Chapter 1 (First Blood)

Ranging from Netherworld, to the Fortress, to the Euphrates far stretching across the Lethal islands in the north, to the deepest of the moon clan in the east. The realm of the twelve kingdoms of man had been levied and kept mute under one rule. Forty-seven thousand years and some count of a few years as some would have it.

The Netherworld had seized power across every piece of land buried in sand and dust, filled with air and across every water body adulterated by salt, be it mild or strong, frozen or hot, wide or narrow. Judging right, eons past by were deemed even preferable than a year under the present hand of nether world. Netherworld had kept in strong grip power over the stretch of centuries with no worthy opposing dynasty to rival with the house and had acquired many names in the glory of its reign, the City of Lords most common of the names. So conspicuous that many attempts were proven unmatched, well, not until the assault on the house of the Roove.

It all dates back to the fifth day of the king's inauguration, the crown day to be precise. The early skies were littered with falcons in their flocks, variant in colors, roaming and soaring left to right and top to bottom. The shore gave off a nice radiance of the gleaming sun from its surface, casting off upon the inner rooms of the Glass towers unto the highly fined marbled ground in the inner courts. The glorious aftereffect of the reflection was a radial gradient in the imitation of a rainbow, blooming from every edge that faced west of the Froth sea. Many along the coast of the sea would see the effect as a cause to raise their sunken heads from the beds, others would play it fine as a cause to pray to the gods of sun. The clearly fined reinforced glass as of crystal at a height stretch of not less than 250 feet and 29 feet dense was a lot to brag about the craftmanship and finesse of the famous hearth and anvil brothers. Obviously, the best work of craft ever built was the Glass towers, each pane of glass regarded as the folds of Glasshouse also securing the names of past kings in a golden plaque enclosed in it.

The edifice featured nearly eight hundred and sixty-two folds, racked up in a circular overlapping manner, converging their crest at the very peak in resemblance of a cone. The gold statues of great ships casting a very large shadow upon the glass street standing erectly at every 20-meter post along the alley in glass street, the elegant and precise incisions at the end of each bolts on the statue and the carvings, very abstract and significant. Any foreigner who visited even with a blind fold need no one to convince him he was at the capital, "Glass District, The Unyielding and supreme heritage of the Great man, Ulod". From the very first gate to the seventh main gate, all braced in pure brass and fine gold, large enough it could serve well as a dragon's cage, the art of craft was indeed perfect. The air still maintaining a fairly acceptable scent despite the dirt and junks residue splattered from the ongoing feast. From the gate, the aroma of crispy fishes rented the atmosphere even to the neighboring cities.

Far more obvious were the reports of missing persons who lost their way along the folds, the counts ran into hundreds every day, in and out. The roads built in-between the folds were far from familiar as even the high lords were no exemptions from the list of the misplaced. So, as a precaution guide, a horde of cartographers were implored to make a well decent map of the whole assembly of the glass tower and the district with a fine pay in weight of gold and fine stones. They called the royal dwelling the Glass district, a collective name for all the structures and the seat of power. 500 square kilometers were the readings from the map. Mapping and charting were an out-of-the-list jobs amongst the nethers. The regular fleets of ships, fine mason work, astonishing checkpoints, smith men and the presence of such an edifice as Glass tower were just the detailed picture of the job amongst the nethers and certainly not cartography. A peek into any sumptuous storehouse of a nether would place only two option to guess precisely his job, either a cartographer or a gold trades man. Not even the high lords of nether could amount up such wealth as of the masters in these fields.

The Glass house was duly the right name for the edifice, but some recent high lords had demanded a retouch and suggested it be renamed "The Unyielding". Not so easy a name that had lasted even more than a hundred generation, be changed so easily. On the outside of the glass towers was a very disturbing view of the crowd, it was the day 5 of the king's inauguration, the outflowing numbers of visitors along the glass street had grown out of normal count, the ships sailing even more cargos, blaring their horns as they come to halt on the docks. The noisy gathering of the crowd and their masters on their horses beyond the gates, the fewer lords and highborn at every unit dining and cheering with a raucous mumbling at their gatherings. "Long live the King; Roove", they cheered unto a toss or more of the ever tasty Edenian wine.

