Agni - An Elven Tale

3. Prologue

Happy Christmas! I hope you are all cosy and warm and with your families this holiday. Here goes a little present to light up the cherry atmosphere. With this we officially begin the tale of Arya; Agni - An elven tale.
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||Started on 25th of December 2017||

GREED OF LIFE

“There was no fire like passion,

No shark like hatred,

No snare like folly,

There was no torrent like greed…”

- Buddha

“Prince” it was a title with no meaning. He had never felt the opulence or the safety the word promised. It was always associated with loss, anticipation and peril from the time he could remember. A prince he was, yet a prince he could never be. He was always too busy looking over his shoulder, running away from a blade thirsty for his blood. A prince he would no longer be…

Nitya paused outside the high double doors that lead to the queen’s study and his senses reeled. Noticing the blood dripping along the edge of his blade to the mirror – like marble below, the guardsmen slipped away – probably to alert more men. He could not care less, as he pushed open the door, knowing his stepmother would be inside unaware of what he had done a moment before. He had never been one of Devi Nanda’s favorites. There was distaste in the woman’s eyes whenever she looked at him. He was not sure if it was because of the predictions associated with his name or it had always been like that, even before that incident. Another thing, he could care less. For Nitya, he had always been a marked man; ever since that assassin from Akshasena pressed a blade to his throat.  

Unconsciously, his hand went to his throat, where a jagged scar remained. It was the only souvenir of that attack, so long ago. He still remembered that man sent to kill him, Nitya had often pictured death with a semblance of likeness to that man. He was clothed in black, a hood pulled over his head, black ink running in lines twisted like serpents down his forearms and the back of his palm. His eyes were strangely black, or a dark purple that was almost black and they were distant. They were not cold, like he would have expected from a murderer, they were sharp and closed off, he met Nitya’s gaze with no guilt, his gaze unflinching. And a strange calmness fell over him, like a trance or oddly enough like the man had usurped his ability to feel fear. Still, he could think, and he could not help but ask.

“Why must you kill me?”

He knew exactly how small his voice sounded. However, he was not afraid, he was simply curious for he could see that man was no murderer. He was far too honorable and skilled for that. Even at a tender age, Nitya was no fool. He was equipped to hold the responsibilities that came with being the eldest born of the king of Vajras. He could read a man when they stood in front of him, even if it was the first time they were meeting him. The man’s hand shook a tad bit, but Nitya’s gaze did not waver and the man sighed.

“Or your father will die,” he responded then, surprising both of them with his answer.

“I am the prince of Vajras,” Nitya spoke again, although slowly. All he wanted was to bid sometime, until a guard walked over, until someone decided to check on him, or simply until he could find the right moment to scream for help. “Do you know the cost of laying your hands on me?”

The man shook his head not because he did not know but to gather his thoughts.

“I wish it had been different too,” he said in the end. “But you must die, or many others will.”