Chapter 1: A Warm Hearth

  April 14th, 1458

  Within the capital of the heartlands, Pyrgi, a quest of deathly importance was bestowed upon three great warriors: a quest for bread. The young trio of boys were sent off on this journey into town to collect enough bread for the other children of the orphanage, and so with great stride they charged down the road, silver coin in tow, to a local bakery. The young lad at the front of the pack called out to his men “Make haste! The freshest dough is ours!” and so they sped off even faster now through the streets. Some civilians caught in the whirlwind left behind shouted in anger, and some were in modest awe of their youth for being so carefree during such hard times. As they rounded the turn in the road they could see a sign strung up on the building on the left reading “Old Madam Belle’s Bakery” painted on the billboard with a mix of floral colors in the lettering, and Belle welcomed them in.

  “You boys got here so fast that the buns aren’t ready yet!” She commended them for their vigor, and pulled out a jar of hard candies from under the front desk. “Have some while you wait. Oh, and Erelius, the payment?” The gang dug in to the spoils of their hard work, and Erelius fished out the coin from his back pocket. “You knew we were coming, ma’am?” Erelius had thought this was a spontaneous quest given to him by his father, but now he realized it might be more akin to a chore. The lady smirked, brushing his blackish red hair, and nodded. “He asked me to prepare extra yesterday for you kids.”

  Madam Belle went to check on the loaves in her brick oven while the boys tossed some of the candies back and forth. Exchanging the flavors they didn’t like for ones they did while passing the time. Erelius traded away his melon and papaya flavored candies to Marth and Boros in exchange for grape and strawberry. The two boys debating each other on “what tasted the best” as Erelius’s attention was drawn to the men by the stall front outside. One of them was holding today’s newspaper. His hands trembling, and through hushed tongues he could faintly make out what the men were saying. “It isn’t the first time a sacrifice has happened here! The pigs in the parliament are in on it I swear it on Helios’s name!” one of them cried to the other. “Calm yourself!” the other bleated. “Don’t go throwin’ pagan gods around in times like this. Want to get us jailed?” He tried to comfort the panicked man, but fear had gripped him. “That poor family a mile from here...by the gods… those poor children… their limbs Janus! I saw it through the windows! Laid in the pentacle of Al’Yur, a sacrifice to the demigod... They’re covering it up as we speak!”

  Janus crumpled his newspaper and grabbed a hold of the hysterical man. “Pipe down. Surely the guards can-” “No! They can’t be trusted! They won’t let anyone near the home. They don’t want us to know what did it!” The man grew silent, and checked his surroundings, and noticing some citizens had caught eye of his disheveled nature quickly walked off while muttering about how “none of them can be trusted”. Erelius was so absorbed by this revelation that he hadn’t noticed Madam Belle standing right in front of him cradling a sack full of bread.

  “Here you go, dear. Now run on back home!” His senses snapped back into the bakery by the smell of warm buttery rolls, and with a glance to his comrades they were off back home. His mind drifted away from the thoughts of that panicked man by the cheery banter between his friends as they ran down the street once more. Passing by the stone and brick businesses and homes Erelius couldn’t help but look curiously through windows as they passed by.

  They reached the orphanage, The Olive Grove, and stormed the front door. They were met with the scent of stew brewing over the fireplace, and Marth and Boros ran off through the backdoor to meet up with the other kids of the home, while Erelius began to sort out the bread on the dining table.

  “Papa! Come help me! We have to get dinner ready!” The young boy was abuzz with energy running from counter to counter in an attempt to prepare the twenty-six clay plates and wooden bowls, one for every child of the orphanage. Most of them ranged from four to fourteen; the average being closer to the boy who was currently balancing a stack of plates in both of his hands. A mission to line the dining table in one trip of the utmost importance to the wide-eyed nine year old. A short stumble nearly spelled disaster, but his father caught him in time.

