MAGIC COULD BUILD kingdoms and shatter empires, mend wounds and break bones, rattle the earth and murder the stars. Magic could be a curse and a blessing, a burning force that could connect people and worlds, engulf the whole universe and then create a new one.
It was when cruel kings and ruthless emperors had started using magic-wielders to extinguish armies and burn villages of innocent people, when maintaining wealth and lands had become more important than human life, that a rebel group of people that were against magic was formed. A new world, that was what they desired, a new beginning, that was what they dreamed of.
What began as a better life, with rallying cries for equality and promises of Asternal's end---the former name of Lantra---ended in brutal decisions and, ironically, more death. The leaders of the rebel group that almost everyone supported forced people who were gifted by the darkness to cast death upon everyone, magic-wielder or not. Only a few selected people with sacred powers were kept alive to continue their work.
Asternal turned to a cemetery. When the last house had been emptied of people and only the rebel group and the few magic-wielders had remained alive, the latter were forced to create a new mankind. As if they knew that magic could never be fully and deeply destroyed, as if they knew that it would continue to thrive and blossom even in the deepest cracks of the fallen kingdom that Asternal was, the rebels' leaders made the magic-wielders create people that had no magic. A clear indication of that would be their blue eyes. That way no magic-wielder would pass a glimpse of their magic to their creations to ensure that magic lived on.
So people that were gifted by the elements of nature and a man that was endowed with the power of the sun were forced to unite their magics to build a new country. A country of equality, a country of no magic. A new world.
Lantra was born. That rebel group had turned magic-wielders to gods, had made mortal people with immense amounts of magic kill and then give life, destroy and then rebuild.
But there was one exception, a traitorous secret that pierced through that blue-painted world and turned it into a colorful den of magic. It was that person who breathed sunlight and could create new lives that dared to give some of his own magic to one of his creations. Some of the magic-wielders followed his example and did the same. Soon enough Lantra wasn't a land of no magic.
The rebels had failed. Then they decided to act again. In a few years, they had created a new world, they wouldn't give up now. That was when the law about the different eye-colored people was enforced for the first time.
Most of the people with different eye color than blue, and therefore, people with magic were executed. Some managed to live in disguise. Some of them were found later. Some of them were not.
The beginning of an era was marked by executions in the name of magic. But there was hope hidden in the words of the last fortune-teller.
Heartbeats before his execution, he whispered to the wind, "It will be in the darkest days of Lantra's policy against magic that one of the greatest magic-wielder will live. Ice, wind, water, fire. Each of them in their most powerful form, like legions of people with the elements of nature were combined in one person."
"And there will be a king who color he cannot see, except for the emerald color of her eyes. A king that will let her for once lead the path she wants to lead. And when she saves a kingdom that even the sun cannot reach, when she breaks free of the title she does not wish to hold and the plans she does not want to fulfill, she shall let Lantra know that magic should exist."
I couldn't stop rereading the synopsis of the first book I'd found in Denfer's room during my first weeks here, the one named 'The beginning and end of magic: From Asternal to Lantra.'
The first time I'd let my mind absorb all the knowledge about my country's past, it was like the earth had shaken beneath my feet. Now that the fact that I was Hell's Leader had almost been confirmed by that ancient prophecy—if I'd interpreted it correctly—there was nothing and no one that could change my mind. There was only one thing left to consider.
As for Denfer, he hadn't come to my room, even though he'd said over and over again that he would. And I'd been waiting for him, even though I'd said that I didn't care about his presence here. Whirling around the dark and empty room, I was restless. The exhaustion resulted in my legs tingling while my head still felt heavy, and I decided to just stand still for a moment, to think through what I'd learnt, what had happened, what would happen next.
I didn't want to know how Denfer must be feeling.
A cool wind wafted through the open window.
For a moment I wished for the crickets of Lantra to come and sing their midnight anthems to me until sleep would take their place. I wished for the sun to be the first thing to enter my room the following morning, its bright rays dancing around the castle, warming up that gray town. I wondered if the people would be happier, knowing that the sun would rise again.
