REBIRTH [Free Chapters]
[UNMASTERED V.1]
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Aryen’s thoughts shattered as lightning skipped through the air. It was here in these quiet moments, where his fear inflamed. Common anxieties - confined to his personal quarters, stricken from general conclaves - used as bargaining power against his own kind. But now these fears are zeroing into reality. His terrors became the blade of his execution. Aryen was on his way to receive his sentence for a crime he did not yet commit. He idly waits for his father and sister atop the ridge of the mountains, every moment slowly passing him by, he was nearing his debut with the dance of death. This was his birthright.
Aryen stared into the stars overhead as he gripped the pommel of his sword - a family heirloom passed down to the next heir of House Jormun. For nights like this, Aryen would typically be studying history from the other houses, but instead he would be making history for them, his blade would be stowed or even confiscated as all his secret enemies would have him in their clutches for the first time. But there were other reasons to stay his blade. The people of Sheol truly needed to believe that unity inside the gate cannot be sacrificed for those beyond it. Especially for the ones who take pride in collecting artifacts off the dead corpses of northerners.
An ear-splitting shockwave flooded Aryen’s ears- a broken melody of fleeting moments of pride, honor, mystery, and love. The cliffside crumbles as his father and sister soar up from the basin. The most legendary of creatures, the most terrifying of beasts, the dragons of House Jormun. His bang stood up as their pace created an updraft - “I would fear us too.” he whispered to himself as his family landed behind him.
The gentle smile of the North’s most notorious warrior seemed faint in comparison to the massive wave of death that radiated from the scales of his father, Lord of Dragons, and High King of Sheol. Would he be so grimm if the South ceased to exist? The question went unanswered as the grip of Sheol’s most feared Dragoon clutched his shoulder. “Will he ever acknowledge me again?”
-“Brother it is time, the other houses have gathered and await your trial”.
The anger trapped within as he clenched his teeth, and his true form would not manifest as it did in the past. “Ride with Kelis, I will go on ahead.” were the only words his father spoke before he tore through the clouds. Aryen remembered the air as it swiftly wrapped around his tail and seduced his scales. It had been several years since then, the day the sky turned red. The last things he remembered were the flash of lightning bolts pummeling the ground, a terrible moment of searing heat, and the emptiness in his brother’s eyes, faint of life. Then…silent darkness.
Aryen mounted his sister’s back and she leaped off the edge, wings tucked, diving towards the azure sea beneath. Her shimmering scales reflect the light of the moon. Kelis - Fang of Sheol, the most feared warrior of House Jormun, other than the Lord of Dragons. A perfect choice for the bodyguard of the soon-to-be-executed prince. Kelis spiraled as she neared the water, opening her wings at the perfect moment to sail right above the crests of the sea. She was known for that neat trick as it signaled death for those who did not bear the crimson insignia we hailed high over the city of Yggdrasil. She claimed to fight only when she must, but Aryen knew that was a ploy to hide her excitement on the battlefield. The only daughter, the second born of the Lord of Dragons, a venerable hero of countless battles. One of the four Visceral Champions, and the strongest. With a single flap of her wings, the concept of sound had been broken, Aryen’s sight grew hazy, and the vast sky became a blur. Within moments she had caught up to Father, who left us what seemed like ages ago. The dragons of House Jormun were approaching the city of Tartarus, the origin point of the entire northern realm and capital of the nation. The dragons circle over a heavily lit colosseum, filled to the brim with people, banners of noble color backing them. Aryen peers over as he sees those that will usher in the age of his impending doom. The dragons land in the center and the echoing chatter of the people of Sheol dissipates. Eyes like daggers pierce into the backs of the House Jormun royal line. Father had already shifted back into his human form and all rose within the chambers. He set his gaze ahead at the four thrones currently occupied - Furthest to the left, brazen in front of a golden banner. Lord Dr.Aluca of House Basara, the Physician of End. Next to him shining brilliantly as ever, the Lord St. Elyon, of House Nephi known to most as the King of Kings. Furthest to the right, elegantly set afront an evergreen banner, the Lady Malefiz, of House Aosi, Queen of the Danann. Lastly, next to her sits a direct heir of the progenitor of all of the northern realm, Lady Persefini, The Dark Soul. The Ladies and Lords of the north are the first to greet their King, but even then you could feel their haste to begin. Father took his seat in the center and everyone did the same. The bailiff swore everyone in and the conclave had begun.
