"Let us not forget the sovereign one, Theon the ruthless. A child born in the likeness of his father. Eager to please and serve, said to be void of any morality and deeply filled with a sense of duty. Few will only know of his greatness at the battle of Pandora in the region of Ailon."
—Asham Kalibur (the All-Seer)
Theon lay flat on the ground, the taste of sand in his mouth its specks pushing harshly against his palms.
"Pace yourself young master, you go into battle eagerly you die just as fast." Rickus Darxon yelled a few paces behind the fallen prince. Bitter and enraged, Theon hurled himself onto his feet and picked up his wooden sword, turning to face the large brute of a man before him. Darxon was War Master General and Admiral of the Red Legion, the Kings army. He held the highest respect any man could ever have.
"Ease yourself highness, swords have no emotions, they are meant only for bloodshed." He remarked, amused as always as he pointed his sword at Theon. The prince breathed heavily as he took an offensive stance once more. His orange eyes gleamed at the grey-haired man, his hair short, straight, and covered in sand.
"You dare insinuate that I am ruled by emotion."
An amused grin formed on Darxons face as he twirled his sword playfully. "I dare."
'Very well.' Theon thought to himself as he forcefully quietened his harsh breathing. There was immense rage within his heart and screaming thought emerging from within his core.
He pounced at the seemingly relaxed man, using his momentum to jab at the General.
"Footing," Darxon pointed out as he slid out of the way and used his greater weight to throw Theon off balance, catching him just before he could fall.
"Do not fret young master. You are many things but a swordsman you are not." He said as he helped Theon on his feet. The young prince stood still; his orange eyes consumed by fiery passion of which Darxon did not truly understand.
It was rare for Theon to ask him for a duel, he wondered why he wanted to do so. The boys gifts were solely in marksmanship and cunning tactics. His ruthlessness in both those fields were the stuff of legends, never had he seen such a fierce some young sharpshooter.
"Again." Theon muttered as he shoved the short grey-haired man away from him. 'You're making fun of me?'
The thought of Darxon not taking him seriously did not set well with him. He was a Valinski, a name worthy of the highest respect.
"Come at thee then." Darxon could see the tenseness in the boys shoulders. He could tell Theon was serious, then again, Theon was never one to joke around.
"Think of our difference in size your highness, identify my weakness and how you can exploit them using your strength. My height and weight slow me down, so I do not move around as much, you're leaner and faster."
Theon nodded as he tried twirling the wooden sword only half successful.
This time instead of rushing forth, he carefully crept forward, feet wide apart and arms closely tucked to his body. "Good…"
"NOW STRIKE!"
And he did. He stroke a mighty blow that Darxon easily evaded. Using his smaller frame, Theon tucked underneath the man and swayed around with him pulling his sword forth to stab at Darxons abdomen. Darxon caught the wooden point and forcefully lifted the sword, pulling Theon's arm.
"Use every part of your body highness." He remarked harshly as he mercilessly struck the young boys shoulder, numbing it so he could easily retrieve the sword. Using his free hand, Theon drove his fist into the chin hanging just above him. Amused at the sight of Darxon disoriented and stumbling back.
He drove to the ground and hooked both Darxons legs, sweeping him off his feet, plummeting him into the sandy arena.
"Guess I'm a fast leaner." Theon remarked amused at the sight of Darxons body planted before him.
"Aye, that you are." The elderly man remarked as rubbed his chin. He watched as Theon massage his shoulder to rid his numbness, as always Darxon was amazed at the ability in which the Valinski heirs buried their pain. There was something unsettling about it, he had struck the boys arm exceptionally hard but got nothing out of him. Not a squeal, a wince or pained face, just retaliation.
"Is your arm alright?" The General asked as he picked himself off the ground. "I'm not so weak to be affected by a wooden stick." There was annoyance in his tone. "Apologies sire."
"A man of your stature should never apologize Darxon. It makes my family look weak and soft. And we are not weak." He rested his right palm on Darxons shoulder, the Valinski families sign of respect. Darxon fell onto his knee and faced the ground.
"I think we're done for today." Theon said as he watched a squad of the red legion marching from the halls towards them.
Theon helped the master swordsman onto his fight and watched as Darxon rightfully took his place beside the heirs of the High King. Darthal Vermyr was leading the charge and with him he had a maid who carried Theon's royal attire, a well fashioned suit. Black leather clothing with intricate golden designs, the colours of the Arathean empire and the Valinski insignia upon the neckline. "My Lord, General Darxon." Darthal Vermyr bowed his head as soon as he reached the two.
"Darth, it's unusual to see to you here."
"Yes," Vermyr said as he carefully took in the sight. The palace was a vast place, the man had worked as part of the royal court for years and rarely had he visited the West wing to the soldiers quarters and training rooms.
"I do not do well with filth." He said, as pretentious as ever. Darthal was considered an insanely organised person. He hated when things when not in order and out of place. As a part of the royal court, he did bring a lot of class but the way he did it was less than desirable. "Get to your point old friend."
