As soon as he stepped through the metal doors, they slammed shut behind him. All the sounds of Derwen Hold suddenly cut off. He couldn’t hear the distant sounds of blades clashing, or the murmur of the guards outside. The silence here was deafening, and as his gaze scoured the Obsidian Hall, he also found it to be eerie.
There was very little colour around – the walls, floor and ceiling were all smoothed obsidian. The hall had simply been carved into the mountain. Some columns had been left to help support the high ceiling, their jagged edges still remained even after so many years.
There was no crystal lighting here – instead, lit braziers illuminated the hall, their lights dancing, dimming and flaring with then whims of the fires. Shadows danced on the walls, and the light of the braziers reflected off the smoothed and polished floor.
His footsteps echoed in the otherwise completely silent hall. Not even the crackle of the flames or the pop of embers could be heard. His own heartbeat sounded too loud. He desperately wished it would stop racing. He needed to be calm and collected.
Each step he took brought him closer to the other end of the hall. His gaze landed on the empty throne atop seven wide steps.
The throne was massive – a testament to the power of the Eldorian Empire. Built out of smoothed and polished obsidian and melted crystal, it was a tribute to all the past rulers of the Empire.
He couldn’t help but glance at the pockets of crystal placed into the indents all around the gigantic structure. The flames of the braziers glinted off the crystal – and off the items sealed within. Crowns, jewels and weapons, all sealed in crystal.
He lowered himself on one knee in front of the first step, placed his right hand on his heart, and curled his left hand into a fist, pressing it against the ground. Then, he waited.
He wasn’t sure how long had past when footsteps sounded from behind the throne, startling him. The air seemed to grow heavy and more suffocating as they approached. He fought against the urge to raise his head and look at the person approaching. Instead, he held his breath, and waited as the footsteps approached, and climbed the steps leading to the throne, and eventually stopped. The rustle of clothes sounded, and eventually he spoke.
“Rise.”
Midhir breathed out silently as he first raised his head, then slowly stood up.
Emperor Eamon Ardagh, third of his name, was seated upon the obsidian throne. He wore a simple, black uniform, not dissimilar to what the honour guard wore. His cloak had the sigil or the Ardagh family embossed on it and was lined with black fur underneath.
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Seeing him reminded how Ilya was the spitting image of her father – they had the same blonde hair, sharp features, and strong, dominating gaze. Though the Emperor’s had his fair share of scars, the similarity was still obvious.
“It’s been a while, Midhir.” His voice boomed. It dominated the hall, despite him speaking quite softly. “You have grown.”
Joining his hands behind his back, Midhir bowed his head. “Thank you, your majesty.” It took effort to keep his voice from cracking. His heart raced, and his throat felt like it was all knotted. How long had it been since they stood face to face like this? It was shortly after the An’Larion disaster that the Emperor had left for Derwen Hold, and never returned.
Midhir gulped. The mere presence of the monarch made the air suffocating. His thoughts became clouded, and his body felt heavy and sluggish, like he was trying to wade through mud as he moved.
“Report. An’Larion, and the ambush you suffered on route.” He leaned back on the throne, his cold gaze lingering on Midhir.
Midhir took a deep breath as he organised the events that transpired in his mind. “An’Larion’s thirteenth district was disturbed by the cultists carrying the twelve part serpent insignia…”
***
“What do you make of that?” Circe asked her raven companion as she sat atop a watchtower.
“You don’t need me to answer that.” The raven replied. It was perched right next to her, shuffling its feathers as it spoke.
Circe let out a sigh. Her gaze lingered on the courtyard below.
Men and women, conscripted into the army, were training below. Their red and white uniforms, decorated with silver thread, glimmered under sunlight. They trained with real weapons – some were polearms with curved blades mounted on top, while the others were swords featuring similarly curved blades. They wore very little metal armour, instead opting for leather vests and reinforced boots.
She lifted her gaze towards the rest of the city beyond the walls of this fortress. Kaerun’s usual rustle and bustle was nowhere to be found. Instead, the city was silent with dread and despair looming over it. Only the children and the elderly remained, though how long they would remain was to be seen.
“It has begun.” She finally spoke, her voice but a whisper.
“The bell will toll soon, will it not?”
She pressed her lips together. “Not just one.”
The raven tilted its head. While it was difficult to usually read the bird’s emotions, its shock was clear from its large eyes.
“Disasters loom over this world, old friend. And I don’t think any warning I gave will be heeded.” She paused. “Perhaps one, but that one can’t do much.”
“Borrowed power and borrowed time.” The raven cawed. “Accursed blood. You were right a decade ago – you should have let that one go.”
Circe scowled. “No. That’s what the old man would have done.” She stood up her sharp gaze lingering on the palace on the other side of the city. “I’m better than that.”
The raven ruffled its feathers again. “You play with fire, Circe. You know the dangers better than I do. There exist powers beyond even you and the old man – and borrowing from such powers will only bring the end closer. You should have ended things a decade ago, when the traitor’s spawn tore apart the Veil.”
“Enough.” The anger she felt surprised even herself. “I lent that time. It is mine to take whenever I wish.”
