Beggars lined the streets, mud and filth coloring their rags. Young mothers with crowns of grey scored the bleak marketplace, scurrying to fill their baskets with meager portions of thin milk, stale loaves, and rancid fish. They argued with the street vendors, making clear, concise debates, but still getting swindled out of their money, returning home with half-empty baskets, empty purses, and hungry children. Dull bells chimed throughout the empty streets, signaling the return of exhausted fathers and sons from the silver mines. Young ones played in the muddy streets, adding new stains to the array of brown on their simple clothes.
Zalon strode through the sprawling maze of quiet homes and vacant buildings on his way to Kever K'Shaw. Teleporting past the dreary city would have been a breeze, but he walked through the streets to remind himself of his people. Drained of spirit, Yi'il was an empty shell. While lodging living people, the city was dead. Men drudged along with their heads bowed, their spirits broken. Women hurried home, staying close to the sides of roads. Children lazed around the corners, the joy of childhood stolen from their hearts.
It was depressing to see them, but Zalon forced himself to carry on. As he walked through Yi'il, he locked eyes with a few, as if to relay courage telepathically. If only it was that easy.
Although the Kreoul had demanded his presence immediately, Zalon took his time in the city. He strolled past the short buildings that lined the outer layer of the city where the beggars, gangs, and mineworkers lived. As he moved inward, it became more lively. The closer you got to the castle, the higher your status was. Noblewomen sat in their carriages, waiting as their servants bought food. Zalon saw a group of young warlocks following their teacher as he explained and showed examples of the ancient magic. Armed mages marched through the marketplace, kicking out beggars and making displays of thieves. A few mages stood outside grand houses as guards for high nobles. Zalon spotted an Elder in his quitel-drawn carriage. The cattle-like beasts made low rumbling sounds as they marched along, guided by switching whips. As he continued walking inward, the crowds thinned out. Soon, he stood before the colossal that was his home. Kever K'Shaw loomed over him as if threatening to tip forward and crush the city before it. The castle stood out of a mountain, hewn from the rock by dark magic. Two grandiloquent towers spiraled up on both sides, guarding the gate that yawned out before Zalon.
He stopped, and breathed. Trying to collect himself before facing the Kreoul. He lifted his head, steely determination in his eyes, and walked in.
Thirty minutes had passed before he finally arrived at the throne room. Massive doors sat in front of him with strange symbols and patterns carved into their smooth stone. One crazy protection spell. The only way through these doors was by chanting the spell's counterpart, or if someone opened the doors on the other side. Not even his telekinesis could open them.
Before Zalon could pull the bell's rope, the doors opened, scraping against the cold floor and leading to the throne room outdoors. Ahead of him, across the vast courtyard, was another door, identical to the one open before him. A long row of chairs seated the Elders along the wall, their assistant mages standing beside them. They looked at Zalon with harsh glares. He ignored them and walked in. To his right was the city, stretching out for a mile or two. Cold winds rustled through his garments and he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He turned left and saw his step-father. Dressed in simple black clothing, the man looked almost militaristic. He sat on his throne, his head turned toward Mel who stood on his left. She had changed out of her armor and now wore a long purple dress with sleeves that drooped over her hands. She whispered into the Kreoul's ear, malice burning in her eyes. She was probably telling him about the fight she and Zalon had. Finishing her story, she stood up straight and glanced at Zalon, a smirk on her face. Zalon kept his eyes on Xennas. To the Kreoul's right stood Zalon's mother. She had her hair up in a tight bun, exposing those keen eyes of hers. They stared directly into Zalon's, gleaning information from the deep corners of his soul. The Kreona wore a deep maroon cloak over her red dress. She placed her hand on the Kreoul's shoulder. He looked at her and she nodded her head in Zalon's direction.
Well, he had it coming to him. He shouldn't have foolishly attacked Mel. He knew full well the repercussions of his careless actions.
The Kreoul turned his head in Zalon's direction.
"Boy," his voice echoed, "Come."
Zalon walked froward, reluctantly, and stopped a few feet away from his family. He didn't lower his face as he neared the throne, but kept his eyes on Xennas. He wouldn't look weak in front of this monster.
"Take off that mask," his mother said, "Show due respect to the Kreoul."
Zalon hesitated and then lifted his hand and slowly pulled off the dark cloth. His scar, no longer puffy, had settled into its permanent state across his face.
"I thought you had learned from your last beating." The Kreoul stood from his throne and walked down the stairs until he loomed over Zalon. He was a tall man, lean and threatening. He held his arms behind his back as he glared down at Zalon.
