In the kingdom of Elyssea, two decades ago, the Queen birthed three sons on the same night. There came the perfect chance for the ambitious king to keep the succession order a secret and treat all princes equally until they earned the crown.
Now, t...
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KINGDOM OF IRNATHYR In the mountains of LARCASSA
His gaze searched for a possible merciful ending to his life. He wouldn't want stones to fall from a cliff and crush his spine in two, or the winds to wisp him away, tear him to pieces and scatter his blood with the rainfall. His guts and entrails would be wasted in the middle of nowhere, and surely he shouldn't die from snapping in two from the weather's wrath like a pine branch. Even as Helias Gavenreath crawled like a rat in a cave in Irnathyr's old mountains, his solipsistic ways never ceased to overtake his mind.
For a moment, the sound of galing winds and thunder was a distant murmur in Helias' ears, for his hubris was interrupted by the throbbing pain in his arm. Agony clawed on the deepest parts of his body, bones quivering and his veins screaming, shooting up the pain all the way to his head. There it clawed with nails of iron to his ear, reminding him why he was there in the first place; with his very flesh rotting, treading on enemy territory and possibly the end of the world. Helias winced and threw himself onto the wall of the cave, pressing his spine against the coarse stone. The pallid prince couldn't bear thinking of defeat at this hour, he clawed his gloved hands on his thick wool cloak and pulled it closer like a cocoon to hide his every weakness.
The tainted prince dared to stare at the world outside their little refuge with longing and rage. How dare the gods interrupt his plans? Casting him aside to a horrible fate yet again. He had protected himself for as long as he could remember and never needed witchcraft or divine hope. That night, drowning in pain, he cursed them both.
Meanwhile his fellow travelers didn't share his torment even if they struggled in this trip together. Irnathyans who knew the mountain of Crystal Fang better than anyone, having done the trip to the monastery more times than they could count. The band of Greyfoot were known travelers and they didn't escort just anyone to the monastery. During that challenging climb and their bargain in the city, his guards did some of the talking as did he in the most convincing Irnathyan accent he could muster.
They made up a convincing story, about Helias being a lord's son from the Southern border who needs to protect his lands from the war and serve the crown-- but needs to be healed and return home to do all that. But all the good and noble motivations aside, they knew that the young man in front of them just didn't want to die from the curse. What they didn't know however, was that Helias was not only a prince but an Elyssean one at that. What do people here do to the enemy when they catch them? Helias knew what they would do back home to prisoners of war, and that was enough to get by.
Aeryll Greyfoot side eyed Helias—or Cyarus Archill, as he was introduced to him— who seemed eager to leap outside the cave and into the storm, hungry to reach their destination. He had seen far too many desperate people with the curse infecting their skin, turning them as reckless and unstable as mad dogs. "Lord Archill," he bellowed from the little circle he and the rest of his companions had formed. "It's impossible. We're lucky we survived this far, I hope you know that." Helias' guards had joined the band, preparing for a fire.