I didn't know how many hours had passed since the moment I'd left Denfer down the hall, but a few minutes ago I'd heard someone walking outside my room, coughing so hard that I'd thought he might as well die, and then a familiar voice talking to the sentinel outside my bedroom's door, reassuring him that he was all right.
So instead of waiting for him to come over, I blew out the candle that was placed on my nightstand, tied my hair in a loose knot and walked out of that room.
Closing the wooden door behind me, I surveyed the corridor for any sight of Jersen or Amanda, but only the torches that hung from the walls and a few sentinels appeared in my vision. There was a silent murmuring coming from the living room and I instantly surmised that Jersen was still healing, working, saving lives, closing wounds.
Heading toward Denfer's bedroom wasn't much of an effort, since it was only four doors away from my own. The golden-painted walls only added to the sorrow. Such a shame it was that this splendid and majestic castle was crowded with heartache and death. Someone from Lantra would have argued that the Castle of Sunlight shouldn't even exist, something so beautiful and exquisite when people out there were dying.
Yet it was because of that aristocratic castle and the people who ruled it, that more people wouldn't die tonight.
I reached Denfer's room.
The battered door was closed, as always, the flame of the torch next to it dwindling and as a result an unwanted sensation of darkness dangled around me. For a moment I paused, hesitant to grab the knob and enter the room. Such a thing would violate his alone time and after everything that had happened tonight, he may need it. But I urged my doubts to disperse into nothing, and not letting them overcloud my ability to think straight, I forced myself to knock the door.
The reply never came.
I knocked again but this time with more strength forced upon my fist. I waited for one, two, three seconds.
Nothing.
The brewing silence was halted by a cough that came from his room. And for all the smoke he'd inhaled when he'd entered that building, I opened the door.
Darkness blurred my vision.
I stood still, swallowing hard. I blinked, focusing on my surroundings. I could still hear his breath coming from somewhere next to me, heavy, unsteady.
"Go to sleep, Velian." His voice came as an unexpected storm that broke the summer warmth and added a crisp tone to it.
Silence fell once more and I lowered my gaze to the floor, where Denfer was laying, his back touching the wall, his hands covering his face. I moved closer to him, placing my body next to him.
I knew he'd said to go away but wasn't that what everyone always said?
There were bottles sprawled across the floor, some of them broken, some of them empty. They must have contained wine, or some other drink I didn't know its name or even its existence. His clothes from the night were still on him, his hair falling over his pale face.
He lifted his head to look at me, and I studied his face, the swollen nose, the red eyes.
"They can't keep on living like this forever," I said.
He didn't say anything, his stare was locked on the floor, observing the pieces of the broken glass and the colors they illuminated due to the torch's light outside the room.
"You can't keep on living that way," I added, thinking about him, too.
Because he was tired and who knew how many people he'd lost over the centuries of him staying here—that realization would never leave my mind. The traumas he had suffered would never be enough for Josh to write about. He was the only one who knew the exact number of them, and he kept on trying and fighting and smiling and breaking and moving.
"I said something, Velian," he murmured.
"I'm not leaving."
He waved a hand through his messy hair, trying to brush a strand of it off his forehead. "There's no reason to stay."
If only he knew that there were millions of reasons to stay.
The stars would never appear here, but I had seen them glittering in his eyes. From the first day when he had run through the Forest of Traitors to get me out of the infirmary to the night he had introduced me to this world.
But now they were gone, their glimpse not only had disappeared, but it was replaced by a weary look, their color the darkest shade of orange in the pallet of colors, almost brown. It demanded a certain amount of effort to learn to live in a world full of emotionless people pretending to be sensitive and artistic. So when I had witnessed the clear reality of a purple-haired man being fulfilled in a world of death, it'd seemed like all the stars had collided resulting in a constantly growing brightness. But now that he had lost that fulfillment, darkness had won again.
"It's just a difficult night, Denfer. Don't let it get to you," I replied after a lengthy moment of silence and tapped his shoulder. He grimaced, the muscles of his jaw quivering at the touch.
Using his fingers to softly examine his swollen nose, I waited for him to reply.
