past the cleaned floors.
His long fingers closed around the front of his jacket, his nails digging into the black polished buttons of his newfound comfort. His usual cloak, the color of a dark ocean storm held together by a sapphire barrett swept past the floor, the edge of the material brushing past his black boots.
With ease and grace, ice-sculpted eyes taking in the beauty of the walls that surrounded him, Lucien Northorn walked in silence as he made his way towards the tribe leader's chambers, his steps soft and careful as he made a turn on his left.
The castle was surprisingly quiet today for such an early morning, the usual scuffling of feet pattering against the floor seizing and the light aroma of food wafting in the air seemingly evaporating into thin air as the Hell Siphon made his way down the narrow hallway to the door at the end.
A feeling of unwantedness slivered up his spine, strands of his bone-white hair falling into his eyes as he stopped his quick strides near the door. The double door was a white structure plated with gold, the delicate curve of the doorknob biting into his palm as his hand made contact with it.
A sigh left his lips, his white hair falling right into his eyes as he stood there by the door, contemplating on whether he should step foot into his friend's room or turn his body back to the secluded hut he came from.
He wasn't supposed to be here judging by all the books he hid in the front of his jacket, the leather-bounded bricks pressing into his chest with a heavy weight. His mission was with a specific witch inside her hut, scanning through the books to make sense of everything they had found the night before.
Lucien wanted to leave, with all his heart he wanted to convince his feet to turn around and flee from the castle and into the safety of that hut with a creature he was warned to stay away from. His soul, heart, mind ached to seclude himself inside that confined shelter and let his mind stop slow down.
Yet as he turned the curved doorknob of the handle, the click of the lock ringing through the tiny space between him and the door, he knew for sure that if he didn't let himself check up on Rheynoak, the tribe leader would suspect his behavior and hold him by the edge of a sharpened knife until the truth spilled through his lips.
