chapter 2

Chapter 2

The mother of Amon, Evelyn Edgar, stood by the hearth of her son's private chamber, her gentle demeanor overshadowed by the worry etched into her features. Her chestnut hair, streaked with strands of silver, framed a face weathered by both joy and sorrow. Despite the lines of concern that creased her brow, there was an undeniable strength in her hazel eyes, a testament to the trials she had weathered as a and a expert ether user.

At the heart of the room, perched on a worn wooden stool, sat Evelyn's youngest, Elara, her small frame huddled beneath a patchwork blanket. She had the same hazel eyes and straight chestnut hair as her mother. Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears that mirrored her mother's distress.

As the fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, Amon sat on his bed looking at both his mother and sister. He felt his stomach turn in anxiety as he contemplated the separation from his family and his home.

"Write letter to me, alright?"

"I promise you, Elara. Be nice to Anos when I am not here alright?"

"I am always nice to him!"

Amon raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Are you sure about that, Elara?" he countered, his voice laced with playful skepticism.

Elara's cheeks flushed with indignation, her defiance momentarily faltering under her brother's scrutiny. "Of course, I'm nice to him," she insisted, though her tone wavered slightly.

Amon chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, if you say so," he conceded, knowing his siblings mischievous dynamic.

Amon smiled at Elara and spread his arms welcoming her in a hug. Elara jumped into his embrace without hesitation.

As Amon enveloped Elara in a warm embrace, a sense of bittersweet comfort washed over them both. He held her tightly, savoring the familiar feeling of her presence pressed against him, knowing that soon it would only exist in memories.

"I will miss you, big brother," Elara murmured, her voice wavering with emotion.

Amon's heart ached at the sincerity in her words. "I will miss you too, chestnut," he replied softly, a fond smile gracing his lips.

Elara sniffled, her tears threatening to spill over as she protested, "Don't call me that."

Amon chuckled lightly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "As you command, princess," he conceded, his voice tinged with affection.

With that, Elara buried her face in her brother's chest, her sobs muffled against the fabric of his shirt. Amon held her close, offering silent reassurance in the embrace they both knew would soon come to an end. As tears trickled down Elara's cheeks, mingling with the flickering light of the fire, Amon silently vowed to carry her memory with him, wherever his journey may lead.

Edgar siblings stayed in each other for a time being. Eventually Amon noticed that Elara had fallen asleep in his embrace. Amon chuckled with affection as he looked at his younger sister's sleeping face. Amon gently tucked the blanket around Elara, his heart swelling with love as he watched her peaceful slumber.

"You should go to sleep too, son," His mother urged him suddenly.

Amon nodded,"I will, mother," he spoke without giving much care to his mother, his mind was already racing with thoughts of the journey ahead.

"You had no need to pack all of these things yourself, mother. There are servants for this," Amon remarked, gesturing towards the neatly arranged belongings that lay before him.

A weary smile graced Evelyn's lips as she shook her head. "I just wanted to... *sigh* no matter," she replied, her voice trailing off with a hint of resignation. "I will take your sister with me to her chamber."

As Amon watched his mother leave the room with Elara cradled in her arms, a storm of conflicting emotions raged within him. Resentment, bitterness, and a deep-seated sadness intertwined, forming a tangled web of memories that stretched back to his childhood.

He couldn't help but recall the years of neglect, the void left by his mother's absence during his formative years. The wounds of her indifference ran deep, leaving scars that even time could not fully heal. And though she had begun to show signs of change, showering attention upon Elara in her later years, for Amon, it was a bitter reminder of all that had been lost.

Amon's gaze hardened as his mother's soft words reached his ears, her voice laden with unspoken regret. "Take care, my son," she whispered, her plea falling upon deaf ears as Amon remained silent, his heart guarded against the pain of her words.

As she swiftly exited his chamber, a heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the muffled sound of her retreating footsteps. Alone once more, Amon's thoughts turned inward, grappling with the complexities of his relationship with the woman who had brought him into this world.

