KENNEN JARMEZ IS TRAPPED. A web of forgotten secrets and buried history descends upon him. With a war looming over their heads, he has to crack the mystery surrounding a particular object in his care in search of allies. After triggering a hidden sp...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
2412, Xavem 21, Jyda
Kennen bolted with a gasp, hands flying to his chest. No blood. That meant...
"You have a lot of explaining to do, young man," a stern voice belonging to his mother speared through his ears, tearing his attention on the fact that he was alive and not...well, dead.
"Mother," the word flitted out of his mouth, this time without the inhibition of any force on the island. "Wh..."
Another shadow fell over him, and he looked up in time to see Dalan cross his arms over his chest. "I'd rather not see you flat on your face, Kennen," the half-blood chided as if he's a parent Kennen gained overnight. It wasn't a far-off occurrence, though. Kennen was oddly sure the Grand Marshal heaped the task of tailing Kennen on the healer. "I don't know if you're keeping count, but this number is enough."
It took his senses a while to register the soft light streaming from the illuminated panels of ice overhead, the neat arrays of historical displays stuck inside the translucent walls, and the mess of the Bloodspeaker sprawled on the floor along with the robes he wore. A few notches from the tip of his boots lay the Warseeker, fortweres outside its shelter. Apparently, he had fallen sideways when something inside the Cardinic throne flared to life under the influence of the Cloak.
Apart from the stabbing sensation haunting his chest, he felt rather fine. He glanced at his fingers and limbs. Still complete. What a relief.
Dalan cleared his throat, jarring Kennen out of his reverie. His gaze snapped up to find his mother and the healer glaring down at him. Oh.
"Apologies," he groaned on his way up. His world swayed a little when his legs threatened to forget how to stand. "I'm...Where do I start?"
A strong grip circled his arm, and the Grand Marshal dragged him out of the Hall of Symbols, off the floor, and into the war room. This wasn't the Grand Marshal's office, judging from the large round table and the absence of any fixtures other than it. Dalan ducked into the opening ripped through the wall before it closed on him. What's the healer got to do with this?
The Grand Marshal settled Kennen into a high-backed chair, the legs creaking under the sudden addition of his wait. Her hands never left his shoulders, as if she's afraid he'd run off the moment she let go. "Start with what you're planning to do with those two thrones," she said. "What's going on? Is that why you needed my permission to visit the armory? You can't have bothered to tell me directly?"
"Mother," Kennen interjected, brushing her hand on his shoulder. "We won't get anywhere if you keep asking questions like that."
His mother frowned, but didn't speak more. She retreated to the immediate seat next to his. Dalan settled behind the backrest of her seat.
Kennen blew a breath and fought the urge to twiddle his fingers. Being caught red-handed was one of the worst feelings he had to ever endure. "It started with the Warseeker revealing itself to me," he said. The story came pouring out, starting from his attempts to find out what in Umazure was the Cardinic throne until his eventual theft of the Bloodspeaker.