The first to speak was Lady Persefini. Her voice serenaded the ears of all her “Children” as she would call them. A gesture of love and humor to some, but there were those who wished her dead. Her ancestors, the proud House Typhon, were known for their glory above all else, some kings were just and honorable while the more popular ravaged the north and had gone mad leaving immeasurable amounts of casualties, generations of bloodshed, classism, and pillaging the spoils of war. None would ever forget the stories told regularly - some scars still festering in the shadows.
“As you all know, one of my cousins is on trial this evening, he is cursed, and will one day succumb to the madness that has left our nation in such a fragile state. This madness, the curse of Mad Kings and left all our hearts filled with sorrow!”
The audience remains still, but the tension swelled the room, the stench of resentment travels on the murmurs of pale tongues. Waiting only for the perfect moment to strike.
”I only ask that we remain fair in his judgment, for we did not know what we do now, he did not ask for this burden, and like the Mad Kings before him…they are my family.
The audience, taken aback by her closing statement, waits in silence before a man stands up and dismisses her point of view. “The child will be no different from his ancestors, and for us to lie in the wake of destruction from the former Prince of Dragons is silly!”
More members chime in before the fear of the High King fills the room. A majestic flame leaves his mouth and rises into the night sky, as it lingered, one could think dawn had struck. The mighty Lord of Dragons summons and slams his tail behind the thrones.
“Silence! There will be no comments until all the Cardinal Lords have spoken.
The colosseum becomes quiet once more and the Lord of House Nephi moves to speak.
”Spare the child, keep him under close watch and away from cities, this way he can undergo his transformation unprovoked. We the Lords of the North, alongside our visceral champions, should be able to train him effectively for our causes, besides if it were you lot, you’d all beg for the same mercy…”
The piercing pastel gaze tranquilizes the audience, his golden aura sets a new tone, as the women fawn over his looks, the men scratch their heads as they ponder what they would do if they were nearly as special as Prince Aryen, let alone near his rank in society. The King of Kings takes his seat, and is followed by Lord Aluca.
”Let me examine the child, I can open him up and see what the makings of a Mad King look like….rid our nation of them for good.”
A sadistic grin lights up his face as he fixes his lips to speak once more.
”Is that not a fair conclusion? I can examine the boy, disable him in the process, remove the curse, and save us one less dragon to deal with in the futu-!!”
Kelis stops him mid-sentence, her blade to his throat, slightly nicking a trail of blood. No one saw her move, nor heard the blade being drawn. The only reason the doctor is still breathing is because the Lord of Dragons held a firm grip with his tail wrapped around her waist.
” Daughter that is enough, apologize to the Lord and fetch a medic to clean his wound.”
Kelis steps back down, sheathing her short sword. Walking back to her position beside Aryen.
-”Sorry Lord Aluca, I am…as you would say…quite sensitive in regards to my little brother, I will do my best to stay my feelings.”
Tension fills the room, for any second later a civil war would have broken out at the thud of Lord Aluca’s head collapsing into his seat.
“Filthy dragon scum!” A woman hollers from the stands before falling unconscious from a whirling blow to the back of her neck. The bailiff keeps order in the conclave by any means. Next to speak was Lady Malefiz, as she stands the audience claps, eager to hear her proposal.
” I am a fair woman, probably the fairest of them all, and I will have to argue that we grant this child an eternal slumber, peacefully but immediately. The cost of all the reparations and damages procured by the Mad Kings, let alone one of his magnitude we are still reanalyzing budgets from the last tragedy, and we WILL NOT afford anymore as a nation!”
The audience is taken aback, no one has ever seen Lady Malefiz so distraught, they can see the stress she hides so well come to light. Murmurs in the crowd seem in agreement, all of the kingdom has spiraled into dismay. Strife has taken a hold on its leaders and the people suffer in turmoil as few attempt to take matters into their own hands.
”Lord of Dragons, High King Dradin, please…be reasonable…Your choices will decide the future of our nation. The Cardinal Houses are already arming themselves, the opportunity for siege or even worse, a Grand Levely could occur and the entire infrastructure of Sheol can be burned to the ground…sacrifice the boy, make love, and birth another son, spare OUR kingdom…”
Lady Malefiz takes her seat, and the audience applauds her performance. She isn’t known to be the most empathetic of leaders but today she has shown grace to all citizens of Sheol, regardless of the houses they honor. Dradin observes the reactions from the audience, he sees the sweat trickle down the forehead of his only son, and his daughter’s tight grip on her sword and spear. He closes his eyes and envisions the two futures:
A quiet evening with his wife and daughter and the renouncing of his title of High King, a decree marked in the Sheol Constitution, he has reigned for many years and it would now be the time for a new House to lead the kingdom, his legacy covered in blemishes, never completing the task left by his ancestors. The south would remain unharmed, Dragons will be secluded and ignored, or worse - cherished as glorified bounties to finally rid Sheol of the threat they fear most. All power was lost for four generations.