Meanwhile, in the solitude of her own chambers, Evelyn's tears flowed freely, her heart heavy with the weight of her son's unspoken anguish. She had spent years haunted by the ghosts of her past mistakes, yearning for the chance to make amends, yet knowing deep down that some wounds could never fully heal.

As she lay in the darkness, the echo of Amon's silence ringing in her ears, Evelyn found solace in the silent embrace of her own grief.

______

"We suspect that His Highness intends to place both princes at the forefront of the impending war, particularly focusing on Prince Uranus. If you wish to distinguish yourself, you must elevate your training in the arts," Fenon stated with a sense of urgency, his words carrying weight in the dimly lit chamber.

Amon was no stranger to such protocols; it was customary in the Norvan Empire to afford its princes significant opportunities to showcase their mettle in wars. Sensing Amon's distraction, Fenon quickened his pace, recognizing the need to capture Amon's full attention.

"The important point is you may have to join Erebus." The old advisor spoke grimly.

As Fenon's words sank in, Amon's expression darkened, his mind racing with the implications of what joining Erebus would entail. The mere mention of the clandestine organization sent a shiver down his spine, for their reputation preceded them like a shadowy specter haunting the realms.

Erebus, the enigmatic enforcers of the emperor's will, wielded power and influence that extended far beyond the borders of the kingdom. Whispers of their deeds, both noble and nefarious, echoed through the halls of power, instilling fear and reverence in equal measure.

"And I have no say in this, I presume?" Amon's voice held a hint of resignation as he voiced his concern.

"When King Julius 'requests' you to join the ranks of Erebus personally, then you can think about it," Fenon replied, his half playful. "There is a chance that you may not have to join Erebus though, but that seems unlikely." He added.

Amon's shoulders sagged slightly at Fenon's words, realizing the gravity of the situation. The implication was clear: he had little choice in the matter. Yet, there was a glimmer of hope in that he might be spared from joining Erebus. It offered a fleeting sense of relief amidst the looming uncertainty.

Still, Amon couldn't shake the foreboding sense of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach. Joining an organization with a reputation as dark as Erebus's was bound to come with its own set of challenges and dangers. As he contemplated the unknown path that lay ahead, Amon couldn't help but acknowledge the grim reality – it was going to be very bad indeed.

"Well, I'll handle that when the time comes. Tell me, Fenon, where is father?"

"Lord Edward has been summoned to a sudden meeting by Duke Estersa. He's occupied with preparations for his own journey."

"So, will he be accompanying me?"

"Unfortunately, no. It wouldn't be appropriate for you to travel under your father's escort when you're joining a war-band led by a prince."

Amon acknowledged Fenon's explanation with a nod, though a tinge of disappointment lingered beneath his understanding. The news that his father wouldn't be joining him on his upcoming journey stung, even if he grasped the necessity of his independence when aligning himself with a prince's war-band.

"Then this is it, Fenon. I hope you won't be too old when we meet next time."

"I am same age as your father, lad."

Amon offered a brief smile to Fenon before departing from the advisor's chamber. With purposeful strides, he headed towards the stables where his companions awaited. Among them stood a mix of peers and seasoned veterans, each familiar face a reminder of the journey ahead.

As he approached, Amon was greeted warmly by Ryfin and Lath, his trusted friends among the group. Returning their nods in acknowledgment, Amon wasted no time in entering the stable to attend to his horse.

As Amon steps into the dimly lit stable, the warm scent of hay and musk fills the air, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the cracks in the wooden beams above, casting a soft, ethereal glow upon the scene.

At the far end of the stable stands a magnificent creature, its form outlined in the dappled light. With a gentle snort, the horse raises its head, ears twitching in recognition as it senses Amon's presence. Its coat shimmers like spun gold, a radiant mane cascading like a river of flame down its muscular neck.

As Amon approaches, the horse regards him with dark, intelligent eyes. There is a quiet strength in its gaze, a silent understanding that transcends mere words. With a soft whicker, the horse extends its muzzle, nuzzling against Amon's outstretched hand in a gesture of trust and affection.

Amon runs his fingers through the horse's mane, feeling the silky strands slide between his fingers like strands of silk. Beneath his touch, he can sense the power that lies coiled within the horse's frame.

