1 PROLOGUE

Time flies and seasons brew months to years, but only the brave are strong enough to leave a scar on the hands of tomorrow. Some call it luck, others call it popularity, but Festus von Calius calls it legacy. He has seen kingdoms rise and fall, men of valor, great and small, fierce and deadly. He has seen seers and Dragon riders, Entrants and Runners, all leaving their brands in history, but none could outlive their time. It was their work that did the talking, and like everything else, that was enough, as far as time and chance happened to all.

Time and chance. 

He bites his inner lips, trying not to swallow the bitter irony. Twice he had lived and thrice he had seen his world shattered to nothing. How long will the so-called time and chance deal with him? The brutality was finally going to send him to the void, and if not worse, to the pit of the fallen. He might find peace eventually. The fallen could make him forget what it means to lose everything in life, but that would mean surrendering his soul to darkness for all eternity.

Festus clenched his fist, took a deep breath, before nodding to the doorkeeper.

Heads turned to the cracking sound of the oak door which announced his presence. Men and women stretched on the two sides of the red and yellow hall, and amid the vehement voice of silence, he could hear the pity and sadness lurking in the shadows. Arlen, Festus' wife, had passed on three nights ago. It was an infection, one that had broken her body that even magic could not revive.

He was hurting and the people were hurting with him. Yet he hated pity. It was for that reason he had announced that they came in their ceremonial attire, instead of the traditional white flowing gown. He hated pity, yet all his efforts to put it away had weaned. Arlen's face still haunted him, he could hardly sleep these nights. Her spirit taunted him. He could see the pity in her eyes, and that aggravated him. He hated pity.

"Music," Festus Von Callius announced and started towards his throne.

Two lions carved from a red stone, stood side by side, contrasting the silver throne that sat in the middle. Festus was not the first or the second to ascend the throne, and certainly will not be the last. The seat, Von Callius, as it was called, had been the greatest since the breaking of the world. It has been passed on from generation to generation. It was a legacy, one Festus has kept burning till this day. While his predecessors had waited to merge the world with their diplomacy, Festus had ceased his chances and had done it with red hands. He was Von Callius the Tenth, son of Vercluis of the Nine rings. Emron was his throne, Uito and Kastro his footstool. There was no challenging him, and if these people thinks they were going to overthrow him—

Somewhere, the clatter of metals echoed, followed by the cords of a weak guitar. Festus waited for the loose strings to merge with other instruments and play something harmonizing, but his brow creased when he picked the first line of the lyrics.

"Bird's on the row?" Festus' voice reverberated and the music stopped at once, "Why not play the 'Heaven's ascends' or 'love in the moon? Please, I need something to elevate my spirit and not one to drain my eyes. It's been three nights already. Kill the gloom will ya?"

The poets nodded and struggled with their instruments. Few more cacophony and then the sweet rhyme of 'Once in the dark' began to play. 

Festus laughed despite himself. Memories. He remembered singing those words to his daughter as she lay in her cradle, with her sweet innocent eyes, staring at him. Blessed memories.

It was in the second stanza that Festus noticed the motion at the far side of the room. From this point, Festus could not see their faces, but he could count two men and a woman, strangely dressed, obviously not from around here. 

Why would the guards allow strangers into his court?

Festus clenched his fist. He also noticed that the people had not joined in the song, what were they thinking? What's wrong with everyone? Were they planning on killing him and taking his throne? Was the prophecy going to be fulfilled today?

"What's going on?" Festus asked. He was reaching for his sword.

"I wish I can explain". Swiffer said as she crawled from behind.

Her scale dazzled with the lights of the chandeliers, craving to absorb everything that glowed or beamed. She was a moon Sencer, a rare and powerful species. 

"Something is wrong," Swifer added and stood elegantly behind Festus, ready to turn the people to dust if they showed any sign of violence against the king. Her presence should have drawn the people back to their consciousness and made them think twice. But to Festus' confusion, they kept closing the gap until their toes were almost kissing the base of the stairs.

"May my lord never see failure." Someone said and began walking towards the throne.

Festus was right. The two men and women were certainly not from around here, their fading green hood, with a gray shirt underneath, gave them away. Nothing contrasted the similarity in their attire, but for the different cinctures that held their waist. The man in the front had a white cord, while the rest had reds.

