Igniting A Flame {Kingdoms #1}

Two

The afternoon sun singed Lukas's skin, the air thick with summertime humidity. The golden rays striking the Thordonian forest as if blazing the very surface. Lines of dripping red liquid coiled around pale grey trunks as if they were the pulsing veins of trees. The dark reddish-brown leaves swaying as if sucking in the air. Respect and preservation of the earth was a common practice in the blood kingdom. They believed that each shrub or tree possessed the delicate spirits of those before us. Their souls settled in the roots, put at peace.

Lukas peacefully glided backwards, making sure to observe each entrancing detail of the forest. He breathed in, feeling the soft touch of those before him. Hearing serene songs in the ancient tongue. Had Sora ever been this calm? Shards of memory tugged at him, suggesting a faint idea of a time that Sora was better. He paused, his lip trembling at the hidden memories. Lukas twirled around, shaking his head desperately attempting to force back the recollection.

He stumbled back after bumping into a sudden figure. Lukas cautiously raised his head, his hands trembling. A brown orc with tusks unbelievably long and sharp huffed at him, his breath far too close and warm. Lukas jumped back, frantically blurting apologies. The orc lifted his spear, the handle carved with symbols in a language he had not seen.

"I'm terribly sorry," Lukas mumbled as he brushed past the guardian orc and surveyed the grand archway in front of him. He gulped. The kingdom square bustled with rushing natives—the witches and warlocks—and foreigners from various other parts. He really made it. Not that Thordon was far from Sora but it seemed difficult to believe that he actually made it.

Lukas quivered at the sight of pure immortals striding along the streets. He wondered what strength and power they would feel knowing their lifespan had no end. Thordon is known for having ruthless warriors whose immortality was the wrong thing to fear. Lukas stopped near the central fountain flooded by groups of people. He carefully nudged his way through, whimpering at every savage looking warlock that snarled at him.

Four witches hissed at the crowd, silencing the murmurs and gossips. Two seemed to be twins. Every part of them the same—from the flowing red hair to the sharp brown eyes—except their gowns. One wore a long dress, covered in diamond and emerald. The other bore a short dress and cloak, cut to the waist. They swayed in accord, as if one person. Lukas's knees shook at their unrelenting gaze and unnaturally mimicking movements.

"Quiet! You deranged animals," an older witch growled, her voice husky and worn. Her short red hair dulled into a light orange. Her deep brown cloak flapping in the wind, the Thordonian high council symbol engraved on the back. "We are all deeply affected by the tragedy that occurred a few days ago. But rest assured my fierce people, vengeance will take place. On the chime of eight, the beasts will be let out," the old witch hummed in a purely vicious tone. The smirk on her face sent chills down his spine. The crowd roared and cheered at the speech.

Lukas slipped past the wild mob and bounced his shoulders, shaking off the terror. Simple brutal witch work, he thought. Always looking for blood to shed. He briefly surveyed the large kingdom. If he were to start a life in Thordon, then he needed a job. Gods, he wished his only hope weren't some bloodthirsty pit fighter.

~~~

Lukas slumped his shoulders as he sluggishly dragged his aching feet down the street. The sky blanketed in darkness and spots of beaming stars. Hours spent furiously searching for some sort of job wasted. No foreigners, they said. Too weak, they said. We don't take peasants, they said. Apparently, wealth is the main decider here.

Lukas stopped in front of a tavern and glanced at the few silvers he had left before shrugging his shoulders and strolling into the bar. The scent of ale immediately hit him. Not old or cheap like the ones in Sora but fresh and enticing. He gaped at the sight of people calmly chatting in tables and casually ambling to the bar, ordering a drink then thanking the bar tender before trotting off. No drunken fools. No feral street rats begging for a fight.

Lukas slumped onto a stool and tossed a few coins on the counter. The bar tender grumbled and muttered 'alleyway scum' before pouring some ale and throwing it towards him, the contents slightly tipping and dripping down the cup. He swiped the ale and chugged it down, his eyes watering with the sudden burst of flavour. A well-dressed man to his left scoffed before stepping away. That's right. Leave the pathetic peasant boy to his swill, he chuckled bitterly. He finished the last gulp of ale, hoping to drown away his worries.

Gold coins clanked in front of him. "Another drink for the boy, will you?" A female voice hissed at the bar tender, her face hooded. "Not doing so good as well, are you?" She dropped her cloak to reveal the most gorgeous face Lukas had ever seen, even if her deep red lipstick smudged across her cheek. Her blood red hair dropped to her side in a messy braid, strands falling out. Blazing eyes that seared through the vaults of your mind as if absorbing each memory and deepest secret.

"Well, yeah." Lukas struggled with his words, completely dumbfounded by her elegant beauty. Her stained lips luscious and full. Gods, he should stop staring.

"You can't be drunk already. You only had one drink." It was true. Lukas hadn't had much alcohol before so his body was weak, making the effects much stronger.

"I suppose I am a bit," Lukas giggled with a hint of self-loathing. The witch paused, her half grin fading. She eyed him, the orange burning into his soul.

"Evanora Gannon. A simple," she grumbled the word in disgust. "A simple witch of Thordon."

"Lukas Zelth. A god damned Soran peasant and nothing more." He gestured towards his tattered clothing. "Nice to meet you."