Chapter I The Raven
Armor isn't supposed to be so heavy. Or at least that's what the young man thought as he knocked his padded knuckles against his breastplate. He stared at himself in the mirror, checking to be sure that every bit of his uniform was in place.
A young man stared back at him, dark chestnut hair groomed to the side, his green eyes as green and luscious as a forest. He would've been considered extremely handsome if it weren't for the deep, jagged scar running from his temple to the corner of his lip.
On his body, he wore a silver suit of armor embellished with the logo of Altazarra (a flag with a white dove carrying a green olive branch in its beak). It was a symbol for peace and freedom.
Altazarra sure lived up to that symbol. They hadn't had a war in over a hundred years, long before he was ever born.
No wars to fight meant Altazarra soldiers weren't being sent off into battle. They were sent out on special missions sometimes or sent off to deliver messages to other kingdoms.
But there were times an intruder or two would try to sneak into the Altazarra palace, and it was soldiers' duty to guard the palace and arrest intruders. Other times, soldiers were just assigned to personally protect Altazarra royalty and guard the Crown Jewels.
This time, the young man had been assigned to patrol the palace grounds and keep an eye out for suspicious activity. It wasn't the greatest job. He hadn't signed up to patrol the grounds when he'd trained for almost four years in soldier training. He'd been taught of combat skills, of how to use various weapons and had Gone through rigorous obstacles to test his physical and mental ability.
He'd dreamed of serving his kingdom. Of protecting it. But that was back when he was around thirteen years old, just a boy who thought being a soldier was all about fighting enemies and engaging in bloody battles.
Patrolling the palace was the least exciting thing he could do. He longed to use his skills in battle. He longed for some source of excitement.
But unfortunately for him, he served the most peaceful kingdom in all the endless woods.
"Krushem, hurry up!" A voice startled him.
Krushem turned to see a fellow guardsman beckoning him forward. Niko, his name was. He was a short man with barely any muscle, but his quick reflexes and smarts made up for his poor stature.
Niko would be accompanying Krushem on patrol duty that day.
Krushem barely knew Niko much outside their work. He knew Niko had been serving as a guard for a little over three years now and that Niko slept in the guards' tower where all the other royal Altazarra soldiers usually stayed in. But that was mostly all Krushem knew of Niko.
Plus, Niko was all business. He never much spoke of his personal life. As far as Krushem knew, Niko had no other life outside his guard duties.
"You're early," Niko remarked as Krushem exited the changing rooms.
"Well, patrol duty always starts early," Krushem replied pointedly.
Niko grunted in response and walked along. Krushem had no struggle keeping up with him.
The early morning air buffeted Krushem's hair as he strode after Niko. The sky was still dark, and the clouds covered the sky. Shadows stretched across the ground and Krushem and Niko's boots crunched over the fallen leaves strewn across the ground.
Other than the sound of their footsteps, it was mostly quiet. It was far too early for the palace servants to be awake yet. Everybody was inside their homes and in the palace, resting.
Krushem thought of his family, his parents and his sisters, sleeping soundly in their beds. All who knew Krushem knew that he was a family guy. He'd do anything for his loved ones. He didn't just train to become a Altazarra soldier to serve his kingdom—he did it also to protect his family. To keep them safe, no matter the cost.
It's not like his family was in any danger. "Overprotective" is what Krushem was called by those who knew him. Family was the most important thing to him and he would do anything to keep them out of harm's way.
Or heck, maybe Krushem was nuts.
After all, Him and His family lived in one of the most peaceful kingdoms in the endless woods where no harm could possibly come to them. So perhaps Krushem's overprotectiveness was unnecessary.
But as a guard, Krushem had been trained to be protective, to be steady and sure. His overprotectiveness was a strong held belief of his that he couldn't ward off so easily.
Krushem didn't know how long him and Niko walked along, circling around the perimeter of the palace, gazes watchful and ears open all the while. But there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would make either guard sound a warning.
They didn't speak because they both had to be focused on the task at hand and all the while, Krushem's thoughts jumped from his family to thoughts of what he could possibly be doing as a soldier if Altazarra wasn't such a peaceful kingdom.
The time seemed to pass by fast as the sky began to lighten and the sun broke through the clouds, bathing the courtyard in a golden glow. Finally, sounds of life began to override the quiet.
The palace Servants and maids would've awoken now to begin their duties and outside the palace where the main road of Altazarra laid, the market would be bustling with life soon enough with shopkeepers selling goods to any passerby who happened to walk by.