OR
A campaign forged in Hell as he burns the Constitution and everything it stands for. Enslaving the weak and profiting off the genius of those who live in fear. Castrating the other Houses so they could bear no more Kings. His son, the rightful High King of Sheol, and his daughter finally baring children and live a life of peace. From the ashes of Ojii…two nations would rise with the crimson banner of House Jormun.
“High King? Your majesty, the people wish to hear your verdict.”
The bailiff waves his hand as he pulls Dradin back to the conclave. The decision to execute Aryen Jormun is split and awaits the conclusion. The Lord of Dragons stands and walks over to his son. A dagger was drawn and held just below the heart.
“This is what you are asking me to do? To slay my own son…my baby boy? Today I stand before you not as your High King but as the father of this young man. My son Aryen has been given an unfair burden and will suffer greatly If he leaves this coliseum alive. I know you will attack us, no matter the cost, if he is left breathing by the next dawn because he bears the markings of the Mad King.”
Aryen gulps hard as he feels the sharp point of his father’s dagger coast along his ribs, his booming voice echoes to the audience as he prepares to kill his son. The bloodlust is slowly building amongst the audience, he can feel the anger seethe from his sister's soul. The High King raises the blade to Aryen’s neck and looks back towards the High Council.
” For the sake of the kingdom, I will do what must be done…What always needs to be done for Sheol to grow from its old regime? I understand that I will only cause more unnecessary chaos if I stay my blade any longer.”
The High King raises his voice and his dagger, the gleaming edge shining brilliantly before the conclave. The High Council slowly edged to the ends of their seats waiting for the boy to be struck.
” THE LEGACY OF HIGH KING DRADIN, LORD OF DRAGONS WILL NOT BE TARNISHED BY THE CHOICE I MAKE TONIGHT, MY SON WILL BE GLORIFIED AS THE KING OF HEROES FOR HIS ULTIMATE SACRIFICE, THE SAVIOR OF SHEOL!!!”
The audience stands as his might channels through the High King’s arm, His grin wide and the bloodlust from his glare aimed at the throat of his son. They listen as the force of his swing tears through the still air…Ayren clenches his teeth and shuts his watered eyes before the blade strikes his throat. The room is in awe, the High Council raised out of their seats in shock. The High King makes his final statement of the night.
” IT HAS BEEN DECIDED!!… I will slay the name of Jormun from this young man, I will abolish his claim to nobility, and I will feed him to the wolves of the Bifrost where he will be under surveillance for the rest of his days. Secluded and hardened as a dog of war to use as we all see fit. But I will not slay my own son, that… I WILL NOT…SHALL NOT…raise my blade to do it. Despite all the pain he has caused me. He is no Mad King, and you will create a worse one if you seek his death beyond this night. If FEAR compels you to attack this boy, may The Enlightened shroud you in the armor of light, for the searing might and wrath of House Jormun will cascade upon you and your families for generations on end!”
The conclave felt the pressure of his words, A threat from House Jormun, the sanctioned council of war, also written in the Sheol Constitution…is as good as any promise. The nation will burn ten times over if Sheol’s strongest creatures were to turn their backs on the people. The High Council adjourns the meeting and they move with haste. Lord Aluca, disgusted by the outcome vanishes in a cloud of darkness, Lord Saint Elyon brandishes his golden wings and soars off into the sky, Lady Persefini opens a portal onto the ground and disappears as if it sucked her deep beneath the surface. Lady Malefiz moves to speak with the High King.
”That was a bold move Dradin, fitting for the Lord of Dragons…but a foolish one. You have forsaken your house.”
Lady Malefiz lifts off into the air as her body shrinks and wings sprout, a shimmering bit of light blends into the stars above as her voice fades. Aryen is on his knees, his face wet from the tears, breathing heavily as he processes everything. The bailiff has cleared the stands and leaves the High King to his family. Kelis rests upon the arm of her father.
” Father, what if Aryen does become a Mad King now that you have spared him?’
Dradin looks to his daughter and places his hands on her shoulders.
” Then WE will slay him ourselves and send him to the Valley of Enlightenment as he rightfully deserves. Until then we will do what we must to move forward. Now grab him, we must make our way back to the castle so I can inform your mother and prepare for war.”
