Figurehead

prologue // Pt 1

So this is the beginning of a story I completed at the beginning of this year ( 2018) after a whole lot of uncertainty, frustration and persistence beginning at the end of September, the year before. I reckon this is the first full-length story I've written that I think is actually worth uploading, so hopefully youse will receive this thing well. I know it has a lot of errors and flaws all throughout it, but I decided not to iron them out before posting, just yet. That's because I'll be writing up the second draft of it, and after I finish that I think I'll upload it as a separate work, but with the same cover and title. Guess we'll see, but until then, hopefully you guys enjoy this one. :)
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The paved and cracking streets of brick and mud, sand and dust are lined with people of all ages, heights and sizes, almost all with at least one arm raised. The chorus of noise arising from the crowds echoes in my ears. They chant, in rhythm, our empire's name, the name of our new monarch, of the royal crest.

"Escatin! Escatin! Escatin!" It is almost a pulse, a wave, running through my mind like a current. I can't hear my own voice amid the noise but I can see our new king standing on the upraised platform, both of his arms raised to meet ours, a glinting ring of gold on his head, his simple crown.

Even from here, I can see the vivid blue of his eyes, brighter still against the darkness of his skin, and see his dark hair outlined by light. His expression is mild, his eyes solemn, although he smiles amicably for the people. His people, now that his afa has formally retired. While he is only a figurehead, he holds more sway over this empire than he yet knows, holds more of a responsibility than his people think.

The current floods through the city's streets like blood through veins.

The people chant.

"Escatin! Escatin! Escatin!"