Niko seemed fidgety at this point as if he were itching to be doing something else. Krushem felt the same. He was tired of patrol duty, but luckily their task had almost come to an end.
With nothing of worthwhile to report on, Krushem and Niko found their way to the guards' tower where they had to fill out their report on a chart. Krushem sighed heavily as he gripped the pen with his gloved hand and began to jot down his name below Niko's signature.
Krushem was halfway finished signing his name when suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. At first, he thought it was Niko waiting to say something to him or maybe another guard.
Krushem hurriedly finished his work and turned around, pen in his hand.
"Yes? What—" Krushem's voice suddenly trailed off when he saw who was standing behind him.
It wasn't Niko, nor was it some other fellow guardsman Krushem recognized. Instead, it was a woman. She was draped in a dark cloak, and a bejeweled pendant hung from her neck. When she lifted her hood, Krushem glimpsed her face.
The woman's features were soft, her skin smooth and unblemished. But her eyes were startlingly red, ruby red. Her dark eyebrows were slender and arched and her raven curls cascaded down her shoulders. Her skin was so pale, she appeared to be a ghost.
Never had Krushem laid eyes on such an enchanting woman before. But who was she and what did she want?
"Darlente, Usmere," the enchanting woman said. Her speech was beautifully crisp and smooth. The language she spoke wasn't English, nor was it a language Krushem could name. But somehow, he understood her words despite only ever speaking the English language his entire life.
Greetings, Warrior.
Krushem just stared as if he'd been frozen to the spot. He didn't know why but he felt a strange sense of trepidation stir in his gut as if instinct was telling him not to trust the woman standing before him despite her undeniable beauty.
"Krushem Servetes, how long have I awaited this day," she went on. Her ruby eyes bore into Krushem and Krushem shivered. He felt as if her sharp gaze could cut right through his soul.
"Who—who are you?" Krushem managed to breathe.
The woman was silent for a while. Her lips curled upwards in a smile—not a chilling smile, but an oddly sweet smile. She stepped close and Krushem felt her cold breath against his neck. She was shorter then him, only reaching his shoulders and Krushem found himself bending his head to look down at her.
"You may not know me, but I know you," She went on. Her breath smelt like frost despite the way her gaze burned like red hot flames. "From this day forth, you, Usmere, shall never forgot thou blood is tainted. Thou heart will be forever kept, never to taste freedom. Thou shall be broken, never to be healed until thou purpose is found."
The sky behind her lit up. Lightning crackled, making the hairs on the back of Krushem's neck stand up in uneasiness. His palms felt clammy, and he felt his mouth become dry. Suddenly, it seemed the enchanting woman was a powerful force he had a right to fear.
"What—what do you mean?" Krushem began, finding his voice once more. Without thinking, he lunged for the woman, grabbing ahold of her arm.
She pulled back, and Krushem was shocked at her strength as she twisted her arm free from his grasp. But she didn't retaliate, resorting to staring at Krushem as a lightning bolt crashed down from the sky, sending sparks flying.
Krushem reeled backwards and crashed to the ground. Sparks rained down from the sky, burning Krushem's skin and making his flesh sizzle in pain. He looked up at the woman, feeling a sense of cold terror sink into his bones as she stared at him calmly.
"Beware, Usmere," She warned, pointing her long slender finger at him. "Beware the dark. You may just become lost to it, just like those before you will become lost to it."
Krushem struggled to push away his fear of this woman. He was a soldier! A fighter! He wouldn't yield to her might, to her power. Her wretched words, her terrible foretelling was a ruse—a joke! It had to be.
"Answer me, witch!" He screamed, anger rising. He leapt to his feet to face her. "What's it mean? Tell me!"
But the enchanting woman only stared at him, features eerily calm. Krushem puffed his chest, ready to charge at her. Not to attack her, but to at least grab her like before and try to get her to give him answers (he would never think of hurting a woman, even a beautiful woman such as her who spoke in riddles), but she evaded his every move.
"Please—" he began, fed up with her tiring game.
"Perhaps a clue is desired," the woman murmured. Despite her strangely powerful aura, her voice was sickeningly sweet and her beauty entranced Krushem, making his heart race in his chest as she held up her arms before him.
Her hands were clasped together and when she opened them, a ball of light floated above her palms. The ball floated towards Krushem and began to take shape, growing black feathers.