"Yes," he said, clearly interrupted.
"The High King requests your presence in the war room sire." As soon as he was finished with his sentence, he signaled for the maid to dress the prince in his garments.
"The war room." Theon repeated confused. No meeting had been set for the day, at least no meeting involving him. He doubted his Father would call to see him alone because Ivane rarely had time for such things with his busy schedule.
"Yes sire, the King wishes to speak to you both."
Darxon whistled at the news as he rested both the wooden swords upon his shoulders.
"Sounds serious." The old man said as he turned to face Theon. "Isn't it always these days?" Theon asked rhetorically as he watched the red legion separate into to two roles so he could walk in between them as royalty should.
"Lead the way, Vermyr." The young prince ordered, and the man obeyed.
The war room was a cavernous chamber adorned with intricate tapestries depicting the kingdom's victories and the noble lineage of its rulers. The air hummed with an undercurrent of tension as the most esteemed figures of the king's court gathered within its walls, each clad in the resplendent military attire of the Red Legion.
As Theon, Darthal, and General Darxon entered, they were greeted with deference and respect befitting their station. Theon acknowledged each member of the court with a nod of his head, his expression composed yet tinged with a hint of weariness. Taking his place in the high-backed chair to the right of his father's empty seat, Theon scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the assembled dignitaries. His eyes alighted upon Araikus, the renowned Hunter, standing stoically by the window, his weathered features etched with determination.
"Hunter, you're still here," Theon remarked, his voice carrying a note of quiet admiration.
"Aye, Prince Theon, I am," Araikus replied, his gaze unwavering. "Preparing for the journey to Ox'Orn."
Theon nodded in understanding, his thoughts drifting to the recent losses suffered in the battle against the encroaching darkness.
Meanwhile, the court bristled with anticipation as King Ivane entered, his form clad in gleaming armor that bespoke his authority and prowess on the battlefield. Behind him marched Princess Nora, her presence commanding respect and admiration in equal measure.
As the king took his seat at the head of the table, the courtiers rose in unison, their movements a testament to their unwavering loyalty and deference to their sovereign. With a single gesture, Ivane signalled for his courtiers to resume their seats, the room falling into a hushed silence as all eyes turned to the king.
"Let us begin," Ivane intoned, his voice carrying the weight of command. Addressing the assembled court, Ivane outlined the plan for the upcoming missions with precision and clarity. His words were met with solemn nods of understanding as the gravity of their task weighed heavily upon each member of the court.
"The Ox'Orn team will be led by General Darxon, with Araikus serving as his second in command," Ivane declared, his gaze sweeping over the assembled faces.
Turning his attention to Theon and Darthal, Ivane continued, "I will personally lead the mission to convene with the Lothrans, accompanied by Prince Theon and Darthal." Theon's chest swelled with pride at the prospect of accompanying his father on such a crucial mission, his determination burning bright in his orange eyes. "Nora," Ivane addressed his daughter, his tone soft yet commanding. "You will hold command here, ready to deploy should the need arise to provide support to any squad calls." Princess Nora nodded in acknowledgment, her demeanor poised and resolute as she accepted her role with grace.
As the king's gaze swept around the room, his brow furrowed with concern. "Where's Avel?" he demanded; his voice tinged with urgency. Darthal stepped forward, his expression apologetic. "I was informed he has left, sire, to deal with our immediate breaches." Ivane's frown deepened at the news, his displeasure evident in his stern countenance. "And you're telling me this now?" he snapped, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.
"I apologise sire." Darthal stated.
Taking a moment to compose himself, the king looks over to Darion, his treasurer. 'How much will it cost?' he inquires.
Darion, the treasurer, stepped forward, his voice measured as he addressed the king. "The cost of both trips, both ways, should total roughly three hundred million units of power, sire," he reported, his gaze steady as he awaited Ivane's response.
"We might be able to reduce the expenditure if we utilize some of the jump points that require less energy," the treasurer's secretary suggested, her tone respectful yet assertive. "Good," Ivane states briefly pleased.
"I'll speak to my men, get them to divert power to the old extractors. Any of your choosing.' General Darxon informs the king.
Ivane nodded in approval, his mind already calculating the best course of action. "Convene with Darion," he instructed, his voice firm yet tempered with wisdom. "Examine the points that will get us to our destinations both fastest and cheapest."
With a decisive motion, Ivane rose from his seat, his presence commanding the attention of all those present. "You know what to do," he declared, his voice ringing with authority. "Dismissed." With that, the courtiers filed out of the war room, each bearing the weight of their duties and responsibilities as they prepared for the trials that lay ahead.
Theon quickened his pace to match his father's stride, his mind abuzz with questions that demanded answers. "Father, what exactly are we going to be doing at Ailon?" he inquired, his tone tinged with apprehension. "I was wondering why you wanted to meet with them. Are you planning on asking them for aid should dark angels break out of the Blood Gate?"
