Haven

Prologue

The night air was crisp and cool. A slight breeze flowed over the landscape, causing the grass to rustle softly. The mountains shone bright in the moonlight, their ice covered peaks seeming to glow with ethereal light. The stars shone brightly in the sky, twinkling merrily like fireflies as small wisps of gray cloud marched across the black expanse of the night sky. The two moons hung low in the sky, one large and round, pale yellow in color, giving off a bright, waxy light. It was called Tycho. The other, Erodo, was smaller, more ovoid in shape, and a slightly Bluish color. Its light was stronger, easily bright enough to paint everything in a stark blue-white light.

The soft sound of running water was the only sound. Water flowing down the glacial mountains, winding through the rocks and into Velan Lake, where it flowed in a curl around the field, down into the delta and off the cliffs into the sea. The knee high grass was wet with dew, the ground soft and springy all the way up to the walls of the castle.

The castle was an incredible sight. Built half into the mountains behind it, With a shelf of rock a mile high jutting from the mountain directly above it. The only plausible method of attack was a head on assault. But against the two hundred foot walls, made of perfectly smooth obsidian, invaders stood little chance. The only way into the castle was a lift manned by several guards, twenty four hours a day. Every day except today.

The man swept toward the castle, His cloak flapping behind him as the breeze caught it, making him seem like a huge dark shadow. A small smile twisted his lips as the lift slowly descended, the thick ropes making almost no sound. The wide platform bumped down, and the man stepped quickly onto it. He leaned over and pulled one of the ropes, then let it snap back with a satisfying thrum. The lift immediately began to rise. The ascent was smooth and uninterrupted. As he rose, the man's bright eyes glimmered under his hood as he took in the expanse of land he would soon rule. The lift shuddered to a stop and he turned. Two people stood waiting.

"Felicia, Leon. My associates, my friends. We have come so far, and tonight we claim what is ours."

Felicia smiled mirthlessly. Leon inclined his head, his hands still gripping the wheel used to operate the lift. The two figures followed wordlessly as the dark man swept down the hall, keeping his hood up and his head down. They were barely ten feet from the lift when the guards sprang their trap. Two dozen heavily armed men sprang from the many hallways ringing the circular lift chamber, swords drawn as they moved into a circle around the intruders. A deep laugh came from the tunnel to the dark man's front.

"Did you really think I would remain ignorant of your plot, little brother?" The owner of the voice entered the chamber. The Heir to the Marathi Kingdom's lands, riches, and subjects stepped into the light. "Oh, little brother, how I wished Felicia had known to keep her mouth shut. Then I would have died peacefully in my sleep soon after my father, none the wiser of your aspirations to rule. But alas, your maid let your plan into the gossip mill long ago."

The dark man laughed. It was clear and deep, a full bodied laugh that doubled him over. He eventually straightened, still chuckling heartily. "You are nothing if not predictable, Garon. I instructed Felicia to let that little snippet out, hoping this would happen." The Dark man raised his head and smiled. His skin was unnaturally pale, his blue eyes deep and sunken, darkened with insane fire. His black hair hung around his face in a wild mop. Here was a madman. His smile widened. "I will humiliate you before you die, Garon."

"You will try. But I am an Orion, little brother, unlike you. I am not so easily dispatched." Garon said haughtily, His hand settling on the hilt of his sword. "Whereas you, Oras, look ill, and not at all up to a fight."

Oras' smile vanished in a flash. "You have no idea of the Power I possess, Brother. I will crush you underfoot. You don't deserve the title of Orion. You will die tonight, Garon. You have abused your power for far too long." Garon ripped his sword from its scabbard and swung it powerfully at Oras. Faster than the human eye could follow, Oras had his midnight black blade out and crossed over his chest. Garon's blade screamed off the dark metal of Oras' weapon. "I have become stronger than any member of our family has ever been, Garon. This is your last chance to submit and save your own life."

Garon spat. "I will not see you upon the throne, Oras. I defy you until my last breath!"

"So overdramatic," Oras said with a sigh. He swung his sword. Garon moved to parry, and Oras whipped his blade downward, avoiding contact with Garon's weapon, and then immediately turned his blade in his hand, slicing through Garon's arm, severing it at the elbow. The arm, sword still clenched in the hand, fell to the floor with a clattering thud. Garon fell back, screaming. Oras stepped forward and thrust his weapon into Garon's chest. The room was silent as Garon stumbled back, his body accepting the end even if his mind did not.

"I am sorry it had to be this way, brother."

The guards around the room stared at their master. One of them stepped forward, his face set grimly. "You will pay for that." Another shouted the alarm. And all hell broke loose.

Oras' blade moved through armor and muscle and bone as easily as it moved through the air. Leon drew a massive broadsword and began fighting seven soldiers at once. Felicia, who was obviously much more dangerous than she appeared, was a whirlwind. She pulled two long curved daggers from her sleeves and went to work. In minutes, the castle was taken, every guard having fled or died by the trio's blades. Oras shed his blood soaked cloak. He turned to assess his companions' wounds. Felicia had none, but Leon had a long scratch running down his bicep. Both of them nodded at him, and he nodded back.

Oras turned and moved into the castle, weapon at the ready. He breathed deeply, trying to rid his nostrils of the foul, metallic scent of blood. He was drawn tight like a bowstring, uncertain of whether or not he would break.

For the greater good...

Oras nodded to himself. Everything he did, he did for the good of the Marathi kingdom, his kingdom.

A guard leapt at him. Oras dispatched him quickly. He whispered through the hallways, torchlight glimmering off the blood soaked black blade in his hands. He approached a door at the end of a long corridor. It was unguarded, as always. The old man was a prideful fool. He opened the door slowly. The room was spartan, almost austere. The only furniture was a contradiction to the emptiness of the room: a huge bed, nearly six feet long and twice as wide. On the left edge lay a pale old man.

He was obviously very ill. His breathing was rapid and irregular. His hands clenched the sheets as he thrashed in his fevered, dreamless sleep. Sweat poured from him as he panted from the heat of a raging fever. Oras moved over to the side of the bed and stared at the man for a long moment.

He had waited for his chance for many weeks. He had waited until illness took the king, and then had campaigned for the king's withdrawal from the court. Now, the only people who would know what truly happened tonight would be himself and his companions. His plan had worked beautifully.

Oras smiled at his success as he slowly lifted his blade above the sleeping man. There would be a new leader soon. A new Era.

Oras stabbed downward.