At the end of the glass streets, the children raced against one another with the winner often ending in bruises over debate on who won the race or who played it fair. They smelled of dried cashew nuts and Edenian wine, a very strong drink with high content of alcohol. Their clothes were merely just sacks, perforated to give chances as armholes and a quick collar. They actually seemed happy despite the bruises they got exchanging blows from meaningless arguments, having to make a well feast to their bellies for the past 4 days. They roamed the streets as never before performing stunts and kite aerobics, they were the kids of the commoners.

'Perhaps, the protocols charged with serving of refreshment at the feast were not properly observed, most especially the spellbinding-ever-red Edenian wine', a stout man, just few inches from being tall uttered, washing his mouth with a gulp from his gourd filled with wine. In between his teeth were tucked remnant from bulls' skin.

He was barely under the shed of an oak tree aside the racing field, with a short stool just sitting in front, buckled under the pressure of his large gourd filled with Deep red.

'I don't dispute you', his fellow on orange cloak replied, tapping his lower lip with his index finger to accentuate his red tinted lip, 'wonder how I drank up a gallon of wine without getting pale', he giggled. The cloak was quite decent with bright yellow embroidery as of the shape of an anchor resting on the shoulder level.

'Uhh, don't try make a fool of me, I knew you had been a drunk right from the citadel, those good old days', the stout man Essos muttered, as he struggled with a mouthful of the deep red again. His brown moustache whipping in the liquid.

'How did they put it, Saeed the moon walker..., the cold moth…'Essos uttered 'silly me, there were countless names you had got then'. He added hitting his head lightly with the length of his babushka, just like though it would help hasten his short memory.

They set for a stroll around the field, talking and drinking, the both of them have been childhood friends from the start, and an occasion like such of the inauguration ceremony had brought a marine captain and a merchant/ swordsman together from across seas.

'I had a rough imagination at the citadel, not ever doubting your never-ageing face, but right now, hmm…' Lota said giving close observation to the acmes on Essos' face and faked a smile with a stern look. 'it's all rocky roads right now, and also perhaps your memory is far aged.'

'Sincerely speaking, you must be drunk', Essos said following a heavy gulp of the deep red.

'Huh, …so you let your son get drunk all the same ..uhh?' Lota asked drawing out a clean sword from its sheath and pointing its fine edge to the direction were Phesus-Essos's son, stood at a distance upon setting eyes on him. 'Oh.., come on, Phesus is better off than me, he does most of the steel casting and forges and all I do is sit back and pat him on the back whenever the magma spilled', Essos said calmly patting Lota on the shoulder 'and also..'

'Drinking, drinking to your fill even during the hot summers, I know', Lota cut in and they both chuckled. 'Actually, he could cast another sword for you before you leave, don't judge by how he plays' Essos bragged.

'You mean your lad, I am okay with this', he smiled 'synth, a handy name for a sword…, a swing and swoosh, heads on the ground, with a lesser count of fat heads', Lota added faking a swing to Essos neck admiring the bright ends of the sword as he kissed it too. They both burst into laughter.

The Coral bridge was just some feet away so they headed to settle there. 'It must be tough work for you serving as a kings guard to a door post man', Lota broke in after moments of gazes around the beautiful stream with warm aura just below the bridge. 'No, not today, not today' Essos said abnegating the chance to tell Lota that part of his story.

'Here is good for the start', Lota called, pointing to the flanks of the bridge clustered with white egrets and partially dominated by fog and green plants. 'Join me over here buddy..., there is no better view of the river Froth anywhere else than this', Lota added. He had found himself a shed and sat on a tree trunk half hewn at the end of the Coral bridge.

'But actually, it's not the river that thrills me, it's the steam from it', Essos said deliberately picking his teeth and emptying the remnant into the stream. "I envied those maids; the ones from the inner courts, when they go down there in the stream for a warm bath, what relief"

The Coral bridge was pure depiction of nature that one would easily mistake it to be a sweep forest, though a dynamic one, also wider than longer. Had on its sides, various edifice and bath houses with swimming pools on it. Crazy enough they were all mud houses from eons renovated but still covered with vines and ruptured stems and the splashes from the waterfront were most accountable for most algae on the walls.

'Lest you forget...' Lota reminded cleaning the edge of his sword again with a white piece of fabric firmly anchored on his arm bracelets. The twines of sea plants from the hills affront began to rustle as the wind drifted within.

'Alright, story time…'Essos cut in, dragging his feet heading towards the trunk, pulling up enormous amount of dust in the air. 'I might just fall asleep anytime soon ...", he said as he gradually paused from the walk down the shadow casted alley, right in front of Lota and chuckled, just as he attempted taking another step to crouch for the seat, he jerked and threw up right up all the strong wine on Lota, messing his noble dress.