  “Be careful, Erelius. We don’t have much to replace these.” Father scolded, crouching down to chastise his child eye to eye, but with a newly found diligence his son softly laid the crockery and cutlery one at a time as if they were as delicate as an egg. The man stood up straight; giving off the common sounds of old age: groaning, knees popping, and a look of discomfort from something seemingly so minuscule as bending over for someone nearing his thirties. Though he was young the man held a heavy burden upon his shoulders. Maintaining the health of the children was hard work as it is, but to add being head of the Olea, one of the seven political branches of the capital city of Pyrgi would age any man like a curse. Though a fairly new branch to this monarch ran country, each branch served as advisors to the King, and Olea, being barely seventeen years old, had little influence, and with little influence came an even smaller budget.

  The warm hearth the forgotten children now call home had been set, and the beef stew, freshly baked bread, and hot teas awaited them. “Run outside and bring them in, son.” and with glee he leapt out the backdoor of the kitchen and into the dirt laden backyard where he and the others would play for hours on end. Words weren’t needed as they knew the tell-tale signs and rushed the entrance, nearly knocking him to the ground if he hadn’t braced himself on the door for survival. A few exclaimed “sorry” or “Me first!” as the band of young boys and girls fought for seats near their more closer friends.

  Two dogs strode past the newly mounted Erelius door ornament like the proud hunting hounds they were, and met with father who placed two food bowls by the door labeled “Sally” and “Sylvester”.

  As they chowed down on minced kibble Erelius patted the pair’s back as he walked over to the dining bench to join in on the spoils, but just before he could grab a doughy roll Becky, the little five year old girl sitting next to him, playfully slapped his hand away. “We haven’t prayed, silly!” The whimsical commotion slowly halted as one of the oldest of the children rose and stood near the fireplace. She held the religious texts of the Maiden of the Moon, and opened to the psalm of bountiful nights.

  “The Sun bathes the earthen clay

  The moon waters the growing hay

  In a bed of stars is where they lay

  Watching over us, day by day

  and so we sons and daughters pray.”

  Before she could close the holy book shut one of the boys had already crammed two bread rolls into his mouth like a squirrel packing a dinner in their nearly exploding cheeks. Amid the cheerful feast Erelius glanced over to his father eating at his work desk nearby where he could keep an eye on them without the worries of flying food and drink splashing his important documents and scrolls, and knew not to interrupt. His work was never ending it seemed. This orphanage was one of many in Pyrgi that accommodated war orphans. The Great War of 1417; the war that ravaged the land for thirteen years, and although it’s been twenty-eight years since the wars end; a great deal of world changing catastrophes sprung from that hellish era. Magic wielding sorcerers: Magi, scarred the lands throughout the northern regions of Kardis, though mankind did not need the help of Magi to rape and pillage the earth and those who tread it, as evil lies in the hearts of all men. Villages and towns are but soft targets to roving gangs of bandits, and the countless children who flee their burning ransacked homes can only pray to find refuge in a loving sanctuary such as this.

  Though it wasn’t just the madness of man that plagued the innocent, and as the sun fell and the night loomed, Erelius’ father, with the low stern tone of a Priest shepherding his flock spoke.

  “Finish up, children, and lights out soon.” and with a quick whistle, the two well fed dobermans took their sacred vigil of guarding the front and back doors. The children finished their supper, and ran off upstairs to ready themselves for bed as Erelius stood by his father. His dark hazel eyes were faintly lit by the oil lamp on the desk, and shot sharply towards the boy. “It’ll be alright, you can sleep easy tonight. I promise.” He tried to reassure Erelius that everything would be fine, but there had been a growing number of incidents involving the outer parts of Pyrgi. Whether it was the lack of guards or a sign of the times, but there had been a jump in civilians disappearing overnight, and people found dead in their homes had been on the rise. The cause was still unknown but pointed to something not entirely human.

  One of the recent incidents was at the Roder’s house, not ten minutes away. The family of seven; a grandmother, her son and his wife, and their four children, had been viciously maimed and murdered by what guards could only describe as “the teeth bites and claw marks of a beast.” They proclaimed to the neighbors that it was a bear that had wandered into town, but the uneaten bodies with their limbs ripped off, left arranged in varying shapes surrounded by incenses and candles, told of a more sinister intention. Erelius’s father knew of its meaning to a degree, and to why the Roder’s were targeted. Mr. Roder was a fairly rich business owner in the lower city and was a strong financial backer to the Olea. Father tried his best to keep the children free from knowing such horrors exist at a young age. The horrors of the occult and their foul magical rituals that soaked the soil in blood and turmoil in pursuit of something that remained hidden to him still.

