Muddanon (Muthanon - Capital of the Arathean Empire.)
ACCOUNT OF ARAIKUS HUNTER:
Araikus sat in the cockpit of one the Red Legions single unit spaceships. He wore wearing a form-fitting jumpsuit along with a headset equipped with an inbuilt microphone. He sat are strapped into his seat with a harness, his hands resting on the controls in front of him. Outside the window, he could see the vast expanse of space and the stars twinkling in the distance. A sight he had seen many times in his service to the King, a sight that never lost its beauty in his eyes. He adjusted his focus back to his controls as he prepared to engage the thrusters and take descend down into the city of Nara. Taking a deep breath, he carefully pushed forward on the control stick, feeling the vibrations of the ship as it lowered into the Naras orbit.
As the Araikus approached the massive city spanning structure that was house Caliban, he carefully plot a course to the landing site. He adjusted the thrusters to slow the spaceship's descent as he began to his destination got closer and closer. Keeping his hands steady on the controls, he guided the spaceship towards the ground, keeping a close eye on their instruments and the landing site. As he got closer, he could see the details of the landing pad coming into focus. He extended the landing gear as he prepared to touch down. Gently he eased the spaceship down onto the pad, feeling a slight jolt as the ship contacted the ground.
Removing his helmet, he let out a sigh of relief as a smile spread across his face at the notion of successfully completing the landing. Quickly he began the shutdown checklist and powered down the engines, feeling a sense of accomplishment at a job well done.
Unbuckling his harness, he got up from his seat excited to leave the cockpit after days of 3 days of flying to different jump points in space.
'Great landing sir as always.' A ground crew member said as he opened the door to the spaceships hanger.
'Check the system and make sure to tell me how long until the generator has cooled down. If it's more than 2 days, then manually cool it.' Araikus commanded.
'Check the engine, it felt like I was dragging the thing from Beta three. If these things start moving sluggish in the heat of battle, then my men are dead.' He commanded a young-looking crew member who was closest to him.
In the bustling headquarters of the vast military complex, General Darxon, paced with measured determination. The room was abuzz with the activity of soldiers preparing for their duties. As he moved, his piercing gaze swept across the room, commanding the attention of every soldier present. General Darxon's very presence exuded authority, his experienced shoulders bearing the heavy weight of responsibility, forged by countless battles and the lives he had led into the crucible of war against the dark angels, against the corruption of everything they called life.
General Darxon, adjusting his uniform with increasing anticipation, awaited the arrival of a figure whose significance transcended the normal routine. It was a chance for him to bridge the gaps left by the scars of conflict, a moment he had long yearned for. Having witnessed the fall of too many comrades and the disappearance of loved ones in the abyss of warfare, he harbored hope—a fragile ember deep within his heart—that this day would be different.
He paced back and forth, the repetitive motion a reflection of the impatience building within him, as he longed to reunite with the person whose presence would mean the world to him. In the midst of all the action and preparation, he couldn't help but feel a growing excitement and unease as he imagined the prospect of reconnecting with family.
The heavy doors of the entrance swung open, revealing a figure stepping inside the room. It was Hunter. In his eyes, there was a twinkle of nostalgia as he entered. As their gazes met, a flurry of emotions swirled through the air. It was a mixture of relief and excitement that painted General Darxon's weathered face, while a hint of apprehension lingered beneath Hunter's exterior of resilience.
"Is it really you, Hunter?" General Darxon's voice trembled as he locked eyes with the returning soldier. His anticipation and hope were palpable. Hunter, unable to suppress his genuine smile, replied with a voice choked up with emotion, "Uncle." His eyes twinkled with a sense of longing and belonging.
They rushed toward each other, an invisible force of gravity pulling them together, culminating in a powerful embrace. The world around them seemed to fade, and the echo of their shared history reverberated in the room. Tears welled up in General Darxon's eyes, the weight of his fears finally being lifted. Hunter's voice quivered, overcome by the surge of emotions they both felt. "I feared I'd lost you out there, Araikus. I thought we'd never meet again," General Darxon confessed, his voice low and emotional.
Hunter, also fighting back tears, replied, "You taught me well, General." Their bond was evident, reaffirmed through their embrace.
They released their embrace but maintained a firm grip on each other's shoulders. In that moment, the room fell silent, and the world seemed to revolve around their reunion. It was a connection built on shared experiences, forged through fire and steel.
"I can't believe you've returned, alive and well, standing before me," General Darxon said, deep gratitude etched on his face as he slammed his nephews chest.
Hunter's voice quivered as he continued, "I can't say there weren't moments I thought we'd never meet again."
With a tearful embrace, they acknowledged the depth of their shared history, a history that encompassed the battlefield and the bonds of family and friendship.
They maintained their firm grip on each other's shoulders, conveying an unspoken understanding that went beyond words. "We'll catch up later uncle, first I need to speak to our King."
As Araikus stepped through the towering gates of castle cadan, the grandeur of the royal capital enveloped him. The colossal structure loomed over him, its crimson walls adorned with intricate carvings depicting tales of valor and conquest. The air buzzed with anticipation, echoing the whispers of soldiers who regarded Araikus as a living legend.