Two wings. A tail feather. A sharp, deadly beak.
A beautiful raven replaced the ball of light. It flew over Krushem's head and then Krushem glimpsed its eyes, not the coal black color of any normal raven's eyes, but instead a deep shade of violet.
With a screech of bloodlust, the raven bore down on Krushem, enlarging itself until it's whole form blocked out the stormy sky overhead.
Feathers choked Krushem. The darkness closed in around him, swallowing him up in the belly of the raven.
Beware the dark. You may just become lost to it, just like those before you will become lost in it.
Beware, Usmere...
~~•~~ ~~•~~
Krushem lurched awake, soaked in sweat.
He was laying in his bed. The room was pitch dark, and Krushem's skin burned as if the sparks from his dream really had burnt him for real. He tore out of bed and scrambled for the lantern in the corner of his cramped room.
Lighting it with shaking fingers, Krushem sucked in a deep breath in hopes of calming his racing heartbeat. The lantern lit up the small room, barely the size of a big closet.
The only furniture in the room was Krushem's worn mattress propped atop a rickety wooden bed frame. There was also a table in the corner next to the bedroom door where Krushem usually ate at or left his dirty laundry on.
Krushem felt tiredness claw at him, but he couldn't imagine the many more horrors that awaited him in his slumbers. He didn't wanna dream ever again and yet practically every night whenever he slept, he did dream. The very same dream over and over again.
It seemed whenever he closed his eyes, the beautiful woman visited him in his dreams and uttered the same riddle he loathed more than anything.
Krushem threw open his bedroom door and slipped down the darkened hallway of his family's home. The door leading to his mother's room was slightly ajar. Krushem peered in and saw two lumps lying on the bed, his mother and father sleeping soundly.
In the bedroom next to his parents' room was where his two younger sisters also slept. Krushem passed by their room too, finding his way to the kitchen.
He got himself a cup of water and gulped it down before filling the cup back up for more.
Moonlight filtered in through the kitchen window. Krushem slid open the window to let the cool night breeze into the house and the air kissed his bare chest.
No matter how hard Krushem tried to push the thought of the curse and the witch from his dream away, his mind was locked on the image of her flaming red eyes, as hot as fire. He didn't know whether to fear those burning eyes or be mesmerized by their beauty.
Krushem splashed water on his face for good measure and felt relief as the cold liquid dripped down his chin and rolled down his rippled chest.
A long time ago, Krushem's ancestors had been said to have a quarrel with a tribe of witches. The quarrel had turned into a fight that served to ultimately lead to the massacre of every single witch belonging to that tribe. But whether it was all fact or rumor, Krushem didn't know and nor did his parents know.
But what Krushem knew for sure was that the witches his long dead ancestors had quarreled with had had such a vendetta against them that the witches had cast a curse on Krushem's whole family.
Every generation, one child of a set of parents would be cursed. Cursed to know their fate, except that fate was revealed through a riddle that made little to no sense to anyone who heard it.
Krushem was the only child of his parents to be cursed. Before him, his father's brother had been cursed. A few years back, Krushem's uncle had had curse symptoms, so to speak, which included nightmares, paranoia, insomnia, and whatever else Krushem's uncle had suffered from before his untimely death.
Krushem had found out all about his family curse and whatnot when he started having nightmares about a year back at fifteen years old. That's when his parents told him about the curse and tried to offer their support.
His parents suggested he quit his soldier duties ("The nightmares will only distract you anyway," they'd said), but Krushem wasn't going to quit his dream just because of a stupid curse.
The dream witch's riddle told of Krushem's fate. But Krushem didn't know how to solve that riddle, and he didn't know the symbolism behind the raven in his dream with its violet eyes. And not knowing his fate fully, yet knowing what would happen to him somewhat was the most scariest part to him.
Oh, and he had no idea how to break this curse at all.
So all Krushem could do was deal with it whilst continuing on with his duties. He couldn't let his fear dictate his actions. He had to stay strong and fulfill his duties. He would face his fate in due time, and when he did, he would finally make sense of the whole riddle.
As Krushem stared out the window, watching the darkness give way to the rising sun, he glimpsed the shadow of a raven fly by outside.
He dropped his cup and it shattered, shards of crystal glass scattering across the floor at his feet.
Fists trembling in fear, Krushem swore he wouldn't become lost in the dark.
But...could he really escape the fate the witch foretold?