  His father was reading historical texts on the source of the occult. The occult’s magic was rooted in the teachings of Rashard Al’yur, the Demigod of Death as he was known of in the east. His influence is felt in every country. Where sacrifice and blood offerings stained the road his followers walked like an endless shadow poised to drape itself over the world. Wherever people bargained, begged, or pleaded for power; the sensation of a creeping darkness crawling behind them would clutch their very souls and offer trade. ‘They’ve grown their influence so much so soon, but to what end?’ Erelius’s father was lost in thought as his mind raced. If it was the corruption of the occult’s doing here in Pyrgi then it would point him to the other government branches, but of them he still couldn’t discern a source or an ultimate goal other than a vague sense of “control.” The King’s power has been stripped bare and spread out among the branches through political leveraging in a way that can only be described as even. Likely to not pin the attention on any particular branch for a time and allowing this shadow cabal of ritualists to cement more power in the government. Erelius tried to comfort his worry-stricken dad, and a smile broke out on him.

  “Son.” he called out. “Remember if anything happens to be strong and protect the others.”

  Father would stand guard alongside the hounds while the children sleep soundly, without a care of dark arts or monsters in sight, except for Erelius, who had overheard those townsmen earlier that day talking about the attack. The details ran amok in his head with a vivid array of nightmarish displays, ten pointed star of Al’Yur; arrangements made of legs with arms cradling their owners own heart at the center. He had told himself all day how such things can’t be real, and tried his best to stuff it to the back of his mind, but the images painted in his imagination would ward off the peace of sleep for most of the night.

  Morning shined through the windows as one of the boys threw the shutters open. Fatigue had rescued Erelius from his thoughts at some point, and as he rubbed his eyes open he could see the same look of grimace on the other children. Greeting the sun so early and from such a deep sleep would be jarring to anyone after all, though the potted lilacs on the windowsill were enjoying the sun enough for them all. Erelius ran downstairs to check on his father, but he had already left. A friend of his came by, no doubt to let him rest, and was reading notes at his desk. A tall woman around the same age as father who would come by from time to time to teach the children history, religions, and basic arithmetic.

  “Morning teacher!” Erelius gave a wave as he ran by and into the kitchen to fetch some water. A frightening realization washed over him as he feared a study day was looming over the orphanage today, and as if a mind reader, the woman quickly quelled his worries. “Today’s a free day. You still have time to read those chapters I spoke of, but don’t slack off, boy.” she lectured. Erelius and the others had to read up on the history of the Great War, and on cue a quartz stone golem came from around the desk holding the history book. It’s arms stretched out frantically waving it back and forth until Erelius finally grabbed it. “Thank you, Huey” he commended the golem in it’s hard work, and it returned to sleep once more. The boy noticed that usually Teacher had a pair of golems that she could puppeteer with her magic, but the other was missing today. “Where’s Bert, Ms. Lily?” she paused her writings for a brief moment. “He broke down and lost a leg yesterday, but I haven’t had the time to repair him yet. Don’t worry though he’ll be right as rain with some new stone and a fresh mana supply.” Erelius was relieved by the news, but then the silence was broken up by Boros calling out to him to hurry up outside. In a rush Erelius ran upstairs to grab his shoes from under the bed, placed the book down on his bed, and blitzed past Lily and out the front door of the orphanage to set for a day out in the center city of Pyrgi with Marth and Boros.

  It would take roughly an hour of walking through the poorer region of Pyrgi where they lived to get to the heart of the kingdom. Slowly the change in architecture and infrastructure became apparent as crude stone walls gave way to well paved red clay and granite bricked walls, and the road ways opened up for the use of horse drawn carriages, bicycling, and even a mana powered rail train that traveled around the perimeter of the inner city. The road was alive with the sounds of commerce, and the boys jumped from shop to shop to kill some time, and maybe find something to buy with their allowance that they saved up.