II
Aryen remains quiet during the flight home, the air caresses his face gently as the stars dance on silhouettes of dragons in the sky. Everything he has worked for was stripped from him in an instant, No longer does he bear the name Jormun, no longer is he entitled to the privileges of a prince, the consorts, the riches, the respect he had revered for so long is now completely gone. An heir no more, a dragon no more, only a dull blade within the ranks of the Bifrost remains. He will die in no time now, to him his fate wasn’t avoided..simply prolonged for him to endure more agony. Tears no longer sail down his cheeks but the wrath of his former name bellows deep within, scorching the edges of his ribs, filling his lungs with smoke dark enough to block out the sun.
The dragons land on the secluded balcony of the High King’s quarters. Waiting for their arrival is the rest of the royal family. Lady Tresse, Queen of Sheol, Mother of Dragons, Valkyrie of The Northern Stars. She waits elegantly dressed in royal blue silk and snow powered furs, her hair golden, skin fair and soft to the touch. Her sword in hand with a smile alluring to all men. At her side, Towering in a mass of armor, the Bifrost Aegis, Lord Felvic, Admiral of the Dragoon Fleet, Baby brother to the Lord of Dragons. Aryen’s mother, happy to see that her husband spared their son, jumps up and down in excitement. Their uncle reserves his feelings for a firm nod of acceptance. Kelis runs to her uncle and plays jabs as she circles her tower foe. High King Dradin kisses his wife then makes his way to his throne, she can see the tiredness in his eyes. The queen embraces her son as he walks up slowly.
-”Aryen, my love, this is your beginning. Do not hesitate to reach for your destiny. The gods have not forsaken you, but they will test you to see if you are worthy to be king.”
Tresse kisses her boy on his forehead and joins the others at the thrones. Aryen didn’t speak, his head still lowered, and the anger still boiling deep within. His father takes a gulp from his chalice, red wines leaks from the corners of his mouth as he looks over to question his brother.
-“When will dinner be prepared brother, we need a meal fit for kings because war approaches, and our heads are top priority.”
Felvic signals the servants to fetch the food, and Kelis claps her hand signaling the guards to bring the table in. Tonight was reserved for family and the beautiful night sky they parade through protecting the kingdom that now warrants they be killed or detained The calm night ushers in silence as they stuff their faces. Tearing meat from the bone, swallowing liters of wine, and soaking it all up with freshly baked bread. Aryen has not touched his plate.
“Father…why not just kill me tonight? Instead you will let me rot away in the frigid walls of the Bifrost and await my death, living without glory and honor…a fitting end for the nameless prince.”
Everyone stops eating and looks at Dradin as he places his utensils down and lowers his head to rest against his grasped hands. Aryen continues.
“I can’t honor you, Kelis, nor mother now, and I have yet to pay my debts to Torgahn.”
Aryen’s voice cracks as he says his older brother’s name. Dradin looks at him with malice in his eyes. The High King slams his fists on the table and swipes his chalice to the wall.
-”Have you not given me enough trouble for one night!? I have devoured armies, and burned many forts who have not left me with this much strife. We are in this mess because of you, My first son is dead because of you, my only daughter is our kingdom's strongest champion and lives with a bounty on her neck ALONE because you could not live up to the reputation. All I hear is “you-you-you” ENOUGH!!!”
The Lord of Dragons gets up from his chair and walks over to his son and talks directly into his ear.
-”Even now we risk the fate of our family, our status, MY LEGACY!!! All to keep a smile on the faces of the only people who give a damn about you. If it weren’t for the love of your mother and sister, I would have swallowed you whole in front of the entire conclave tonight!”
Aryen lowers his head to reflect on what his father said, his mother and sister remain quiet and his uncle continues to sip the wine from his chalice.
-”I spared you son, and for the sake of our kingdom I have stripped you of your name, that way when you are out in the world no one will look twice, no one will think they can topple our legacy by attacking our weakest link, they won’t know to hold you hostage, they won’t think to hold you for ransome or torture you, you won’t be a thought or worry, as your mother put it to me, you will be safe…”
Aryen raised up and shoved his father, yelling at him in rage.
“SAFE? That is what you think will happen!? You think people will not recognize this face? The armor, my sword? You send me to battle in fellowship with the same criminals I put in the Bifrost myself? I won’t last a month with enemies beyond the gate in front of me, and comrades eager to shove their swords through my back…disguised as allies…Even those who wish me well still hold a grudge that I killed Torgahn..You have forsaken me father…”
Dradin summoned a dragon claw and struck Aryen across the face, slicing clean through the flesh. Enraged by his son’s trivial cries.
