Dark voice: "You made a promise, a promise you must keep, not for them but for us. The thoughts that haunt you at night will harm you. Learn to control them and your words shall be strong if your actions give them light."
Weak voice: "I know. But we've had problems and life has been unfair."
Dark voice: "You need to be your savior. Don't wait for someone else. Don't you see? You only have one life."
Weak voice: "What's the point of trying if nothing goes right?"
Dark voice: "That's alright. Sit down. We can talk through the night. Little conversation between you and your mind. And maybe, just maybe, this time we'll get it right."
Weak voice: "And if I feel I'm failing?"
Dark voice: "Then I'll help you find the light."
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Many millennia ago the Palace of Light sought power over all kingdoms. It was ruled by the King and Queen of the Alba lineage, the Great White Leaders of Górthlórk, the mainland, spread with humans, creatures, and elemental users.
The legend of the Alba lineage began with the white pair and once they were crowned no one dared to stand against them. They were overjoyed observing how their children grew to become like them, all except one. Mucro was the youngest, a thin little boy with curly, copper hair, and eyes near to golden filled with the wildest dreams. The oldest was the main spotlight, always mastering studies and conquering battles. On the other hand, Mucro was the opposite, cold, and distant, always treated miscellaneously, partly by his powers and individual personality.
All siblings contained light abilities while Mucro was gifted with only dark powers which drew suspicion, but after pondering about it, this occurred from his ancestors possessing other types of magic. Something this bizarre happens once in a lifetime. Both rulers agreed that Mucro obtained the dark arts from his great, great grandfather, a half-blood who ruled the White Lands as a dark user. Light and Darkness are connected just as the sun with the moon, they shine when it's their time. This gave the right for the dark users to rule the Kingdom of Light equally as pureblooded light users.
The story of the dark-gifted child has only begun. His difference drew him further away from his siblings. Mucro was fascinated by unusual themes, observed everything with a fascinating perspective, had the most compassionate love for animals, and spent hours of his free time with his thoughts in the wild. He was a silent child who did not let anyone enter his world except for his mother and mentor, the only ones who tried to understand him and cared deeply. They spent their time training, educating, and connecting with the young prince. They noticed not only great potential but an incomparable, intelligent, and very sensitive child who could accomplish many wonders. Just watching him grow, always believing in the dark prince brought them heartwarming joy, unlike his father.
Mucro was treated with love and care and was the spark of joy in his parent's eyes, but things changed with a roll of the dice. Once Mucro turned into a teenager, the passing of time showed colder relations from his father's side. Fellow sorcerers weren't confused about it either. None questioned this form of severe treatment, unlike other element wielders dark sorcerers were brutally disciplined after entering the first stages of maturity, it was the only way to train a Dark One perfectly. The Dark Ones have practiced very astringently for centuries to become fierce warriors both physically and mentally. However, it was unbearable for the race of men and even other sorcerers to compete in such drudgery. So cold yet extremely boiling, cutting off from so-called "weak emotions". The king's methods were to hurt the mindset to actualize all control. Neither the Lady Mother nor Mucro's mentor understood the need to rapidly quicken the young one's training results, they warned it only disturbed him, deeply hurting and confusing the child, but the king never listened to another soul.
It is said that dark sorcery is the most mysterious, challenging magic ever known, taming it requires indescribable patience and ambition. Mucro's father intensified his drills, believing it was necessary and the responsibility to make him the most powerful future king.
Once Mucro turned 140 years old (14 years in man-kind), suddenly his siblings grew colder towards him. In time, the treatment changed from bad to worse, connections were lost and the word "brothers" decidedly had no meaning.
Mucro's heart turned dark, learning the hard ways of life was never an easy task, but this one was clever, and he quickly learned the gray ways of the world. Regardless of his surroundings, the unique energy obtained from the wild kept him coping. The connection between him and his mentor grew and taught him how to survive. With all the hope he had given him, it brought his soul back from the dead, feeling alive, shifting his training to a more effective course.
The dark prince improved his skills in the blink of an eye. From a young age, his strengths led up to brutal jousting, skillful sword fighting, and unpredictable dark abilities, his true potential grew with each day, the only problem was being between ice and fire.
The queen grew furious at her husband's and children's unpleasant behavior towards Mucro, she intended to speak with him at once.
After light left the horizon it conceded its shine for darkness, creating an entry for the queen's quarrel. She entered the royal, white room speaking with a rigid tone:
"Why do you keep doing this to him?"
The king stared at the window avoiding her eyes.
"There is no other way to protect him, I must do what is in my might to build him a resistance," he replied.
"Protect him from what?"
"From himself."
The queen's eyes were startled by the answer but remained by her word.
"You know it is not true, his suffering will not lead to welfare, so why mortify him?"
Finally, he faced her with the rage he stored for so long.
"To make his mind resistant to all weak emotions that I have! [Pauses with heavy breathing] There has been no dark ruler since my great grandfather, who was the most hauntingly powerful king that ever existed. I want my heir, my blood, my son to become even greater, the most vigorous, and unravaged king of all Górthlórk!"
"Do you not have enough might? The fear of losing your rule has blinded you to secure yourself, not our children, only for your reputation!"
"Do not dare to speak to me this way, our son shall rise and become resistant to any emotion...because only they abandon us."
Legends tell that not even time healed the king's perspective, he was obsessed with control, terrified of losing the kingdom, and how he would pass into history. Rumors said that the only ones he truly cared about were his children, at least most of them.
The time finally struck Vim Luminis Alba, the palace of Light with a perceptible blow by announcing the queen's death of great illness from the sorrow she concealed in her heart. After her death, consumed by rage, Mucro made a choice that changed history so brutally that no being ever forgot.
Mucro blamed his mother's death on his brothers and sisters, mostly on his father for not taking care of her when needed.
In the year 8846 of the Levamentum Period, the sun rose upon white royal sheets, sunk with cold blood. The number of bodies with scarlet pools on the marble floors was more than one, and the contrast of deep red and winter white was intense, but the sight of all nine heir's slit throats was worse. No such horrid sight ever existed for the white leader, nor any other parent than the bearing view of one's murdered children, nothing has ever touched the king's soul with such force as this. His own eyes haunted him every time he closed them, his nightmares expanded into genuine themes of hell, and his soul never found peace, for his line had ended.
Not long after the red sunrise, the ruler didn't think twice about taking his life away. Rumors said he hanged himself, and others said he drank the mortal potion which should only be used when the ruler's time has come to an end when it rises for another, but there was no rise of the gleaming sun on the capital's bright walls evermore. The empire shattered into ruins, not dared being touched by sunlight again.
Before the king's suicidal choice, he didn't even bury his children, he just sang to their dead, rotting bodies about the passing of time called: "Cry, squire, cry."
The oldest sibling's bed hadn't a single drop of blood on it because Mucro dragged his brother's body someplace secret to condemn it after death.
No one ever saw either of them, not even a single trail, nor a whisper, even rumors vanished quickly and quietly just like they did, into the deepest memories of Górthlórk.
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Hello readers and welcome to the world of my imagination! I hope you enjoy my writing and find a reflection of the story's morals in your life. Please do not copy this book for your purposes, for it would make me very sad and my characters will be forced to cast a dreadful curse on you. Now please relax, listen to some fantasy/medieval music, and enjoy the world of elements, riddles, fascinating creatures, and epic battles from a medieval reenactor's and steel combat warrior's perspective.