  One shop caught their eye as the sign above the entrance glowed in an array of colors interchanging again and again. “Myriad Mystical Marvels” The boys perused the shelves lined with “magic” items like crystal balls and wizard wands. Though the items seem to have a sense of wonder about them, they were in fact mere decorations or toys of a more whimsical sort. Didn’t stop the boys from casting magics at each with drawn wands at the ready. The shopkeeper, annoyed to a degree about the rambunctious children window shopping, kept an eye on them, but allowed them for now to keep having their play.

  Erelius was drawn towards a section with masks on the shelves nearing the back of the shop. The masks were ornamented and painted in the culture of Hephet, one of the countries to the east bordering the desert. These festival masks were part of their burial ceremonies, ‘The dance for the dead’, where they honor the dead souls of their ancestors with a week-long festival. Each mask was different as to express the soul of each individual, but shared similar themes of skulls and natural icons like trees and flowers. Erelius tried on a mask that shined bright red with gold vines and pink flowers drawn around the edges of the face, and the vines digging into the eye slits. He looked over to the mirror on the wall and admired the sense of style, and as he did he heard Marth shout out to him “Erelius duck!” but it was too late.

  It seems Boros found some fireworks and lit it with a match from off the shelf, and had accidentally fired it off towards Erelius. It grazed his arm and popped near one of the masks, chipping it slightly in the rather pathetically small blast, and startling Erelius enough to drop his mask.

  “Uh oh” muttered Marth, as he saw the shopkeeper jump from behind the front desk in a dash towards him, mistaken that it was he who lit the fireworks and not Boros. Marth sprinted as fast as he could away, Erelius and Boros chased after them. As Erelius caught up to the shopkeeper he tripped him, and the trio ran off further into the center of Pyrgi.

  Erelius quickly jabbed Boros in the arm; gaining his attention. “Why’d you shoot it at me? Could have set me on fire!” Boros was still a little winded himself. “I was aiming for the masks!” and while they bickered, Marth checked Erelius' arm. Surprisingly he wasn’t burned by the glancing hit of the firework. “Woooow… you might be fireproof.” Marth chuckled, breaking the two boys' argument. “Thanks for the save.” They were near the Pyrgi Town hall: a common area where many people preach on their soapbox the ways of their religion, or the ways of their political dogma. Though occasionally a bard or two can be found performing near the park garden.

  “Wanna check it out?” Boros proposed. “Maybe we’ll see another doomsayer!” Marth snickered.

  Walking up the steps to the open town hall was met with a wall of noise as the hundreds, maybe thousands even, of voices melding together hit the group like a cannon. The town hall was a government building made of marble and stone with colossal columns holding up roofs. Facing north towards the central grounds home to fountains and statues honoring the Sun and Moon gods, along with monuments of past kings. A small grassy park lined the end of the grounds just short of the bridge leading into the crowning jewel of Pyrgi: The Castle of Solis, which has stood for nearly five-hundred years. Separated from the city on all sides by a thick fortress wall with only one entryway through the castle, perched on a motte, watched over all of Prygi.

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  Marth, Boros, and Erelius walked around the town hall, and listened in on a group arguing faiths.

  An elderly woman robed in blue silk commonly worn by the theologians from the eastern desert spoke of the faith of Haema. “The God of life” she preached, “is the one who binds our soul to our blood, and nurtures the earth for us to till, and in death we bury ourselves into the soil; to pay alms to our mother for giving life.” The old scholar she was conversing with cuts in. “To work for a goddess must be a righteous and pious endeavor indeed, but when your kingdom spills blood in war does your goddess praise you? For a ‘God of life” she showed the true meaning of her name quite well with how her followers waged war for hundreds of years; bathing the sands so crimson that the Haral desert holds more iron than a mineshaft in Nal’el.” some snickering could be heard among the old timers seated on the benches behind him. Boros looked to Erelius with a blank expression. Lucky for him, Teacher wasn’t here to reprimand him for forgetting a history lesson so soon.