-”Have you no shame BOY!?, to place your hands upon me like that, your own father? Tonight, your saving grace? May those wounds be a reminder of all that we’ve lost when you spend the rest of your days in that frigid jail. You have a life still…be grateful. War beckons at our front door and we must all play our part…”
Dradin picks up the chalice and heads to his room, Queen Tresse follows behind him. Lord Felvic finishes his plate and heads back to the balcony to return to the Bifrost. Only Kelis remains. Aryen’s face already healed and the scars left remained as his father promised they would.
-”Worry not Aryen, I know you are mad but this is only the beginning of your future. To be honest, you should be honored that so many people fear you and you have not touched nearly as many battlefields as I.”
Kelis chuckles as she walks her brother to his quarters. Aryen didn’t respond, only thinking about his fathers lasting words. “All that we’ve lost” . Aryen opens his door and looks around his room to find a bag to carry his things, his sister takes a seat on his bed. She pats beside her to motion him to sit.
-”Let me tell you a story, little brother, one you should never forget, a legend that will remind you that we all have a role to play.”
Aryen tilts head, questioning why of all nights, she decides this is the time to tell him a damn story.
“I don't have time, I must prepare my things for tomorrow morning, I must leave by first light…were you not listening to father before he struck me!?”
Kelis grabbed his hand and pulled him down and gave him the look any good sister would when they wanted to help a sibling.
-”You won’t need anything from here, trust me the Bifrost and Uncle Felvic will provide for you. All you need is that sword. You must remember who you are, and why you are there at all times. Make a new name for yourself like I once did long ago.”
Aryen, confused by his sister's words, his expression becomes puzzled.
“What do you mean “Like you once did” ?”
Kelis' smile softened as she thought about her past, her journey to who she has become.
-“Before you were born, or maybe right around the time you were born, I had just reached the epitome of success as a Dragoon, I had reached the highest rank, won every battle, a kill count over nine-thousand or so. I was sure our father would make me the rightful heir of House Jormun, and even rally for the people to petition for the first High Queen of Sheol. As you know little brother I am unmatched as the Fang of Sheol, for I have never known defeat. I am the firstborn, and the strongest of all of us, no man, no beast, no dragon standing in my way…I’m sure even our father would agree. Our sparring matches never had a decisive victory due to interruptions, and now I see the battlefield way more than he may want to admit. I digress, I thought the world was mine until the coronation ceremony began. The fateful day that left us all in great displeasure.”
Ayren, looks deeply into his sister’s eyes as they both remember that horrible day, the day the world burned, and the ground trembled beneath their feet, spewing up molten rock like a youngling who drank too much milk, searing javelins emerged from the land and spears of fire pierced down from the heavens.
-”That was the day I learned that Torgahn would be crowned prince, that was the day I had been overlooked because I was a girl, that was the day I lost who I was. I bested Targahn in every duel, I know absolutely everything about our kingdom and its people, for enlightened sake I know our enemies just as well..But father thought otherwise or better yet, he had no real faith in me at the time. I pleaded with him, quarreled night and day - even our mother grew tired and attempted to stomp me out in her dragon form. But father’s opinion did not change, instead he sent me to the Bifrost as well, he insisted that it would cool me off and give me time to think.”
Aryen was amazed that his sister spent time in the Bifrost, even furthermore spent months on end traveling the Lost Region with no permission to return until her tour was up.
“What did you learn in your time away?
-”I learned a lot about the world my little brother, I explored the Lost Region, I battled powerful foes, I found love, I learned that there was more to me than simply crossing blades, and melting things. My favorite foods don’t even exist in Sheol. My favorite music originates from beyond the Eastern Gate, from a big piece of wood with strings attached; A small woman in a fox mask played for me…Honestly Aryen, there is so much to learn about our world and yourself…and you have the opportunity to do it.”
Kelis hopped up in excitement, but Aryen was still stagnant. Still wondering if this was truly his destiny or some kind of joke schemed by the enlightened. He questioned the very fabric of existence now.
“If I am no longer a Jormun, what am I?”
He whispered to himself. The thoughts about the Mad Kings’ history started to unravel in his head. Like them he could no longer access his birth given abilities, all he understood is that something replaced them, something deep within him had the strength to level cities, and none of that power was in his control. The Kings that were able to control their curse went mad with power and eventually succumbed to it, killing everyone they loved. Just as Aryen did to his older brother Torgahn. Kelis could see his mind racing, the anxiety as the terrors he would soon commit or his untimely death because he could not defend himself properly in times of war.
-”Brother, you can choose to be whatever your heart desires, you were never just a Jormun. You are Aryen as well…and now is the time to explore this side of you.”