Ivane's gaze remained fixed ahead as he spoke, his voice cold and unwavering. "If they wanted to help us, they would have done so already," he stated bluntly, his words cutting through the air with an undeniable finality.
Theon's brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled to comprehend his father's motives. "What could you possibly wish to gain from them, then?" he pressed, his impatience seeping into his voice.
Ivane came to a sudden halt, turning to regard his son with a piercing gaze. "We need their power source," he confessed, his tone devoid of emotion. "We can't keep exhausting our resources to fight against both demons and the corruption. The more power we take and use to fight against the dark angels that breach into our reality, the faster the corruption spreads. The Lothrans hold infinite power, and we shall have it."
Theon's eyes widened in shock at his father's revelation, his mind reeling at the implications of such a plan. "Have?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. If his father was about to say what he thought he was, then nothing good would come from it.
"By force or otherwise," Ivane replied simply, his gaze unwavering as he resumed his stride, his posture regal and commanding.
Theon felt a chill run down his spine as he struggled to process his father's words. "I doubt the Lothrans will just give us their power source," he reasoned, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he clung to the hope of a peaceful resolution.
"Then force it is," Ivane declared, his tone leaving no room for argument as he forged ahead, leaving Theon to grapple with the weight of his words. Alone on the path, Theon felt a sense of unease settle over him like a shroud, his mind racing with questions and doubts. "What the fuck is going on?" he muttered to himself, his disbelief echoing in the empty air.
"I believe most would refer to this as survival," a sharp voice cut through the air behind Theon, causing him to tense instinctively. He recognized the voice immediately—it belonged to Darthal. Theon turned to face the man, a faint chuckle escaping his lips, devoid of humour. "Perhaps, but are we forgetting that the Lothrans are with the gods? They would destroy us for this," he pointed out, his voice laced with apprehension.
Darthal halted before the prince, his dark eyes boring into Theon's with immense intensity. "You seem to think we have a choice," Darthal countered, his tone measured and unwavering. "One way or another, we will have to fight to survive. The only question that remains is what fight we are most likely to win." Theon's mind spun with conflicting thoughts as he grappled with Darthal's words. Could they truly justify such drastic measures, knowing the consequences that awaited them? Before he could voice his doubts, Darthal seemed to sense his inner turmoil, his expression shifting to one of amusement and pride. "I believe my job is done," he stated with a smirk before striding past Theon, leaving him to wrestle with his thoughts in solitude.
"And what of Avel?" Theon called out, halting Darthal in his tracks. "What of the Crown Prince?" he pressed, his tone tinged with frustration and concern. "Last I checked, he was bumbling madness. Why would anyone let him take off alone in his condition? To fight monsters, no less?" Theon's puzzlement was evident as he searched for answers.
Darthal paused, his gaze lingering on the young prince for a moment longer, assessing him with a calculating stare. "Best never to reveal one's cards until one has to," he replied cryptically before resuming his stride, leaving Theon feeling more unsettled than before.
"Has everyone lost it today?" Theon muttered to himself, his frustration mounting as he grappled with the weight of the decisions being made around him. It was a feeling of helplessness that gnawed at him, leaving him with more questions than answers.
Araikus, with his rugged yet noble features, approached Princess Nora with a sense of urgency in his stride. They were in the quiet gardens of the palace, where the soft rustle of leaves provided a serene backdrop to their conversation.
"Something strange is going on these days," Araikus stated as he neared the young princess, his gaze piercing yet gentle.
"In what way?" Nora questioned, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity as she studied the Arathean warrior before her. "Its just that nine years ago, I carried your brother out of Garcinia," Araikus began, his voice tinged with the weight of memories long past. "His bones felt brittle, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was spasming uncontrollably."
Nora listened intently; her expression unreadable as she absorbed Araikus's words. The memory of that fateful day still lingered vividly in her mind, a testament to the turmoil her family had endured.
"Most impressive of all, he managed to expel the corruption in Garcinia, and he was the only survivor," Araikus recalled, his tone laced with admiration for the crown prince's resilience. "And your point?" Nora demanded, her voice sharp with impatience.
"Nine years your brother has been locked away in his room," Araikus continued, choosing his words carefully. "I heard he was speaking to himself, that he had befallen into madness as many had."
Nora's brow furrowed slightly at Araikus's words, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with a practiced neutrality. "So why is he out and about now? Fighting off the corruption on his own?" Araikus inquired, his curiosity piqued by the sudden change in the crown prince's behaviour. "Ask my father," Nora replied tersely, her tone betraying a hint of defensiveness.
"I'm sorry," Araikus offered, sensing the tension in the air. "My curiosity got the better of me."
"Is that all?" Nora demanded, her gaze unwavering as she fixed Araikus with a steady stare.
Araikus studied her expressionless features for a moment before speaking again. "No," he began, his voice softer now. "How have you been?" he asked, a genuine concern evident in his eyes. "That," Nora began, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, "should have been your first question."