  The old gentleman gazed out at the crowd around them. “Words never spread the will of God, for they rely on man’s sword to do it for them. Is it not better to worship something more than a God? The Cycle has no gods or goddesses, no demigods or priests. We believe in the power of mana that exists in all souls. To live and die, and to be cleansed of it all in the end to be reincarnated once more. The weight of our misdeeds or the love birthed by good will will affect the essence of the very shape of our souls. It is a karmic scale that bears good fortune to the latter.” The common folk huddled around seemed to resonate more with the man. Pyrgi citizens worship the Sun God, Igvorus, and the belief of punishment for sins held a strong favor within the followers, or it might be the love for draconian punishments that dwells in mankind.

  Erelius was the appropriate level of bored a nine year old ought to be with the grandstanding that comes with religions, and was people watching during the continued discussion. His eyes fell onto a peculiar man standing with his back against one of the marble columns in ear shot of the conversation. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with pinstripes inked with a dark maroon color, an attire common in the northern country of Mur, but what was most captivating to Erelius was the man's face. His skin, though it looked too coarse and rigid to be skin, was pearlescent white, a paleness that even vampires would struggle to reach. The man caught eyes with Erelius for a moment, and his expression shifted from pleasant to inquisitive, and even the transitions of emotions struck Erelius as off putting. It was as if his face molded like clay to the new expression. The odd man brushed himself off the pillar, and walked towards them.

  “Is the sermon boring to you, boy?” His voice was low, and reverberated ever so slightly in the ears like a faint echo. Erelius was slightly on edge. ‘Something’s not right about him’ he thought to himself. “They all sound the same to me.” The man in the suit laughed. “I suppose you might be right, but for fun which one would you worship?”. Erelius entertained the question, and was reminded of some of the lessons on religions his dad gave once. “Whichever leads to prosperity for the people.” he replied. More or less a copied response.

  “Quite the idyllic idealistic non-answer if I’ve ever heard one. Hm, good intentions at least.” the suited man remarked. Standing closer now Erelius could observe the sword sheathed on his left hip. It had a golden pummel in the shape of an eye gleaming in the sunlight. His gloved hand grasped at Erelius’s shoulder, and in a whisper he hissed “Your ‘papa’ taught you well, but wouldn’t it be so much easier to give a merciful end to the weak so that the many could be prosperous? The sick, the poor, the orphaned?” His body froze as he felt an immense surge of mana behind him, and was unable to look at the thing that had grabbed him.

  A primordial fear that was etched in his very soul screamed at Erelius to flee, but he welled up all of his courage and turned to face the man in the black suit only to find that he was gone completely, and even more confusing was that no one even noticed such a man was standing there at all. Erelius looked back to Marth and Boros who were none the wiser to what had happened. “Are you alright, Erelius?” Marth called out to him, concerned. ‘Does he know my father? Who was he…” Erelius was perturbed by the encounter. A sense of pure malice emanated from the man that equaled the intensity of the mana he exuded. He felt like a wounded rabbit being closed in on by a wolf despite the source of this terror having left.

  His eyes glanced around looking for anything to help soothe his heart from the growing panic, and he found refuge to the north. A young girl with long black hair Erelius knew was seated at the pagoda in the garden. “I’ll catch up with you guys later!” He shuddered as he walked off towards the garden, and as he went into the pagoda the girl smiled at him. “Yuki!” he exclaimed. “Thank the gods I saw you!” She was rather amused at first, but with a tinge of worry as she had never seen Erelius so overwhelmed with horror. “It’s good to see you again.” she replied. Erelius stammered and stuttered slightly from a mix of terror and anxiety, but before he could vocalize a word her mother lowered a glass of water to him.

  “You look shaken, Ere. Drink, Relax.” With a big gulp Erelius could feel his woes lift. He had practically forgotten what he was going to ask Yuki as he basked in the serenity and safety of the pagoda’s aura. Yuki broke the silence. “It’s been about a week, hasn’t it?” They had gone over to her families’ home in the upper city as they’ve done dozens of times since they were younger. Erelius’s father and Yuki’s parents were quite close being that her mother was also a member of Olea. “You’ve been watering my flowers, right? She growled. “Uh… well a stray cat peed on it so yeah it was watered yester-" before he could finish she had descended upon him with a hailstorm of punches. Her fury unrelenting as her mother chuckled on the sideline. That feeling of fear resurfaced as he felt an immense surge of mana behind him once more, but this time he knew all too well the source. He was picked up and turned to face the tall monster like thing Yuki called a father.