Kelis moves in to give her brother a hug, and she heads to the door, but before leaving she places a compass on his desk. Aryen recognizes the small intricate device, it reminds him of the one his big brother used to wear around his neck.
“What should I do with this Kelis?”
She smiles softly, holding her own compass while reminiscing about the past.
-”Use this to find me at any time, and anywhere…in the castle, in Sheol, and even the Lost Region. The blue arrow will guide you to me, while the red arrow will guide you home.”
Kelis blows a kiss and leaves the room. Aryen is still analyzing the compass then grips it tightly holding it to his chest. He contemplates what his life will be like in the next few hours. The two heirs spent the rest of the night talking and now only a few hours remain before first light. Aryen finishes packing his belongings into a small bag and heads to sleep. Throughout the night, Aryen tossed and turned in his sleep, as visions flashed within his mind. He could see a figure dressed in black with pale blue skin, walking away from a tower that rose far into the sky, piercing the clouds.. The figure walked towards Aryen shifting side to side slowly, getting larger with each step closer. Its eyes glowed a softened gold, and it made no noise. Bells rang, and ravens flocked to the sky heading north. In the distance, Aryen heard the roar of a dragon coming from the same direction. Suddenly, a flash of light, followed by a loud bang echoed across the sky. In that instant the figure vanished as it was smothered in clouds of dust from the explosion. The sky burned the fiery hues of sunset and a large figure plummeted through the clouds, heading right towards him. Aryen tried to move, but for some reason his legs wouldn’t budge. As the giant mass was hurtling towards him, the sky’s color shifted once more to that of a starry midnight and a mesmerizing light opened a hole within the clouds. A smaller, more majestic figure covered in ghastly azure flames, descended from them as if the heavens opened up, revealing a guardian from House Nephi.
The large mass finally struck the ground only a few meters away. The land shattered like glass as a crater formed from the impact. Aryen could feel his legs again and hesitantly walked over to see the destruction first hand. He gazed down and It was indeed a dragon, but only someone who has seen them in abundance could tell. The dragon lies unresponsive, barely visible, malformed, and charred to a crisp. Aryen had never seen anything of this nature before, he could not possibly imagine what could do such harm to his kin. A sonic boom broke his concentration as the ghastly flame darted straight towards his position. Aryen only managed to take a single step back before the figure reached him. It stopped abruptly, hovering over the dragon’s corpse. Its form was hard to make out as the wild flames continued to flicker. Different silhouettes emerging and rescinding from the flames. The figure scanned the area and spotted Aryen. The two gazed at each other briefly, Aryen now able to hear the kindling of fire, a light aroma of iron and fruit filled the air. The atmosphere became still. The dragon slayer lands on the ground and walks over to Aryen. Skeptically, Aryen reaches for his sword but it wasn’t there. Fear encroached the nape of his neck. He slowly steps back, cautiously watching for signs of commitment. Aryen waits patiently for the perfect moment to act, analyzing the details of this dragon slayer. A feminine physique, shrouded in blue fire, pitch black claw-like hands with a faint red glow - It was unlike anything he had ever seen. The figure vanished, and Aryen took that moment to run - only to run straight into its grasp. Aryen shutters in fear of burning to death, a cowardly performance for the former Prince of the North; but to his surprise the flames did not hurt, they were warm and soothing. The figure embraced him, caressing his face, slowly leaning in for a kiss. Confused, afraid, but not opposed Aryen leans towards her, his lips within a breath away from contact. For a brief moment, he waited, his eyes closed but nothing happened. Aryen opened his eyes, his gaze fixed upon her lips. He notices immediately that her expression is quite different, its hands have moved to his neck, slowly tightening its grip, a smirk appears as she looks down upon her prey. Aryen struggles to break free but her strength is too much for him. Aryen loses consciousness and his eyes close shut.
Aryen’s body jolts forward, as cold sweat drips from his forehead, he realizes he didn’t die and that it was simply a nightmare. His breathing returning to normal, he gets himself out of bed and walks over to meet the light of dawn at his window.
“It is time for me to leave this place…even in my sleep it beckons for my death.”
III
Aryen makes his way to his father’s throne room, behind him a pair of the king’s guards. High ranked, embroidered in the finest cloth and most pristine metals. Despite their rank, they snicker like cowards behind the former prince. Word of the council’s verdict finally touched the ears of the countrymen. Anyone could tell that things were about to change. An exiled prince and whispers of war? Only a fool would overlook the possibility of usurping the title of High King. Be it through diplomacy or the extinction of House Jormun.