With General Darxon by his side, Araikus navigated through the bustling corridors of the Red Tower. Every step resonated with the weight of his past deeds, each footfall a testament to his unwavering dedication to the kingdom and its people. The soldiers of the Red Legion saluted him as he passed, their admiration evident in the reverence with which they regarded him.
As they approached the entrance to the King's war room, Araikus could feel the tension in the air. The battles against the dark beasts known as Dark Angels had taken their toll on both the land and its defenders. Yet, amidst the chaos and destruction, Araikus had emerged as a beacon of hope—a symbol of resilience and courage in the face of unimaginable adversity.
With a deep breath, Araikus pushed open the doors to the war room, revealing a scene of organized chaos. Maps adorned the walls, marked with strategic points and enemy movements. Advisors huddled together, their voices low as they discussed tactics and troop deployments.
At the head of the room sat King Ivane Valinski, his gaze focused and unwavering. His presence commanded respect, his every word carrying the weight of authority. As Araikus and General Darxon approached, the King rose from his throne, his expression a mix of solemnity and determination.
"Dismissed," He commanded, and at once his advisors dispersed. "Welcome home, young Hunter." Darthal Vermyr managed to say before he shut the door to war room after him.
As the heavy doors of the war room closed behind them, Araikus stood in the presence of his king, Ivane Valinski, feeling the weight of his responsibility settle upon his shoulders like a cloak of honor. The air crackled with anticipation, and Araikus couldn't help but notice the intensity in the orange eyes of his sovereign, eyes that held the wisdom of a ruler who had seen both triumph and tragedy.
"Welcome back, Araikus," Ivane's voice reverberated through the chamber.
"Sire," Araikus managed, his voice tinged with reverence as he bowed his head in acknowledgment of his king's greeting.
"Sire," General Darxon echoed, his own respect evident as he too inclined his head in deference.
"What news do you have for me?" King Ivane demanded, his tone betraying a mix of anticipation and concern.
Araikus exchanged a glance with his uncle, General Darxon, before turning his attention back to the king. "It was as you said," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "The corruption originated from the Ox'Orn region, just as you suspected."
Araikus felt the weight of the king's gaze upon him as he continued. "We found it, sire. The crack," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and dread. "We're calling it the Blood Gate."
"Blood Gate?" Darxon interjected, his brow furrowing in concern as he sought to grasp the gravity of Araikus's words.
"Its colour is dense and dark, identical to that of blood," Araikus explained, his tone sombre. "And it's massive, the largest tear in the fabric of space I've ever seen."
A sight that sent shivers down the spine.
"And you're positive this is where the corruption is originating from?" Ivane inquired, his voice betraying a hint of urgency.
"I'm sure," Araikus affirmed, his gaze steady as he met the king's eyes. "Most of my men were driven to madness at the mere sight of it. Their very beings twisted and contorted, as if the corruption sought to mock the very essence of life."
"Dear lord," Darxon muttered, his expression reflecting the horror of the revelation.
"Yeah," Araikus agreed solemnly. It was a nightmare made manifest, a testament to the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
Silence descended upon the war room as King Ivane contemplated Araikus's words, his mind racing with the implications of what lay before them.
"I will gather men and prepare them to set off for Ox'Orn once we make something to counteract the effects of this 'blood gate'," Ivane commanded, his voice firm with resolve. "We will then close the breach and secure our realm from further incursions."
"We'll also need to save some of our energy sources, we'll need to use them to travel to Ailon. There we can state our case and plea for their energy source to be shared. So we can tap into it as well."
Darxon saluted crisply before taking his leave, leaving Araikus alone with the king.
Ivane approached Araikus, and together they performed the traditional Arathean gesture of respect, placing their right hands on each other's right shoulders.
"By blood," the king began, his voice low but resolute.
"And by sacrifice," Araikus finished, his heart swelling with pride at the honour bestowed upon him by his king.
"Through these we remain connected." Ivane stated as he softly smiled.
"Welcome home," Ivane said, his words tinged with gratitude and relief. "It's good to be back," Araikus replied, his voice echoing with determination as he prepared to embark on the next chapter of their journey.
Avel sat atop his bed, the soft glow of the room's ambient lighting casting a warm hue over his casual attire. He wore a fitted black tunic, adorned with intricate silver patterns that hinted at his noble lineage, paired with comfortable trousers of deep indigo. His hair, a tousled mane of dark curls, framed his face, giving him a distinctly rugged yet refined appearance. With a thoughtful gaze, Avel stared down at the oak marble floor of his chamber, lost in contemplation. His brow furrowed slightly, betraying the weight of responsibility that rested upon his young shoulders.
Meanwhile, Darthal Vermyr, his trusted physician and advisor, stood before him, his steady hands deftly checking Avel's vitals. With the precision of a seasoned healer, Darthal monitored every pulse and breath, his expression a mask of professional concern. "You seem well, young master," Darthal remarked, his voice calm and reassuring as he retrieved a small pill and a glass of water from a nearby tray.
