Home of the Wild One

Prologue

Booted feet paused at the edge of the destruction of the once grand house that had been reduced to ashes. A hand reached down to lift a bit of cinder before letting it blow casually away on the wind. The time for change had come and gone and this was what the old regime had suffered for their inability to bend. All that was left was a silver crown resting on the head of the only skeleton left in the wreckage; their Dracmiohn King. He sat peacefully against the pedestal, the only remaining structure.

There was no way to identify the remaining skeletons, but the body count was seven short of those supposed to be in the house at the time the fire took hold. Two bodies had been found torn to pieces in the woods, so the man in the ash knew it wouldn't be long before the remaining bodies appeared.

The blinding flames and towering smoke had alerted passing friends and villagers to the peril of the once royal family and eventually brought help to the screaming people trapped within. None of those rescued had survived. The corpses of Dark elves that surrounded the home left room for hope, however.

The feet moved forward and left slight indentations as they crossed the grey expanse. He stopped at the second set of bones to remain in the wreckage: a small puppy. A young girl near three years of age had been found near the small animal and was presumed to be Kalista, the Princess Heir, but there had been a young serving girl living in the area near the house, so one could ever be sure.

Officially, the entire royal family had been declared dead and the closest branch of the Dracmiohn had moved into the palace in Kanistra. It wasn't a city, as there was no such thing as a Northern city, but was the largest grouping of Northern dwellings in one spot. The latest rebellion had been quelled, those aligning with the Dark elves had been killed or locked where they would never see the sun, and the Dracmiohn line had safely transitioned to their new home. Though the man harbored doubt about how uninvolved the new line claimed to be with the recent spread of Dark elf attacks.

Unlike the southern countries across the mountain range, Northerners did not have magicians, so there was no way to tell which body belonged to which person. Only the King, who's crown could only be removed by someone of royal blood and right, was clearly identifiable. The new King would soon arrive to attempt to take it. The cloaked figure crouched down and drew an elaborate pattern in the ash while he was thinking. 

He finished the pattern and stood for a moment before heading back to his horse and guards. When he was back on solid ground, he turned to watch his foot prints blow away in the slight wind; the symbol stayed, imbued with a slight portion of his natural magic, different than that of the southern Kingdoms. With a small smile and a prayer for the lives of those who had survived the house and been captured or escaped, he mounted and rode back to the capitol to hear the new King's first address to his people.