"Mai Sihiri." Swifter hissed and the stones vibrated when she made to step forward.

"Ease, Swifter," Fetus said and held out his hand, trying to calm her. She obeyed him, not that she could disobey. She was his second heart, but he had a greater part of the bond. He was more powerful and could destroy her if he wishes. Swifter was powerless towards Festus, she could not harm him.

"We have no business with the Slayers of The Sons of Nun," Festus rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No thanks to history. I suggest you take your leave at once"

One of the men—the one with a white cord—lowered his hood, and the dark hair fell side to side on her shoulders. She was a woman, and her hazel beautiful eyes added more splendor to the streamlined baby skin. 

Festus swallowed and his shoulders eased when his heart suddenly skipped from the beauty. He has not beheld such beauty since the death of his wife. Every book he had read about the legendary Mai Sihiri had painted them with horror and bravery. With such fierceness, it was obvious why the books never said a thing about how they looked or the color of their eyes.

"Careful," Swifter warned as if reading his thoughts.

Festus needn't ask Swifter what she meant. It was a fact, admiring the fading green woman was like putting one's hands on fire and laughing as they burned. 

According to the books, Mai Sihiri were not people to be trusted and the painted eyes on their forehead always served as a warning for men who will let lust take the better part of them. They were powerful people, born and brought up in magic but had lost their way in the blight and had been banished to Arthesia, the end of the world. Since the breaking of the world, they had remained in hiding. It's three hundred and sixty-six years, yet here they were, in flesh and blood. 

"The time has come, Fetus Von Calius." The woman said.

"Time for what?" Festus asked, ignoring the fact that she had called his name with an insolent that could cause her head to hang in pikes, outside the gates. 

"You are among the Enlightened, you tell me." The woman said.

Like a flash, the answer popped into Festus's head, right before the woman could finish. No, this is not happening, it's too early. 

"While you were off chasing power and wealth, you should have heeded the words of the Mai Sihiri. Now you have brought destruction on all of us."

Festus tightened his fist on the hilt of his sword as the woman's words sank in. Somehow, it was as if everything was repeating itself. He had seen this event before. But where?

"Never negotiate with Mai Sihiri," Swifter warned.

Festus could feel her anger, burning under her breath. She wanted to fight, to protect him.

"What do you want with my daughter?" Festus asked. He had drawn his sword and to his surprise, he saw his people, every last one of them, pulling out their swords, and instead of facing the Mai Sihiri, they pointed their swords at him, ready to charge.

"The prophecy, Festus, Von Calius will be a pile of dust and rubble, remembered only in the stories." The woman said, "You should have heeded the word instead of bringing forth an abomination that makes desolate. Again I tell you, victory loves preparation and success is when preparation meets opportunity. You've lost both, and now is the time to pay the price." 

The woman nodded and the people started towards the throne, charging with hate and rage.

"I can take them," Swifter said, stepping forward.

"No, Swiffer, they are my people. The Mai Sihiri has bewitched them," Festus clapped his hands and an air bubble wrapped him, propelling him from the ground to Swifter's back. "You can fight the people. But these Mai Sihiri…there are four of them." 

Swifter roared, both with anger and sadness, but she did not advance, instead, she stretched her powerful wings and leapt into the air.

"My daughter." Festus shouted, "Take me to my daughter."

"You will never get away," one of the Mai sihiri shouted.

Festus grunted as an excruciating pain traveled from his skin to his bones, before spreading towards the extreme part of his body. The heat was killing, and for once, Festus thought he had been hit by one of the Mai Sihiri's fireballs. 

"It's not you," Swifter said in Festus's head.

"Hang on buddy." Festus tapped its neck, urging her towards the roof, where the rays of the moon were pouring in.

"Right," Festus screamed.

Swifter tried to obey, but not quickly enough. Another surge of heat envelops them, causing them to crash on one of the pillars. 

"I can't hold on." 

The urgency in the Swifter's tone made Festus hold on tightly to the rein. He muttered some magic words before spreading out his hands. A blue transparent glow shot out and enveloped them. 

Swifter roared and beat her mighty wings one last time. 

Glass shattered as they broke the roof, into the night sky.

"We are safe. Now, let's save my daughter."