'ohh shit, what a mess…, am sorry pal', Essos said rubbing off the stain on Lota's cloak with his furry babushka. He quickly emptied the wine content in one of the cups and took a depth level of the stream water running on one of the walls.

'There will be no need for that, it's merely a stain', Lota pleaded restraining Essos by the hand after observing minute content of algae mixed with mild amount of the Deep-Red in the cup. 'Did you just see that, the leaves, like another fat cow got loosed again... You can go on with the story pal', he added suspiciously steering endlessly at the surrounding bush covered in shadows of mighty oak trees.

Essos quietly placed the cup on a support from a moss infested tree branch, a big log just right in front at the scene. 'Every royal loot deserves a special keep... my foot, unfortunate for this one pal', Essos said restraining his smile to the left potion of his face with his eyes still fixed on the cup in front. "It was given to me on the Fourth Mold, I have never felt so heavy with pride until that day". 'King Roove, king Roo…ve', he said breaking the words like a cat mincing its last mouse.

'He gave me a smile; that peculiar smile, I saw it in his eyes , patted me on the shoulder and hugged me …' Essos added shaking his head in delight of the memories "we also crossed sword, our both swords, Vinic; hardest substance there is, from pure vine this time.. no adulteration, although he can't bid a relic out just like that. He withdrew the sword after that night, and then I saw him later that very night hand it over to his brother'.

"Shit, not bad", Lota retorted after a while of paying keen attention to the story regardless of the sounds of humming birds and the slaps of the mild stream tides on the walls. 'not bad? It's where the balls switched courts', Essos said nodding continuously, staring at the sword on Lota's grip with remorse, just like he would snatch it and get it through his neck.

The sky was already getting dark from accumulated burnt carbon from the towns market, more cows fell victim as meat in hot stream of delicious stew, the aroma filled the air at every volume in the atmosphere. No one cared to lock their homes anymore for about stretch of days as robbery frequency fell in line with the rise of abundant meals. The commoner's children and the rest, young and mid-aged, ran from every spot with a bowl on their hands and got a bowlful of stew, one or more loaves of fresh bread and even jewelries to top it all upon every nice tent at the neighboring homes. The whole city and local markets were gushing with people moving in and out. Trading under their tents loads of cash crops to foreigners at every stand.

'Patrick, am sorry, I can't further anymore test on your son. I fear he might not make it by next dawn, he has consecutively showed no change', a apothecary on green vinyl overall remarked, pulling on a stretcher a lad of 6 years old. He had a pink moustache which was an absolute contrast with his name-Dr Brown Hawkins.

"I can't leave, I owe this child my life, he …", Patrick explained sweating profusely even under the cool breeze. He was more confused than ever. 'Pave way, pave way", a young lady on satin babushka called, finding her way through the mob of marketers. "Adonis, care for mangoes", the lady called, rubbing the palm of her hand on Patrick's muscular arm. 'very tasty mangoes, your very favorite with the right blend ..." she added.

"not…, not today please", Patrick replied cutting in sharply. 'Ouch...', Patrick reacted, trying to recall if he had met her before. The young lady pocked out a strand of hair from his arm and winked as she left for a corner where other ladies in same satin dresses chuckled as she got there. "Every lady seems so fond of you", Dr. Brown bluffed.

'Oh that, not every though, at least not the rich ones yet', Mr. Patrick replied still rubbing the region the lady pocked. 'Let's get somewhere private to talk', he added.

"whatever you saw or you see , is not true, and if it is, I am no better than a quack", Dr Brown said with courage. "I fully recognize that but I was sure he spoke in pure Medith before he got seized", Patrick whispered in Brown's ear, erasing each droplet of sweat that rolled on his eyeglasses.

"Let's not talk about this, I am no foreseer or a spiritualist that may be fit to consult with the Order of Medith. Haven't you heard about the great book of lies, the tears of Roman Blank?" Dr Brown asked. 'I haven't actually heard those names, not until...' Patrick paused, 'until now', he completed.

'You've got all the help I can offer, 12 damn hours and he didn't make a move', he said, rolled up his sleeves in folds and gave Patrick a warm hug with his face resting on his chest "I am sorry, so sorry, I have an appointment and have to go now". Patrick watched Dr Brown as he slowly walked amidst the noisome crowd.