  “Did you hurt my little princess’ feelings, worm?” His voice was stern and chilled Erelius’s blood. Yuki’s mother told him about the flowers as words couldn’t escape his throat. He let the boy down and laughed alongside her. Erelius looked up and saw the man was fishing a letter out from his pocket, and handed it to the boy. “Can I trust you to deliver this to your father?” and with a quick snap in his step to attention like a soldier, Erelius declared with his chest “Yes, General!”.

  The letter was signed: General Cadere, and sealed shut with a blue stamp of an olive branch. Having regained his composure from his second heart attack today, Erelius asked “So what’re you up to today, Yuki?” With a playfully smug look she proclaimed “Why don’t I show you?” and in the next moment Erelius could feel mana weaving around Yuki’s hands as she gently waved them around. Appearing at her side near the palm of her left hand was a translucent elk spawned from thin air. Erelius was in complete awe.

  “You’re a magi!?” he questioned. Mesmerized by the spectacle in front of his eyes that had now begun to move. The elk turned towards him and gently nuzzled his hand.

  “They’re spirits!” she boasted. “I awakened my magic a couple days ago!” The girl was elated.

  “It's a magic that’s extremely rare. No one in the Academy even knows what to call it.” Ms Cadere explained. She was radiating with pride for daughter. “She can sense and give form to the spirits that exist around us.”

  The light blue hue of mana that comprised the spirit elk’s visage shimmered and faded as it pranced away. The only words that Erelius could utter was that “It’s a magic only fitting to Yuki.” The girl bashfully attempted to hide her blushing face. “We’re showing off and sort of testing out her power here today as people come by. Since there’s little knowledge on the arcana.” Mrs. Cadere elaborated. “I was worried she would take after her rock head of a father’s magic.” Mr. Cadere took the slight on the chest. A geomancer magi ought to have tough skin.

  The looming feeling of something approaching Erelius from behind sparked once more, but he had been on guard for quite some time today, and with his quick reflex pivoted and blocked the back slap Boros tried to sneak on him. “Marth wants to go eat!” he claimed, but if Erelius would wager a guess it was probably more Boros being hungry as it’s rather difficult to drag Marth away from topics of philosophy and religion.

  Erelius wondered for a moment if he should ask Yuki to come along, but hesitated since she was performing her spirit magic here in the garden. “Think we can hang out tomorrow, Yuki?” he asked. The girl was still flushed from earlier, but quieted her nerves and spoke. “Come over around noon and mom can have lunch set for us.” Boros was rather strong for a ten year old, and dragged Marth and Erelius off back home to eat.

  That night at the Olive Grove was as normal as ever. The children ate and played within the orphanage while father was busy writing at his cluttered desk of notes and books. Erelius spotted how his father’s eyes were strained and tired, and had warmed up some tea at the fireplace for him. A spark briefly lit in his restless eyes. “Thank you, son. Always carry that warmth for others.” He reached down to hug the boy. Erelius knew these types of long tight hugs as the “long trips” hug. The ones his father gave when politics would take him away from the orphanage for days. Erelius grinned from ear to ear, and struck a pose with his two thumbs up and chanted “Of course I will!” in the deepest tone he could. His father wore his pride on his sleeves, and patted his sons head before sending him off to bed. Before getting into bed Erelius checked outside the window in the upstairs bedroom, and made sure that the lilacs were well watered.

  Before closing the windows Erelius looked around for the stray cat, who was currently perched on the walkway that bridged the second floor of the orphanage to the abandoned building off on the right. It was their fire escape route in case they were trapped upstairs.

  Unlike the previous night his mind was calm, and was filled with dreams of being a magi like Yuki. ‘What type of magic would I have?’ He wondered. The average boy-like day dreams of being a warrior and fighting were at the forefront of his mind. Playing out scenarios of fighting monsters by lifting them up with telekinetic powers in his head while laying in bed until finally falling asleep.