The lowly guards pushed and shoved Aryen, slowly disarming him of his royal ornaments. Removing his weapon and throwing his belongings into a worn bag. Aryen could have killed him, but his goal today was to honor his mother and to cease any more shame he has brought upon the High King. Footsteps and the gathering of crowds can be heard through the windows ascending to the Throne Room. The people of Yggdrasil wait in anticipation of the theatrics of the Royal Family.
Aryen, now bare of his regalia, his ornaments, and his power to transform now awaits for the summoning of his king. The crowd releases a large gasp in unison. Shutters of fear and awe echo through the Royal chambers. A ferocious roar pummel Aryen’s eardrums, followed by an immeasurable gust of air swinging the throne doors wide open, leaving the guards submerged in stone. Aryen could only sigh with relief, knowing that his father paid karma in full.
-”Come Aryen, the final born and last son of the High King!”
The Horns of Heimdall have sounded off , welcoming the prince’s arrival. Aryen walks in slowly, gleaming rays piercing his eyes as he shuns away from the light. His vision returning, Aryen is met with a crippling fist to his ribs. This blow would typically kill a man, and at the least lower the head of the strongest Yggdrasil Guard. Aryen simply clenched his teeth, and kneeled while glaring fearlessly at his aggressor. A massive warrior brandished in silver armor, adorned with black pelts, and glimmering silk resembling the midnight sky. Frosted air leaving the slits of his visor travels down Aryen’s face, subduing his internal pain.
The crowd sits in patience waiting for his official defamation to begin. The High King raises his hand, the courtyard as still as the ice of a freshly frozen lake. He motions to the warrior to bring his son forward.
“Shackle his hands and feet.”
The locking mechanism of the abrasive shackles clicks in place. That small sound would resonate across all of Sheol and set its future into motion.
“Have you all noticed his strength!? Many of you would be in need of the healers and shamans. Yet he stands tall, facing his crimes as a man…To kill my own son is what you have asked of your King?”
The High King stands, overlooking his countrymen, his kin, and gazes outwardly to the gates of his domain…he sets his sight on the enemies beyond it.
“A WASTE! A man who can muster enough courage to show his face to his aggressors, unarmed, and stand against one of our Raiders…Is a warrior we can’t afford to lose in the battles ahead of us.My son will spend his final days repaying all of you with every drop of blood he has left, under the ranks of the Bifrost he will be a thought you can forget as he dwindles away, where he will spend his days protecting, and watching over you all without ever wanting for himself.
Aryen raises his head to speak, but the glare of The Lord of Dragons silences him. The people mumble among themselves, while the Bifrost Raider waits patiently for his next command. Tears gradually crept down his face, but Aryen’s demeanor held strong. He wiped them away and nodded in submission. He had accepted his father’s judgment. To become a venerable champion like his sister, is something he must do for himself, to survive the Bifrost and whatever peril in his future - he must do this for himself. A soft hand rests gently on his bare back. It was the Queen of Dragons. Her pleasant smile brought him a bit of comfort momentarily, she hugged tightly, holding the embrace for what to him - felt like an eternity. Only a few seconds had passed and she gave a slight nod to the Raider. Aryen rose to his feet and walked alongside The Bifrost Raider, leaving the royal chambers. Aryen remained quiet for the majority of the walk,, but the Raider eventually spoke.
“You’re quite strong boy, tougher than most of these lot round here…Your old man wasn’t kidding…I’ve killed a bunch with that punch. Few of our own even.”
Aryen simply glances at the warrior, feeling no reason to speak. Knowing his father was content with the verdict was enough to harden his heart.
“Must be tough to be burdened by curse, eh!? No women to lay with, no brothers in arms, you might as well say you were born to be one of us eh!?”
The raider brayed with laughter, filling the empty halls with a ruckus. Aryen grew annoyed but he steeled his mind.
“Never in all my years would I have foretold that a Jormun boy would have to bend to my will. Clean the barracks! Sharpen my blade! Fetch my armor Jormun boy! They say revenge is best served cold…but this warms my itty bitty heart.”
Aryen is confused by his statement, slowly coming to a stop.
“What revenge do you seek against me? I have done nothing to you.”
The subtle clinks of his armor stopped, a wave of frosted air emitted from beneath his silks, filling the hallway.
-”Your uncle forces himself onto my wife...while I rot away in our frigid prison.
Your brother ate my youngest son, my eldest daughter slaves away at your mother’s petty whims. Your sister shamed my middle son in battle so badly that no woman will look his way. My lineage was eaten whole by the Dragons of House Jormun…You are my reward for being patient.”