'Wait', Patrick called adjusting his pair of round-harry potter-like glasses to rest well on his nose. The sweat rolled more profusely now sticking the front potion of his blond hair to his forehead and even rolled upon his glasses, blurring his view. Dr Brown halted from a distance and stared back. 'The Exodus…', he whimpered. "It's soon", he added trying to keep a steady breath. Dr Brown just hummed and left.

"Now, that is really bad, like who does that", Lota voiced out bitterly. Essos stretched his arm and reached for another cup of wine; his belly was already straining in volume about the right size to practically burst. "I trusted him so much and never doubted his deed, even right now, Kingship would make no difference to him', Essos said, more serious this time, practically obvious by his wandering fingers.

'Dolan's breed Sirs, care for one', a lad in a large green top called as he ran hurriedly to their faces. His sandals were already torn half way on his feet and his top stained with mud, same color of his hair. On his hand was a staff, a broken one with a pointy end with stains of blood, and on the other arm sat a black raven on his shoulder staring at both of them. He looked like hell had messed with him thoroughly.

"Of course, Dolan's breed it is, certainly the black-molted beak keeps the gradient flow through out its skin". Essos said as he rose, taking a closer look at the fiercest yet smartest breed of raven in the global sphere.

"uhh, like seriously?" Lota exhumed the words from within, he knew Essos really had no interest in any living thing blessed with wings but he was just acting out of sympathy for the poor lad. Essos reached for the royal piece he had-the royal cup, and made a fair exchange for the raven even though he didn't like it.

The raven was even more welcoming to strangers than Essos expected, it stood quietly as Essos took it by the feet and gradually brought it to settle on his wrist. The young lad immediately took to his heels without saying a word, though it seemed the deal was accepted. "Not much of my expectation, it's like it prefers me or is it just for my warmth". Essos said swinging his wrist narrowly to excite the raven.

As if the raven didn't understand that kind of play, it squeezed its grip and scared Essos very deep in his wrist. "Ouch..., bad bird", Essos yelled, and filled with anger, grabbed the bird and without thinking, thumped his fist and smashed the log of stool-acting stump just in split seconds. The pain from the scars was so sharp and he bled with a strong pulse. He noticed the silence even after yelling that loud, Lota didn't care. He turned around searching just to find out that Lota was gone already without alerting him. The bleeding was already causing blood shortage, his sight began to diminish with the pulse of his breath. The sounds of the humming birds gradually turned to fluttering wings as the sound of running feet grew from the distance towards him. Essos had already become unstable, staggering over and missing his steps, all he could see now were just burry composition of blood tone colors and mix of fewer other tones.

The steps became faster approaching him with greater speed. From the distance Essos was only able to identify the black furry jacket waving in the air. It was Phesus, his son, running towards the scene as far as he could. Before getting there, Essos fell to his kneels crashing his weight onto the bridge with a thud in the fine wooden floor. Phesus increased his every foot span with his eyes just fixed to his dad, it was like the world was trembling around him, his greatest companion, friend even a dad at most was leaving even sooner than he thought. He ran as fast as he could, only gravity stood as a barrier otherwise he would fly if it meant to.

His broad face was already painted in warm tears, his feet probably sored to the bone. "No…," he called loudly almost straining his voice box to break. He finally made it at his father's side, but then Essos was few seconds from being a corpse, all he could do was reveal a small cylindrical vessel fastened to his waist line.

"This can't be happening", Phesus lamented with a trembling tone, he cupped his fathers head in his arms, gnashing his teeth in regrets as though he could just go back in time to save him. His mind swiveled around different ways he could try to save his dad. Essos eyes were already blood stained, his ears bleeding in same rhythmic pulses as his nose.

"Take this", Essos said revealing the same cylinder vessel to Phesus, he had just managed to fake a smile from his in-depths. Phesus gently unfastened the case and held his father on the palm, just as his eye searched around, he spotted the raven lying almost lifeless on the ground and observed the eyes switch from deep black to white. "Drink", Essos muttered softly. Beside the raven was the gourd, so Phesus took it up and place it upright for him to drink, which he did and gradually went cold. Phesus placed his head on his chest as his heartbeat came to a rest phase.

Phesus face grew pale immediately, it was like he had exhausted all tears in his eyes and used up all decibel of sound he could utter.

There he sat, till the sky grew dark, his days of shambles were imminent and darker days await him.

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