  Erelius awoke some time during the night, and slowly got out of bed to fetch some water from the kitchen. As he was about to head down the stairs he could hear two men talking. He could make out that one of them was his father. Erelius’s blood chilled once more as the other man spoke to his father. A low tone that reverberated like an echo.

  “It’ll be a shame to see you go, Hiale. Of all the politicians you and your allies were the only ones closing in on my plans. Without you things will get rather unstimulating, but alas it needs to be done.” The man in the black suit expressed with what sounded like genuine regret. Erelius could barely see his father in the dark, and the angle at the top of the stairs made it hard to see the suited man standing near the front door.

  “Savoring my last moments?” father responded. He maintained his nerves. “Get it over worth, demon.”

  “My my my! Demon? I have a name, you know? You ought to respect and use one’s name! I’m a guest in your home after all.” The man jested. “What name was it in this era again? Hmm... Haema? No. Iblis? No. Oh! Damocles.” The demon hissed. “Like hell I would” Hiale suddenly pulled out a dagger and launched it at the demon; propelling it even faster with an explosion of flames as the hilt left his hand. It pierced the demon's chest and shot out through his back. Despite the blow the demon cackled.

  “So there’s still a little fire left in you. You know more about us than I gave credit for.” Hiale remained seated; his opening gambit failed, and knew he would be no match to the demon. “If I was a lesser ‘devil’ maybe that would have killed me, but my body is far more advanced, but I am curious as to how you learned to harm my kind. Who taught you?” He probed for answers, but Erelius' father couldn’t help but laugh.

  “So that’s why you’re stalling? You don’t know all of the Olea supporters?”

  “Please, Hiale. Withholding one or two names means nothing when you’re already dead. How about I sweeten the deal? Tell me their names, and I spare the children?”

  Hiale was petrified, his mind racing wildly. For a moment no more than a second long was he tempted by the offer, but he knew that a demon would never abide by his words. “Maybe sweeten the deal further by killing yourself?”

  The demon cackled once more. “A tongue like a devil! It’s a true shame that you had to die, Hiale.” There was a moment of silence, and then the air crackled with lightning that burned clean through Hiale’s heart. The thunderous bang rumbled the entire home, and Erelius was stunned. In that moment the lightning lit the whole room he could see his father die. It would remain burned in his memory to haunt him forever. ‘No...no no no no!’ he screamed inside his head, clutching his mouth shut to keep from making a sound and attracting attention. Suddenly a fire broke out on the bottom floor, and Erelius ran back to the others who were woken by the exploding lightning.

  “We need to run!” He cried out. “Quickly!” He threw the window open as smoke from down stairs billowed up into the room. The children hurried through the escape route as Erelius helped them up and out.

  “Where’s your father?” Marth wailed.

  “There’s no time, go!” Erelius didn’t want to think of what he saw, nor speak on what he saw. It all didn’t seem real to him still. Erelius picked up Becky, who was struggling to climb out the window, and rushed behind the rest to the abandoned building. Through its backdoor was a stairwell that led to the ground floor covered in debris where they could escape, but as Erelius caught up to the children his heart dropped as he was filled with that same despair once more. The demon that killed his father stood in their path.

  “Are you young boys and girls lost?” The demon feigned concern. Some of the children instinctively feared him, but one of the older boys kept running. The demon lowered his left hand down to his sheathed blade, and in a single breathe he withdrew and sliced both of the young teen’s legs off. His blood curdling screams of pain and shock echoed in the empty building.

  “Where are your manners, boy?” The demon shrieked. Its face distorted to one of pure malice, but shifted back to the same pleasant expression Erelius saw him wear the first time they met. Behind him were two men, clad in the steel armor attire of the guards in Pyrgi. Erelius noticed a strange looking flask held in the demons right hand. It appeared to glow with a faint blow light. The demons eyes locked in once more on Erelius, and he beckoned him forward.

  “Come closer, boy. I have a proposition for you. If you can give me the names of some of your daddies friends that I don’t know, I'll spare everyone’s lives.” Erelius was too scared to think, and hesitated to respond. The demon's face contorted once more. “ANSWER!” he voiced bellowed throughout the building as the children clasped their ears. Erelius truly didn’t know who he wanted to know about.