Aryen has heard the rumors, has embarrassed men just the same, he did not react to the warrior’s words.
“I will not be subjected to your misery, clearly you deserved to be here didn’t you? The thoughts of malice against my kin is enough to be put on trial for treason and execution! Have you no mind?”
The raider turns to face his former oppressor, hand gripped tightly to his weapon; a Long Axe, gilded and impressive in size.
“I would be known across all of Sheol if I were to kill a Mad King before their claim to fame. It would be cowardly to fight you unarmed in honor of our code, but no one would fault me for slaying a beast.”
Aryen steps forward, and motions from his shackled wrists for the raider to not hold back. Mockingly, Aryen stands up straight, slightly tilting his head up while gesturing for the first blow.
“Moments like this are as rare as they come, to fight the only Jormun who can’t scorch you to a crisp, or with a mighty swing of a tail, launch you into the bays of Midgard, lady luck has chosen you.”
The raider raises his axe, enchanting the blade with a gleaming frost. The glow of his eyes flare onto the metal of his visor, and inside the veins along his upper body, a trail of fire ignites, enlarging his biceps.
“This must be the Ulfheðnar State, he will be impervious to damage for quite some time…Neither fire nor iron can stop him now.”
A swing of the axes crashes into the wall as Aryen ducks the raider’s attack. Ice crystals forming from the cracks and traveling along the seams of the stone. Another overhead swing slams into the ground as Aryen rolls left to avoid it. The raider releases his axe and swiftly charges at him, grabbing with a bearlike hold. Their eyes meet and the raider grins. THUD! - comes from between the two, the raider had slammed his helm into Aryen’s head, then tossed him into the ice crystals that formed from the second attack. Aryen screams out from the frigid crystals scarring his back, the cold inflicting small amounts of frostbite. The raider rushes over to him, launching his foot deep into Aryen’s stomach. The impact lifts Aryen off the ground over the raider’s head. Standing at 6’3, The towering raider catches a hold of Aryen’s ankle and slams him back onto the floor. Aryen lays on the ground in pain, holding onto his ribs, struggling to get up. The raider stomps on his back and picks him up by his hair, holding his face to his.
“I can hear the pain, but see no damage done. I know I have broken your bones, but you show no sign of weakness, and this look in your eyes still holds the arrogance of the Jormun nobility that I hate so much. Why won’t you die!?”
“You are still inferior to me, no matter the circumstance we are never equal...”
Aryen, struggling to hold his smirk, mutters rudely.
The raider flings Aryen over his shoulder as if he had snatched a child's doll away. Aryen hurls through the air, and crashes near the raider’s axe. This was the opportunity he had been hoping for. Quickly, Aryen pulls his shackles against the edge of the axe and frees himself. Then he upheaves the raider’s weapon and tosses it to him.
“Jormun or not, I’m still leagues ahead of you.”
Enraged, the raider yells:
“þú munt deyja hér skíthæll!!!”
[You will die here bastard!!!]
Charging at full speed, axe overhead, the raider leaps up and swings downward. His berserker energy channeled into the edge that is only inches away from Aryen’s skull.
At this moment Aryen’s eyes begin to glow pale gold. His vision changes and time seems to have slowed. Aryen sees the room in hues of oranges and yellow. He focuses on the raider’s axe. The axe begins to highlight red and a green mark appears on the cheek of the head.
“There.”
Aryen releases his strongest punch right in time to connect with the axe, shattering the blade to bits. He uses his other arm to defend from the fragments exploding, missing one that slices his cheek. The raider’s trajectory is thrown off and he stumbles on his landing, barely catching his balance on one knee -still in shock of what he had witnessed.
“That axe was made from the rarest metals, forged by the breath of Dragons, and mounted to the wood of Aosian trees. Obliterated from a single punch!?”
The raider stands up and turns to face Aryen. He discards his shattered weapon and places his hands up, positioning himself in the traditional raider grappling form. Aryen walks up to him and raises his arms up as a sign of peace.
“Let's stop this, I yield, for the honor of both our families.”
The raider, shocked by his proposal, silently lets out a sigh of relief.
“My name is Eskel, Lord Aryen.”
The raider kneels before the exiled prince, reflecting on his actions.
Aryen walks past him, brushing off his clothes and heading towards the exit to the courtyards.
“I was never your Lord, Eskel, please don’t mock me…”
Eskel is taken aback by that statement. He stands patting himself down as if it was hard for him to accept that he is still breathing.
“This Jormun is different.”
He whispers under his breath and follows Aryen to the courtyards.
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