Demons of the Dark Lands

His Plans and the Prophet speaker

Datalion rested against his bed frame, his hands covering his face. He traced his fingers along the raised lines on his face.

'What am I going to do?' Thought Datalion as he stood and began pacing across the charcoal-colored carpet. He'd never felt this torn before; between the war to come and Barzabel, he couldn't begin to understand what to do. His father gave him the tools for war but not the tools to handle how he felt about her.

He'd planned for so long to take down the Ultimates. He was tired of them ruling. Them destroying lives because a child or being is not alike to them. They are ruining this world. Datalion was not bad, like many may choose to see. Though he could not afford to be soft in this world his father built.

So many rumors spread across the plains to tell of the horror and sorrow thrown into The Dark Lands but it was not true, at least not anymore, and if there so happened to be a being who believed they were worthless Datalion was always there. No one knew of his softer side... except Barzabel.

The war he spoke of was only known to others as what his father started. A mission to take control of the System. No one knew that mission had changed once it shifted into the new lord's hands. If he ever voiced his actual plans the entire realm would turn against him. He would lose most, if not all, of his army. They expect a certain level of viciousness from the son of the ultimate ruler so he must make sure to tread lightly. He had to carry out the winning war before he could address his real purpose.

He thought so hard of what he was to do about Barzabel. He couldn't just kill her, could he? Even as he thought it he could feel his palms sweat. She was going to ruin everything and if he didn't do something everything would fall apart. 

She had always been there for him, through so much. She was there when his father died. She was there when he had been no one. He's never felt this way about another living form. He loved his molten-forged sword, but that's not living.

Barzabel was strong and intelligent. Her fighting skills were amazing and she was the first one to ever beat him in a competition. Though he would never admit that to another living soul and neither would she.

But now she's threatening to throw everything at her feet and step on it. He'd never shared much of his plan with her, but she knew enough to know it was everything to him. Why would she start this chaos now? Knowing how important these next steps would be.

He now realized he was going to have to kill her if she did not stop. There was nothing that could reverse what she's begun. She's signaled the beginning of the wars and so much more is to come.

With these thoughts he walked out of his room and across the dim hall where he found Lady Blackburr leaning against the old fireplace where his father once sat. The fire danced across her face as she turned to look him in the eyes. 

"And where have you been hiding?" she asks.

Datalion could feel the annoyance building in his head but reminded himself that she had a lot more power than she let on. He knew it was temporary even if she didn't.

"I was just taking a break from the painstaking stress that is this war planning, shall we?" 

Datalion motioned for them to sit down in the old, worn leather chairs near the fire. She smiled and joined him in the warmth. He knew she believed that she would rule next to him. He also knew that would never happen. 

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"My child, you are very special, are you not?" asked the Older man, as Barzabel pulled a chair out to seat him.

Barzabel slowly shook her head and then realized he might not see physical movement, she then replied with a short "Yes."

"I've heard of your wings my child. The ruins so deeply carved that they may not be washed or cleaned away, nor stripped and burned. The story told among them is of the higher powers. Your wings... may I?" he asked, holding out a withered hand toward her.

Barzabel, shocked, slowly unfolded her wing towards him, her feathers stretching and glowing lightly from the moon rays bouncing off the silky white texture.

His hands were softer than they had looked. They brushed against her feathers softly, causing her to shiver slightly. His hands sank into the feathers, almost invisible now.

She closed her eyes and remembered the time Datalion had done just this. A feeling that she could never forget.

His hardened hands pressed softly against her wings, gliding downwards, and tracing the ruins that lay across it like paint. She could see the lines start to dance along her feathers, a warmth filled her and she could feel her eyes fall shut.

She could not help but think back to Datalion, who had never cared that her wings were filled with chaos, he found them.... beautifully different. His words, were surprising, as she would have never thought to hear "beautiful" leave his mouth. He may not have believed it but she felt the same way about him. The etches on his face never made her question his honesty in the beauty he sees in her. 

The older man's voice faded back into her ears, "what is it that your thinking of?" he asked as she reflexively pulled her wings back behind her.

"An old friend" she replied looking down at her feet, "May I ask your name?"

"I am Levanon, the Prophet speaker, or as you know, Cititor." Barzabels eyes grew large as she stared into the wrinkly face of the man.

"I've been looking for you," she said with awe in her voice. "Yes I know, I knew you would come and find me. And I must say, your wings speak of more than just war." He replied as he leaned back with a sigh. "You are going to change the world Miss".