Several millennia ago a war raged between the factions of dragonkind. With their world ravaged, the Kaldean Alliance forged the Amulet of Draconic Control and the Tethering Stone, and banished their foes to other realms, saving Kalda from utter dest...
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He will come in a time of sorrow.
Man will be primitive.
He will manifest the Ko'delish without word.
- Prophecy of the Unspoken One
6,500 YEARS LATER
Kaescis Midivar, seventh in line to the Mindolarn throne, strolled through the gardens outside his uncle's grand palace. He was late, but that was usual.
Tardiness would attract attention, and he needed to stand out. This Mindolarn prince needed to be seen today. There would be others not of the empire dining at the feast tonight. If he stood out, people would remember him.
Important people.
Kaescis and the other princes of the empire looked very much alike—they were brothers and cousins after all. He and his brothers each had wavy golden-blond hair, except for Negaris. The brothers shared the same sharp nose and long forehead, a trait common to their grandfather, who Kaescis had never met. There were variations in their features, though. Of all his brothers, Kaescis's eyes were the palest violet, while his brothers' were darker. Kaescis also had the thinnest lips, the most chiseled face, and the roundest ears.
Besides their similarity in features, Kaescis was dressed like the other members of the Royal Family. He wore a fanciful crimson coat with tails hanging partway down the backs of his thighs. The coat was adorned with gold-and-white tassels and embroidered with patterns all paired in groups of seven. Seven was an important number in Mindolarn. He wore a ruffled beige shirt and charcoal-colored pants with matching boots. Kaescis couldn't change what he looked like, so the tardiness was needed if he were to stand out against the backdrop of Mindolarn aristocracy.
The harmonious sounds of music reached Kaescis's ears. The royal orchestra was playing its third movement, heralding the next part of the momentous feast. He had missed little. The first course was already served, but he didn't care for much of what it offered.
As he rounded a corner, Practil approached. The brown-haired man wore a lavender coat with silver tassels. Beneath it, he wore a white formal tunic and matching pants. His black boots echoed as he hastened along the stone pathway.
"Your Imperial Highness!" Practil called, stopping a few paces from Kaescis and bowing. "I was worried. When you didn't show, I—"
"Calm yourself, Practil. You've been my servant for how many years, and you still don't understand my methods?"
"Thirty, Your Imperial Highness," Practil bowed once again. "Forgive me, but there is someone here in the palace who wishes to speak with you."
Kaescis raised his brow, confused. The Feast of Sorrows was not a time to hold conversation. Partakers were to observe reverence and solemnity. If one needed to speak, it was to be in a whisper. Nothing more.
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