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THIS BOOK HAS BEEN DROPPED AND DISCONTINUED. DON'T BOTHER PICKING IT UP. REINHARDT SERIES BOOK #1 The Narrak's insatiable flames scorched its hardened scales into his muscled flesh. Its unfathomable power surged through his veins, and reconstructed his anatomy. Its thick, leathery wings split through the skin on his spine, and emerged mid-way before retreating its growth. "You are not concentrating," Zelaphiel stated, and folded his arms across his chest. "It is important that you learn to control the amphiptere before you attempt to collaborate its magic with Lahn's power." Sebastian understood his goal, and acknowledged how clearly his father had constantly defined it, but how was he to concentrate when his thoughts were in disarray? "You are concerned about the healer," Zelaphiel arched a brow. Concerned? Was it that obvious? Of course, he had been concerned for her. Heaven's Seraphin in an immoral den of savage men who would ravish her, and corrupt her divine spirit. Why did it bother him? Was it due to the fact that she had been one of his people that he swore to protect or an incomprehensible reason that he had been unconsciously avoiding? ***** Punished with one hundred years of exile, Sebastian Alexander Reinhardt returns upon the mysterious death of his predecessor to rightfully claim his title. Many are those who lurk in the shadows of his castle who wish to deny him his birthright, and they have stopped at no extent to ensure his demise. However the tale does not simply begin and end with mere conspiracies, an ancient enemy awakens again, more determined than ever destroy the lands of Alvgard to achieve their goals. With war, and chaos on knocking at the door, Sebastian must balance his newfound love, and the darkness that lay dormant within to defeat his enemies.
𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙼 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙻𝚅𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳
1510 ʙɢʀ (ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ɢᴀɪᴀ's ʀᴇɪɢɴ)
In mystical realms where the will of men was shattered bitterly, and the darkness thrived within the blood of the tyrants with greed in their hearts, the Warcan commander gazed upon the plains below where his kin was met with ill fate and suffering.
His warriors cloaked in furs of the thickest kind, some striped and spotted with colours, others plain with a golden brown or a stark black. He despaired as he witnessed the ferocity of the enemy had overpowered his warrior's vicious growls.
His brethren that were bred with incomparable bravery, and admirable strength, existed in the diversity of various hues, and changing forms. They were now weakened by the roiling mass of the Narrak tribes that mauled them brutally with sharp strikes of talons from the skies. The Warcan beasts once revered for their superior intelligence, stature, and appeal to marvel at were mercilessly made to grovel at the foul sorcery of the enemy.
"My Lord Lahn," Said a warrior beast who walked on limbs of four as he acquired the hume appearance of a man. He now moved on two legs; his tail reverted inwards to form the end of a hume vertebral column, and his fur morphed into muscled humanoid flesh. "You should return to Lady Azaelia's side," The Warcan warrior suggested, and lowered his head.
"Retreat..." Lahn murmured. The Warcan commander's undying desire to partake in the bloody chaos that unravelled in the grass plains below had become unbearable. Was he to cower behind the trees of the hill and watch? His heart burned with rage as he observed the skies be claimed by the Narrak creatures who reined fire, and death on his warriors.
Gelid air seeped from his skin through the armour, and frosted over the grass under his feet. Black stripe markings appeared on his face to define his true persona as a Warcan beast. He clenched his fists, and gritted his canines. He detested the sight of his kin being defeated by dark magics foreign to their knowledge.
"Xenos...you would have me retreat here? To flee to safety as my kin draw their last breath?" Lahn's eyes ignited with a sapphire glow as rage sparked within him.
"My Lord, if the plains of Mizrandáer should fall along with you, there is no other to protect Lady Azaelia," Xenos argued sternly.
"Are you implying that I am so weak as to be defeated here in battle?"
"Brother," There appeared a Warcan beast warrior, his fur as white as snow, and striped with black wave-like designs. He claimed the hume form of a young male with long raven hair. He was protected by leather armour. "Xenos speaks righteously," He placed a hand on Lahn's shoulder. "Live to fight another day. We must salvage the spirits of our kin that lay on the verge of death. We must seek the aid of our allies."
"Jalil...we have lost so many...I cannot stand to see the death of more!" Lahn roared.
"Brother, think of those who live and let them live as so to fight once more. Gather your faith and courage, lead our surviving warriors back to the forests. Xenos and I will follow suit once I have salvaged the spirits of our kin with Lady Kilia."
Lahn hesitated. He focused his attention on the blood of his warriors that stained the grass plains, their corpses scattered in uncountable numbers. The Narrak creatures paraded the skies, and soared down violently to rip the flesh of the Warcans.
"I will take the northern route to the lands of the Asharra. Inform Shun to return to Lady Azaelia's side...keep Kilia safe..."
"I will return her to you safely, brother," Jalil heeded the command, and reacquired the form of a Warcan beast once more before he departed with Xenos.'
Darkest days had come as the distant, forgotten clans of the Narrak threatened the harmony of Alvgard's lands with their advent. Warriors tasted death, children's favourite tales turned into their worst nightmares.
The Warcan tribes despaired, many of their kin suffered at the clutches of the dark magics that infiltrated their woods. Their last saviour, and hope were those they called 'friends'.
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