  “Fine then.” and with that the demon conjured flames and engulfed the three children in the back of the group near the stairwell. The rest were too scared to move. Erelius looked away as his heart couldn’t take anymore loss. The demon roared again. “ANSWER!” Erelius snapped, picking up a jagged shard of glass off the ground and charged at the demon, and stabbed at his leg. The glass shattered on impact without even a scratch. The demon simply kicked the child in the gut. Erelius slumped to the ground. As he looked up he could see the flask glowed stronger now, more filled than before.

  “You have your father’s spirit, but sadly you share his fate.” and as he plunged his sword down at Erelius Marth dove on top of him. He shielded his friend, but his lung was punctured by the blade and straight through into Erelius’s shoulder. His muffled gasps for air gave way to gurgling blood. Boros flew into a rage towards the demon, and Erelius cried out to him to stop, but it was too late. He immolated Boros like the other three children, and he fell to the ground. Erelius was driven to sobbing. His tears mixed with Marth’s blood that spattered across his face. Erelius was hyperventilating, and made a run for the door, but the demon slashed deeply into his back, a cut that ran down from the right shoulder blade to his waist line. He tried to wring the door open, but the guard pinned him to the ground.

  “Perhaps this is a more fitting end for you, cretin.” The demon barked, and in a flash of flames he ignited the building, and the rest of the children were caught in the firestorm. The guard forced Erelius to watch as his friends were cremated alive, and he was powerless to save them. Erelius felt a despair so heavy that his body nearly gave out, but still he managed to slip out from the guard’s grasp and tried to save someone… anyone from the flames.

  “How touching.” The demon cooed. “Be baptized in hellflame with them!” and a wave of scorching fire enveloped Erelius’s back. It was too much pain for the poor boy to bear, and he collapsed. The flask the demon held was brimming now with mana. “Ah, perfectly timed. I was worried there wasn’t enough terror in the air to enchant the phylactery. Men. Make sure these riff-raff are dead.” The demon spoke an incantation, and as if it was a book he peeled back the very existence in front of him, forming a rift leading to some unknown land, and as he stepped through the seam snapped shut.

  The guards went one by one around the room to each body. Cutting the heads off and tossing them into the growing pit of fire. The room was once filled with the woes and death rattles of the helpless, and now only the crackle of burning wood could be heard. As one of the guards reached for another child something caught his attention. A visage to his left stood with its body still on fire, but the flames didn’t harm him. The guard readied to attack but the boy channeled fire from his body at him. A torrent of blistering heat so hot that the armor melted into the flesh. The second guard tried to back away, but the boy waved a wall of flame upon him as well. The fire was so intense that the moisture into his lungs boiled.

  The boy didn’t want to look around the room: to see the carnage that befallen them, to witness all that he lost and relive it again. He stared blankly at the door . Listlessly he stepped through the door, and walked aimlessly down the alleyway. There was no home for him to go back to. All he could think to do was walk forward. All he could think of was hunting down that demon of many names. “Haema, iblis, Damocles.” Erelius' blood burned with revenge for that demon and anyone allied to it. His strength was beginning to wane as adrenaline and shock subsided, and down the alleyway he could see a woman running towards him.

  “Erelius!?” She screamed. She grabbed a hold of him, giving what comfort she could. She didn’t bother asking if he was alright. The boy’s eyes were dead cold, and blood was pouring from his wounds.

  “Lily…sav-” was all Erelius could muster before passing out in her arms. She cradled the boy, and fled from the city as fast as she could. She had barely survived an attack on her life like young Erelius had.

  They weren’t the only people attacked that night. Of the nineteen sitting members of the Olea branch, the owners of businesses that supported them, and even the shamed King and his son were reportedly assassinated tonight. Pyrgi fell into turmoil as cries for justice were met with little to no action by the government. Many citizens were displeased with the former king, and believed that the Olea were the largest contributing factor to the economic downturn during the last two decades. The six branches who acted as advisors to the king now became the de facto ruling power, and the kingdom moved onward from the night that became known as the ‘Night of Dancing Shadows’, and turned a blind eye to the surge of corruption that began growing throughout the world.