2 The Beginning

Author Notes:

Shadow Soul is a call to Witches

Lost Spirit is a call to the Banshees

Glorious Soul is a call to summoners and healers

***

Thousands of years ago  ...

Two confidants of the Kingdom of Xaera walked with broken steps into the palace while holding the King and Queen. The armor they wear is shattered around the shoulders, arms, and legs. The two confidants of the King and Queen seemed to hold back sobs as they laid the bloodied bodies of their commanders on the bed.

Several middle-aged women scattered into the room, screeching with various expressions as they watched their great king and queen lying stiff on their giant bed after days of fighting on the battlefield with their people.

"Have we lost?" the only red-haired middle-aged woman standing in the doorway along with the king's other beloved servants had just voiced her worries with a bitterness that could not hide for a second.

"Reportedly, Genevive also died in the war with the King and Queen," said another housekeeper who tried to calm the red-haired maid.

"What would our fate be, as Shadow Soul, Glorious Soul, and Lost Spirits, if Xaera Kingdom collapsed in the hands of the barbarian invaders of Alras out there?" said the dark-skinned housemaid worriedly. Both of her hands even trembled as she tried to hug her other companion.

The servants and maids of the palace began to worry, because, only King Cedric, Queen Ilaria, and their Son, Prince Marc were willing to protect and even free all witches, banshee, summoners, healers, and werewolves like them from the shackles and slavery outside the Alras. Everyone was worried about each other's fate if King Cedric's entire fight ended in downfall. Death and deadly executions began to cast a shadow over everyone.

The deaths of King Cedric and Queen Ilaria spread in seconds throughout the country, even to the ears of their son who was deliberately locked in a dungeon by two of the King's confidants, at the king's orders. Because the King did not want his son to go down to the battlefield if he died in the war. A curse that the King had agreed with the barbarians and hunters outside Alras would be attached to the prince if he lost the war like his father.

Prince Marc screamed, hitting and kicking the cell that was locking him up. He was angry, he felt beaten before even moving. He was imprisoned there for a few days when he was about to move outside the palace with two of his father's confidants. Unfortunately, it was just a trap, because it was not the battlefield they were aiming for, but rather the dungeon they had cleared and prepared for him when the situation out there was getting more precarious and beyond the king's control.

"SEBASTIAN!" cried prince Marc as he unceasingly tried to open the cell that was confining him with his bare hands. "LUIS!"

Prince Marc kept calling two of the King's confidants even though he knew they wouldn't be able to hear his voice from up there. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!" he called again.

Sweat mixed with blood from the palm of Prince Marc's left hand poured out as he managed to bend one of the iron bars. "GET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!"

"I can't do it, Your Highness," said the voice believed to be Sebastian, the King's left hand who has always been in charge of carrying out various executions on enemies and traitors of the kingdom.

Prince Marc raised his gaze, then swept the sweat dripping around his temples, staring into Sebastian's blue irises that looked colder than ice back then. Either Sebastian was hiding his sadness at losing their King and Queen on the same day.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." the first sentence that came out of Sebastian's mouth sounded heartbreaking in Prince Marc's sense of hearing.

Sorry? Because you can't keep my father and mother in the war? Sorry? Because you can't bring them home alive like in previous wars? Sorry? Because Xaera lost the war? The barrage of infuriating questions kept spinning inside the prince's head mercilessly, without giving him a break to think as clearly as he usually does.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Sebastian said again. "We cannot bring the King and Queen home safely."

Sebastian took a deep breath, then ventured to look straight into the greyish-blue irises belonging to the prince who was looking at him angrily. "I, and Luis, cannot get you out of here until the war is over and Xaera has won and justice for all the people of this country without exception."

Sebastian moved on after conveying all the things he wanted to say to the prince. Deep down in his deepest heart, Sebastian was eager to free the prince from his confinement. He even carried the key to the cell door but ditched his intention to free the prince, because he had to hold the vows and promises he held to the late King Cedric and Queen Ilaria.

I'm sorry, Prince Marc. You have to stay there. Sebastian said silently. We don't want to lose you after the King and Queen are gone.

Prince Marc screamed, thrashing furiously because Sebastian did not give him the freedom he wanted. He continued to try to open one by one the iron bars in front of him even though he did not manage to break one of them, instead, three fingers of his left hand were broken because they never gave up creating their freedom instead of staying silent and surrendering.

"Stop hurting yourself, Your Highness," said the long shoulder-length black-haired man across the cell.

"Luis?" Prince Marc raised his gaze while adjusting his breath when he found another figure that he hoped would give him freedom. "Get me out of here, Luis. We must avenge the death of my parents, your King and Queen."

Luis exhaled his heavy breath, then took a few steps forward and was stay still to the front door of the cell before finally turning his head, looking softly at Prince Marc like a father was weighing some kind of good things to give to his beloved son.

"Your hand is hurt, Your Highness," he said softly, looking at the three fingers of Prince Marc's left hand drooping on the side of his two trembling fingers. "You must be treated until you recover if you want me to release you on the battlefield."

Prince Marc slowly got up and stood in line with his late father's right hand. "Call Genevive," he ordered. "She can cure me without taking long."

"Genevive is no longer with us, Your Highness. I'm sorry,"