Well hello there. I see you’ve ventured into my realm. But before you carry on however, I have to inform you that there are no happy endings in this story. Just death, madness and the vile smell of aging rosewood, blood and the sound of atrocious screams wandering though these cursed hallways. This story is definitely not for the faint hearted. If you must, please leave this instant. But if you wish to carry on with this accursed tale, then please, do.
This story starts on a warm summer’s eve, with the breeze blowing lazily. People dancing, having a great time. No, just kidding.
It was a bitter, miserable winter’s day. It was not the roaring storm that concerned Zayden Basileus. The day was a big bitch to him. While he was working, he had gotten word that his son, his apprentice, Nikolai Basileus had just committed suicide. And that wasn’t all; guess what he used to commit his suicide.
Nikolai had snuck into his father’s room and stolen the Glass King. It was an extremely fragile, transparent, long, slender trophy shaped like a cylinder, with a little glass king sitting on top of it. He smashed it onto the ground, with hatred and fury burning in his veins.
He took some shards of the glass and swallowed it, not caring about the sensation of glass cutting the insides of his throat. Taking the tiny glass king that sat atop the trophy, he broke it into two pieces. He took one piece and pierced the side into his wrist.
The Glass King was the most prized possession of the members of the Latrunculorum. It was an honour to be able to win it. In Basileus history, there were six Glass King’s. Four were destroyed, including the most current one. Another two just went missing, disappeared into oblivion, never to be seen again.
His daughter, Isabelina Basileus, who was just a mere six years old, hurried into her brother’s room once she heard something slam onto the floor. By the time she had gotten to him, his hand was surrounded by a tiny pool of blood, which was pouring from his wrist. By the time the medics got there, it was already too late.
It wasn’t hard for Zayden to get shocked because of his son’s death, or anyone for that matter. Nikolai had always been the perfect son, the model child. He never put a toe out of line. He did what his parents told him to and never talked back. He took care of his sister with the utmost care. He did not throw into a fit when he lost a match. He always got perfect grades. He listened to his father when his father was teaching him.
Questions, questions. So many questions wandered through Zayden’s mind. Why did his son do it? Where did his wife go? Who was going to cook dinner? Why wasn’t his wife in the kitchen? And the biggest question drifting through his mind: with the next Speculum in three and a half years, would he have enough time to find and train another apprentice?
The Speculum was a game that happened every ten years. The very first Speculum’s intention was for Grandmasters and their apprentices from all over the world getting together to play friendly matches of chess. However, these friendly matches soon became out of control. People started fighting, determined to show the world that who had the best apprentice.
The Latrunculorum council took matters in to their own hands. They decided that in every ten years, there was to be a competition. Whoever’s apprentice won the competition would win the Glass King. At first, the king was just a mere token. But as these competitions got fiercer and fiercer, the Glass King was treated like gold.
The council created a custom. At every hundred years, there would be a twist at the games. This was called the Centurium Speculum. Whatever the twist may be was up to the council to decide.
Zayden needed an apprentice, and fast. But who would it be? Who could it be? Who would be the person to replace his son? He knew that all the best players in his country already had masters. He had to find someone different, not someone who played the games just because they were told to. No. He had to find someone with a fiery passion for the games.
As soon as he got home, he was greeted with a gloomy, dark atmosphere, unlike the one he was so used to. All the smiles and the cheers were gone. He closed the door silently behind him and went to his room.
The remainders of the glass were cleaned up by now, and put God knows where. He thought back about what had just happened not so long ago, and it gave him chills to think of his son’s blood spilling on the hardwood floor.
He could feel his son breaking the king and cutting himself. He could feel the blood dripping down, and going on, and on, and on…
“Zay! Dinner!”
His wife’s voice echoed through the house. He broke away from his thoughts, changed his cold clothes and went downstairs. His wife had previously draped the Rideaux de Deuil, mourning curtains. The curtains were a dark red colour. It was the colour of blood. He noticed his daughter’s absence.
“Where’s Isabelina?”
His wife continued serving the mashed potatoes.
“She’s in her room with a friend, why don’t you call them?”
He walked to his daughter’s room and rapped on the door lightly. He opened the door slowly and peeked in. His daughter was with a friend. He watched the match, as they played with the utmost concentration, never breaking it.
A few hours later, Zayden Basileus had found his next apprentice.