Avel nodded in acknowledgment, accepting the offered medication. He trusted Darthal implicitly, knowing that the Doctor's expertise was unmatched in matters of health and well-being.
"Thank you, Darthal," Avel said softly, his voice tinged with genuine appreciation. "Your care is invaluable to me."
Darthal inclined his head in acknowledgment, a faint smile gracing his lips. "It is my honour to serve House Valinksi, young master," he replied with a respectful bow.
As Avel swallowed the pill, he couldn't help but feel a surge of dread coursing through his veins. He stared up at Darthal, his violet eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and contemplation as he brushed his hair meekly. The Doctor offered a reassuring shoulder squeeze, his touch conveying both comfort and strength.
"Should you feel your mind slipping, young master, be sure to let me know," Darthal said softly, his dark eyes fixed on the young prince. Avel's following question hung in the air, filled with a depth that belied his years. "Do you know what separates a deity from a man?" he asked, his voice quiet yet filled with intensity.
Darthal furrowed his brow in puzzlement at the unexpected query. "I would assume the ability to comprehend that which we cannot," he replied, his tone thoughtful.
"And should a man try to understand as the demiurge do?" Avel pressed, his gaze unwavering.
Darthal closed his eyes briefly, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "Such thoughts are considered blasphemous, young master," he cautioned, his voice grave. "Trying to ordain anything beyond a herald would be meddling with the darkest of arts. Should a man be ordained to be as the divine, he will surely fall mad during the process. Should he succeed, the demiurge would destroy him… Or worse."
Avel studied Darthal intently, his gaze searching for answers in the older man's solemn expression. "Do you ever wonder why the demiurge enact such a harsh punishment?" he asked quietly. Darthal's response came after a slow, measured breath. "I did wonder once," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "But I have learned long ago that some things are better left unknown."
"Hmm," Avel murmured, his thoughts lingering on the mysteries of their universe as he placed the empty cup back onto the tray for Darthal to take away. "Are you afraid of them?" Avel questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.
Darthal placed a gentle hand on Avel's arm, his touch grounding and reassuring. "These are thoughts you need not worry about, young master," he said gently. "Keep them out of your mind, for such ideas would cause most to believe the worst of your condition."
"Many think you are begotten by madness, but I know it is just the curious mind of a young man," Darthal stated with conviction as he stood. "Rest now," he ordered softly, peeling away from Avel and heading towards the exit.
With a gentle smile, Darthal closed the door behind him, leaving Avel alone with his thoughts, the weight of the world pressing upon his shoulders.
Darthal strode purposefully down the grand corridor of the castle, his footsteps echoing against the polished stone floor. He couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the young prince's remarkable recovery from his previous state of madness, a feat that few ever achieved. The memories of Avel's harrowing ordeal nine years prior lingered in Darthal's mind, a chilling reminder of the darkness that had threatened to consume the young heir to the throne. Recalling the psychosis that had gripped Avel, Darthal's thoughts drifted back to the nightmarish events that had unfolded as a result of the Garcinia incident. The effects of psychosis had manifested in terrifying ways, with Avel exhibiting erratic behavior and uttering incomprehensible words. Darthal shuddered as he remembered the primal screams and animalistic sounds that had emanated from the depths of the prince's troubled mind.
It troubled him deeply to think that the High King had intended for Avel to face the great monster rumored to dwell in Garcinia, as if it were some kind of test of the boy's strength and resilience. The decision had nearly cost Avel his life, and Darthal couldn't help but feel a pang of anger and sorrow at the cruelty of such a fate being thrust upon a child. From their current standpoint, the Kings plan had failed and now he would surely drag his other son or daughter down the same path.
As Darthal continued down the corridor, his gaze fell upon one of the castle maidens speaking to Queen Reya. With a brief nod of acknowledgment, Darthal approached them, his expression composed yet respectful. He handed the empty tray to the maiden, bowing low as he greeted her majesty with a deferential smile.
"Your Majesty," Darthal said, his voice soft but filled with genuine reverence. "I trust the young prince is faring well this evening?" The princes second mother asked.
"He has a strong mind," Darthal stated, his gaze lingering on Queen Reya as she dismissed the maid with a wave of her hand. "Strong enough to resume his duties?" the Queen Mother inquired, her tone tinged with concern. "We cannot have him remain locked in his chambers reading scrolls and scripts all day."
Darthal nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of ensuring the young prince's full recovery. "He may resume his duties as a prince, but as a soldier, I would need to further assess how he fares," he advised, his voice steady and measured.
"If his mind is as strong as you say, then he will have no problem taking up arms once more," Queen Reya declared with conviction, her eyes alight with determination.
"I... suppose," Darthal replied quietly, his thoughts drifting to the weighty responsibilities that lay ahead for Avel. "But I do not think it wise given the boys antics until recent."
"The boy cleared the corruption in Garcinia," Reya continued, her voice soft yet resolute. "Should he take up arms once more, he would further instill hope in our people."
"And we are in great need of hope," she added somberly, her words carrying a weight that Darthal could not refute.
With the growing tides of dark angels invading their lands and their energy supplies dwindling, the fight ahead seemed ceaseless and grim.