Igniting A Flame {Kingdoms #1}

Forty-Two

A brutal storm swept Raenwood just as Lukas stood before the new face, winds jostling the houses and flooding the fields. The wind hissed and slapped at him, ice cold and dangerously sharp. The rips in his shirt allowed the thick rain to pour in until his entire body was drenched. A flicker of lighting had Cesca sprinting for a nearby tavern, waving her hands and blathering. Shortly, a rumble of thunder shook the grounds and Lukas too fled to the tavern.

Arvin ploughed forward, effortlessly sliding past frantic crowds as the tavern filled. He gestured onwards to a free passage, tables adjacent to a bar and lining the hall. The tang of ale encroached towards him and he could have swiped a tankard had it not been for Arvin's persistent hurrying. Lukas flicked his eyes to the staunch figure too trailing Arvin's lead, lustrous onyx eyes locked onto the path ahead. A deep brown shroud—identical to his own hair colour—bounced on his back whilst quivers strapped to his waist shook and tumbled out. Stealth seemed to be a method of his. The stranger glanced to Lukas, his eyes widening for a moment before tumbling down stairs leading into a cellar.

Lukas followed suit, slowing his pace to help Theos through his limp. Finally, they reached the bottom, hunched over and huffing. Lukas plopped onto the damp surface, leaning against a stack of crates. He spat out the water dribbling down his face and into his mouth. His nose and legs thrummed, aching despite the healer's work on it. Lukas groaned, cursing at the needless urgency of his warrior guard. He once again turned to the stranger, who stoutly stood before the resting crowd as if awaiting orders. An avid solider—albeit a regal one—it seemed. Lukas didn't question his appearance nor introduced himself as he turned to Arvin and raised his brow.

"Don't give me that look. Word has gotten out about the prophecy which makes it far more dangerous to appear in public," he growled. So it had been an opportunity to rush through hordes of people—a simple citizen escaping the storm's cruel grasp—and go unnoticed until he found a quiet spot, alone. "A burst of fire and darkness. What the hell were they talking about and when did this happen?" He turned to Yevvi, his sigh punitive.

Lukas darted his eyes to the dagger sheathed beside him, the blade like priceless jewels to him now that he had learned the legends behind it. He recalled that night in Sora, when he had escaped Evanora's unrelenting vine shackles yet still wound up in her grasp. They had quarrelled, Lukas releasing flames as they simmered in the confined basement. He smiled at the memory, at the first time he discovered his Soran heritage were possible. But that grin faded as he recalled the flurrying darkness that fought back his flame, at the witch with her hands gripping his neck, at the sheer wickedness pulsing within that darkness. Snatcher of Blood. Lukas wondered what poor soul fell prey to Evanora's wrath resulting in the loss of his magic...and likely his life. He hadn't seen anything like that darkness, although. Witches usually relied on their immortal strength and poison blood. But this...this was different from anything.

Lukas sucked his teeth, shaking his head, "It was a small altercation."

"Gods above," Arvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, "Anyways, this young Maragnian survivor is Dolf Rolden." There was a sense of pride and gallantry lingering in his voice.

"During the war, Arvin had found me in enemy camps and saved me from near death," Dolf stepped forward, chiming in.

"Near, indeed," Arvin added with a chuckle to which Dolf returned. An inside joke between two soldiers and friends.

Something stirred within Lukas, whether suspicion of the stranger or ire towards his quintessential image. He once longed to be exactly like Dolf, in a time where words were mere scribbles and lines, to be courageous and willing. Lukas looked down at his sprawled body, tattered clothing and scars marring his body with no prideful story behind them. Immediately, he lifted himself off the ground and wiped the water droplets from his shoulders, pulling them back and raising his head high.