Igniting A Flame {Kingdoms #1}

Nineteen

Theos Trof caressed the light oak door, worn by age, with unrelenting desire. Wondering what lies beyond the damned piece of wood. He shifted his hands to the equally as worn walls lacking in any windows or cracks or holes. Completely caved in. Trapped. Theos often dreamed of the possibilities of the world beyond this prison and if it were any similar to the teeming streets of his hometown—what little memory he still held of it. If the sun still shone bright and vibrant. If the moon glittered mystically. If the river air was still fresh and exhilarating. 'Do not leave the house under any circumstances,' his father said. 'What inhabits the world beyond this door is cruel and will surely end in your immediate demise, son.' How can the world be so positively dastardly if his memory failed to recall such horrors?

Theos forced his attention away from the door and the eternal yearn to fling it open and brace the outside world. Instead, he observed the figure staring at him in the mirror. The platinum blonde, almost white, hair swirling with the short breeze. The fuzzy locks more messy than curly. His downturned eyes a beaming silver matching the gracious feathered wings resting on his back.

"Father? Why do we have wings if they hold no use?" Theos called, alerting the man working away in the kitchen. The clatter of dishes paused and a head popped around the corner.

"It is simply how the gods made us. Wings are like the locks on our head. They hold no purpose but are just attributes there to serve as decoration." Father spoke stern and serious, his leathery aged face blocking any sign of a grin.

Father always preached that whatever situation we are in is what the gods desired for us to have, the same being for appearance. Theos wondered what these gods looked like. Did they have soft, fluttering wings atop their back? Was their skin tone also light and glowing? Or were they entirely different? He had mentioned that Aera, the god of the skies, hovered over us like a protective cloud.

Theos wandered into the kitchen, grabbing plates and setting them atop the small marble counter to dry. "Why can I not leave this house?" Father paused drenching the dishes in water to sigh, a common indication of an upcoming lecture. Theos often asked the same question over and over, each time wishing for a different answer.

"There is nothing for us beyond that door. The gods want us stationed in this hut. I do not want to hear any more about this, Theos," he grumbled, a moment of aggression slipping as his voice upturned. Theos frowned, anger itching at him. Father had disapproved of such emotions that express rage. It is disrespectful to the gods that wish peace and tranquillity upon us. He wondered whether that was just a ploy to avoid an argument with his son.

Theos quietly stacked the dishes and ambled out of the kitchen and towards his room. He carefully shut the door behind him and fell back onto his soft bed. He gazed at the ceiling, so bland and lonely like a canvas awaiting its artist. His days usually consisted of cleaning the house, watering the garden and staring at the ceiling in his unbearably confined room. Sometimes he'd drift into sleep after his duties were complete, not that his energy was depleted enough for it.

His dreams usually consisted of warped and misplaced images of his mother. Shining blue eyes that twinkled in the moonlight. No. Emerald green eyes as vibrant as the earth. No. Perhaps silver like his own. Theos faintly recalled a light brown cloak covering a fine turquoise gown dripping in deep blue gems. Enthralling silver wings fluttered outwards as wide as a dragon's own. Faceless people of noble titles surrounded her, cheering. No. Gossiping. Maybe whispering. Theos sighed unable to recall his common dream any further.

Theos once expressed these dreams to his father but received no encouragement or interest. He merely scowled and said that such dreams are not reality. A simple creation of the mind. Father says that they do not have mothers, only fathers as the gods intended. Theos scolded his own mind for creating such impossible desires. He felt rather childish for believing his own dreams. Of course, he had no mother or she would be at his side right now.

That grey figure emerged from the corner in his; he could feel its otherworldly eyes drawn to him. Theos jerked upwards, staring at the silhouette as it shifted and moulded into a more human figure. This ghost often followed him, invading his dreams and most inner thoughts. Father also expressed his disapproval. Just another mind trick the brain likes to play. Theos found this hard to believe, not when the figure feeds him so many visions of a life that seemed once his own.

The figure glided over, seating its feminie body on the bed. A deep grey cloak enveloped the figure, hiding its body despite the occasional glimpse of curves and breasts. Its face was simple and quite enchanting. Large, round eyes shaded by dark circles. A pointy nose and thin lips. Its skin colour was a light grey whilst the eyes were almost black. It claimed to be called Lin.

"Can't you see it? Pitchforks and flame. Blood slathered across the earth as if the precious bodies were not human but a mere object," Lin ran her hands through the air, a misty depiction of a cloudy war playing.

Theos shivered, an icy cold shrouding his meek body. "You are not real. Just a figure my mind created," Theos whispered, uneasiness creeping up.

"And you believe such a thing? Don't you remember the dreams? The blue eyed woman and the large kingdom?"

Theos turned his head, trembling rapidly. He wanted to get away from Lin and the visions that suffocated him. He wanted to swing open that door and fall into an endless void, just somewhere he could feel safe. Each turn, each corner of this small hut seemed to be infested with Lin and the images she projects. Theos just wants to escape it all.