Igniting A Flame {Kingdoms #1}

Thirty-One

Lukas held out his hand, willing flame to his fingertips. The soothing sizzle of fire and calm lapping of waves echoed over the endless watery surface. He had been repeatedly practicing his skills whilst the skiff gently glided over the sea, nearing the loom of a coast and misty kingdom. Most of the time he sparked flame, whilst silver light slipped out every now and then. Lukas managed to control tendrils of his magic, thin lines flickering from his hand and shooting into the air. He tried to keep his triumph hidden, secretly thanking the gods for releasing his heritage's true power.

Donveil's coast gleamed with tantalizing enticement as the waves weaved into the golden sand and drew back. Part of Lukas dreaded stepping into the public eye, not after the chase in Heht. The council leader somehow knew of Lukas's origins, which caused a major threat and dent in their moderately smooth travels. If spending a few days in a witch's prison was considered smooth travels. Yevvi stressed that Donveil would have no risk in knowing of the prophecy since their culture is so aloof.

Lukas shuttered at the thought of powerless mortals crowding him with their bad luck. He was never a superstitious person but the Donver legend seemed all too real. Centuries ago, when gods roamed the earth as beings, each kingdom possessed an ancient individual power. Donveil was a thriving, power wielding population until corruption spread through the land. The Donvers betrayed the mortal conduct and morals, taking a more cynical path, thus being stripped of their blessed magic and left feeling feeble and ashamed. The Donvers were greedy, always taking more than what was given. Later, the superstition of engaging with Donveil resulted in bad luck came to be. Part of Lukas felt stupid for believing a child's legend, but that worry still creeps up on him.

The boat finally halted near the coastal land, rocking back and forth as jagged structures grazed beneath. Lukas dived off the skiff, delving into the gritty pit of sand and basking in the dryness. To feel solid land again. Oh gods. The air whipped at his face, cooler and less stuffy than the inland winds. It seemed the seasons were on the verge of change. Thank god the musty summer atmosphere is dissipating. Yevvi brushed past, laughing and then coughing with the liquid still sitting in his lungs. Arvin merely scowled at the childish act and marched forward, wasting no time to scout the Donver streets.

Lukas sniffled, dramatically turning his head away from the ocean as if leaving behind a beloved friend. Good rutting riddance. He scurried along the thick piles of sand and fell into step besides Yevvi, his orange hair mystic under the bright sun. Gods, the sun. Light! The kingdom entrance closed in, the energy immediately dropping. He hadn't thought of how a powerless kingdom may feel, considering he spent so long in the immortal kingdoms of Aethr and Thordon. Yevvi and Arvin's energy beamed, vibrating like a vigorous ball of pure magic in a sea of simpletons. Lukas wondered if his blood was lined with immortality or if he'd remain a mortal Soran elf. He shook his head, not wanting to picture a vibrant and youthful Yevvi standing over Lukas's aged body awaiting death.

The Donver streets seemed bland and straightforward. It's strange to see the casual stroll of people bustling along the paths, rather than a passionate street dancer or merchant selling potions or other magical items. It felt quite saddening to see such a dull lifestyle, especially when the occasional Donver would stop their ambling and gape at the immortals striding into their kingdom. Something about the admiring twinkle in their eyes made Lukas's heart drop.

Yevvi paused in front of a cosy hut, twisting his head to Lukas. "Now, Cesca is only nineteen and a Donver. After the war, she too noticed something strange and proved her trust to us, pledging her assistance," he clicked his tongue, turning to Arvin, "Be nice." Arvin bristled, murder lingering in his green eyes.