Zalon said nothing.
His step-father's hand was fast, and it landed a hard blow on his face, opening the nearly healed wound on Zalon's cheek. He fell to one knee and held his hand to his face, grimacing. Blood oozed through his fingers, but he made no sound. Not even a grunt. He wouldn't show weakness.
"Obviously," Xennas shook the blood off the back of his hand, "It wasn't enough."
Zalon lowered his hand from his face and stood. He could taste his blood as it dribbled over his lips and down his shirt. Xennas raised an eyebrow at the boy's defiance, as if impressed.
"I received word you were attempting to runaway."
What?! Zalon had been extra sure that no one had followed him to the tower. Unless... Tylan? No. He would never do such a thing.
"Lies," Zalon said, "I would never do such a thing."
Mel cleared her throat and walked forward. "Except, you did." She stood just behind Xennas with her arms crossed. "I heard you."
Zalon couldn't believe it. If Mel had heard him and Tylan, she was lying. Zalon had never agreed to follow along with his friend's idiotic plan.
The Kreoul raised a hand to quiet his daughter. "You, boy, have tried my patience." He walked back to his throne and sat down, Mel following him. "There's only one way I can think to punish you." The Kreoul waved his hand and the doors next to the Elders opened. Zalon turned to see Tylan limp through with shackles on his wrists and ankles, gagged. Two guards escorted him past the mages and next to Zalon. Dark bruises and cuts covered Tylan's body. They had tortured him. Zalon jerked his head and saw Mel smirking at his friend.
"No," Zalon whispered. "You can't"
"I can do whatever I want, boy," Xennas hissed. Black tendrils erupted from around his throne. They snaked on the floor, weaving their way to Tylan. He looked at Zalon, panicked fear clouding his eyes.
"For your crimes against the throne, Tylan Adryekus," Zalon's mother shouted, "You are sentenced to death."
The Kreoul lifted two fingers and waved them forward. The tendrils shot out, their tips turning sharp as they raced for Tylan's heart. He scrambled backwards, but the guards grabbed his arms and held him. He glanced, desperate, at Zalon as tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. But Zalon was frozen, he didn't know what to do. He stood there, dumbstruck as spears of solidified shadow raced toward his friend. Then, moments before they hit, Zalon thrusted his hand forward.
It was like time had slowed down. Zalon focused, feeling for the molecules of water, air, and dust. He forced them together, forming a shield between his friend and the blackness. The tendrils hit his shield, and dissipated into shadows on the floor.
Zalon breathed a sigh of relief. Then, another tendril raced forward and slammed into him, knocking him halfway across the courtyard and far away from Tylan.
He grunted as he hit the low wall. He looked up and locked eyes with his step-father. Xennas' mouth pulled back in a sneer as he thrust his hand forward at Tylan. Zalon stared in horror as a spear of liquid darkness impaled his friend's chest.
"NOOOOO," Zalon screamed. He leaped to his feet and raced to catch his friend as he fell. Tylan hit the floor with a dull thud before Zalon could get to him. Zalon fell to his knees and skidded on the floor, stopping next to his friend.
"Tylan!" Zalon tried to stop the blood that gushed from the massive hole in his friend's chest.
"Tylan..." Zalon peered down at his childhood friend. He was dying, and there was no saving him.
"I- I'm sorry," Zalon stuttered, "So sorry for not listening to you."
Tylan tried to say something, but sputtered up blood. His body spasmed as his life drained away. Then, he fell still.
No. No no no no no. Zalon buried his face in Tylan's shirt, mixing the blood from his wound with the pool that streamed off of his friend's sunken chest.
"Boy," Xennas ordered, "Get up."
Zalon lifted his face and looked into Tylan's dead eyes.
This is all my fault, he thought, If I had just listened to him and run away like he wanted.
"No." Zalon lifted his face, crimson rage tinting his vision as he glared at Xennas. "I will never bow to you."
Xennas' face filled with fury. He lifted a hand and ordered forward a tendril. Zalon shut his eyes. He saw the mountain and city around him. He saw the Kreoul, ordering the spiral of darkness toward him. He saw the Elders, unmoved at the murder before them. He saw Mel, her head held high. He saw his mother, unconcerned of the danger her son was in. And he saw himself, weeping over his friend.
I will never boy to anyone. Ever again.
And with that, he vanished.
He would leave this cursed city.
He would finish what his friend had started.
He would leave the Northern Isle.