"The thing is that no matter how hard we try, we'll never live to see the better days," he said, the last words almost a whisper. He coughed again.
Funny how he had been encouraging his people to keep on hoping that they would meet their families again, when he was here with his eyes closed, stating that nothing was ever going to change for the better. Funny how he would let them believe in a better future, when what he wanted was to erase the present.
But at the same time, I could understand him. I had been sad in the brightest country. I didn't want to imagine how would it be like to be in his position. Trapped in a world of nightmares and contradictions, not given the chance to let my body be bathed by the soft shafts of the morning sun.
Quickly taking my hand away from his shoulder, I asked, "What color is my shirt?"
Confusion made its appearance on his face. If one heartbeat ago he'd seemed distant, now he was unreachable, locked in an invisible tomb by his own will.
"What?" he asked, brows furrowed.
"Just answer my question and I'll go."
There will be a king who color he cannot see.
"Why are you even asking?"
A king who could see no color but that of my eyes.
"Is it blue?"
He didn't answer.
"Is it red?"
Nothing.
"Purple?"
"I don't know," he snarled, annoyance lacing his words. He quickly added, "I'm tired Velian. And I want to be alone. Respect that."
I tried not to flinch at the blunt demand.
Closing his eyes, he let his back collide with the cold wall again, grimacing with every movement he made. Darkness would never be his ally but tonight that was all he had. I knew he could bare it. All of them could.
So I stood up, taking in for one more time the mess he was. Bone-deep terror and a flicker of determination passed through me at the sight of his marred face and the brutal burns on his left hand; at the sight of the cage-room he wanted to stay alone into. The startling suspicion that he needed help only grew bigger when he started coughing again. Worry coiled in my gut; unrelenting, deep worry for his well-being.
He looked suspended in time, too tired to do anything but stay here forever, stifling his pain, swallowing his agony.
"I'll go to Hell to find that thing," I said.
At the sound of that declaration he dragged his eyes to my face, a low groan working its way up to his throat, but he was too drained to protest. So I just added, "I thought you should know that before you jump to any kind of arbitrary conclusions."
And then, I took the stairwell to get me to the first floor, the hall empty of patients now.
I dashed to Jersen's healing room. Weighing my choices, I chewed my dry lips as the only thing I could do. There was a high chance that someone would still be in there, his wounds wide open, Jersen putting that starry liquid inside his body, and I knew what would follow—the screaming, the grunting in pain. I didn't want to hear it again. So I stood still, trying to get as close to the wooden door as I could to search for any kind of sound.
Nothing.
I waited again for some indication that Jersen was still working. But after everything that had happened, reluctance wouldn't enhance the situation. And there was a purple-haired king with sun-flecked eyes in a room with no windows that was aching, his body trembling even at his own touch. And maybe he hadn't tried to die, he hadn't lost someone tonight, but he had been the one to put himself into danger for his people. I hadn't done that, I had stumbled on my knees, unable to process what had been going on. But Denfer had thrown himself into the blazing building and now that he was out, he hadn't told Jersen to heal his burns. He had waited until everyone was safe. And now, he was locked into his dark room, being the one unable to move.
I couldn't leave him suffering like that. Not when salvation was only a door away.
So I entered the room without looking back. And the view of bodies on mattresses, some of them even settled on the carpeted floor, kept me from talking. They were all sleeping. They would wake up tomorrow and they wouldn't remember the pain of the injection, their cries—at least that was what Denfer had told me earlier.
I shook my head, focusing on Jersen, whose gaze instantly slid over at me.
"What happened?" he asked first, his voice alarmed, as if he was ready for the final disaster. It hadn't come yet, thankfully.
"Denfer's hurt," I said, trying to ignore the unconscious bodies that surrounded us.
At those few words, his eyes grew wider. How much he cared, I thought to myself, but made a note to think about that later.
"Where is he?"
I didn't manage to say something. Jersen grabbed salves, herbs and other medical necessities that were completely abnormal from what I'd been used to, and came over at me.
"Where is he?" he demanded this time, wrapping his fingers around my wrist, making me follow him out of the room, closing the door behind us.
I swallowed. "In his bedroom."
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