Amon quickly exits the stable house with his horse saddled. In one fluid motion, Amon swings himself up into the saddle, settling himself into position with a practiced grace born of years of experience. He shifts his weight slightly forward, leaning into the horse's neck as he gently urges it forward with a soft cluck of his tongue.

At first, the horse moves with a cautious hesitation, feeling out the weight of its rider upon its back. But as Amon guides it into a steady walk, the horse begins to relax, falling into rhythm with the gentle cadence of his movements.

"Have you named your horse yet?"

Amon chuckled at the eager anticipation in his friends' eyes as they rode alongside him, their horses trotting in tandem.

"Not yet," he replied with a grin, glancing at his trusty steed. "But I suppose it's high time I give him a proper name, isn't it?"

Ryfin and Lath nodded eagerly, their expressions lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Aye, it'll make the journey all the more exciting!" Ryfin exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Lath, ever the pragmatic one, added, "And it'll strengthen the bond between you and your horse."

Amon nodded in agreement, feeling a swell of affection for his loyal companion. "You're right. Let's see... how about Storm? He's as swift and powerful as a tempest."

Ryfin and Lath exchanged approving nods, clearly pleased with the choice.

"Storm it is, then," Ryfin declared, a grin spreading across his face.

As Lathar, the chief of their small entourage, delivered the news of readiness, Amon nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Lathar. Let's set out at once."

With a wave of his hand, Amon signaled for the group to start their journey. Taking his place at the front, he led the way, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoing against the backdrop of the countryside.

Their path led them southward, through the verdant lands of Edgar earldom. Amon's mind buzzed with anticipation as they made their way towards the imperial road, their destination set for the bustling city of Estersa in the east.

As they rode, Amon couldn't help but notice the curious gazes of the few civilians they passed along the way. Though their departure had not been widely publicized, there were still whispers among the populace, hints of intrigue surrounding their journey.

But Amon paid little heed to the onlookers, his focus set squarely on the road ahead. With each passing mile, the landscape unfolded before them, a tapestry of fields and forests stretching out to the horizon.

As nightfall descended upon the land, Amon called for a brief halt, signaling to his companions to rest and make camp for the evening. With practiced efficiency, they set about their tasks, pitching tents, gathering firewood, and tending to their horses with care.

As the flames crackled merrily in the darkness, casting flickering shadows across their campsite, Amon gathered his companions around the fire. Sitting together in a circle, they shared stories and laughter, their voices rising and falling in the stillness of the night.

As the flames danced in the firelight, one of the veterans, a grizzled warrior with weathered features, cleared his throat and began to speak. His voice was rough but filled with a quiet authority that commanded attention.

"Let me tell you a tale of the great Ourea war," he began, his words carrying the weight of years of memory. "It was a time of turmoil and strife, when kingdoms clashed and heroes rose and fell like leaves in the wind."

He spoke of battles fought on distant fields, of courage and sacrifice, of triumph and tragedy. His words painted a vivid picture of a world torn apart by conflict, where every day was a struggle for survival and every victory came at a cost.

"But amidst the chaos and despair, there were moments of hope," the veteran continued, his voice growing softer as he recounted tales of bravery and heroism. "Men and women from all walks of life rose up to fight for what they believed in, united by a common cause and a shared sense of duty."

Eimir, the veteran, paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his companions with a weighty solemnity.

"But there was one man who stood above all others, the king who was once Prince Julius Norvan," he began, his voice carrying the weight of reverence and admiration. "He ended the conflict with Bellona to the south, leading his own troops with bravery and negotiating a peace treaty that ultimately saved our entire kingdom."

Eimir's expression soured with disgust as he continued, recounting the lack of support Prince Julius initially faced when proposing the treaty. "Yet within weeks, Estersa was on the brink of being overrun by Oureain soldiers from the north. Only thanks to Prince Julius, who rallied troops from the south and arrived in time, were we spared. He led us to victory and was hailed as the greatest military strategist and art master of our time."

"But now," Eimir's voice grew sharp with indignation, "there are whispers of civil war against this very same man in the south. It is a disgrace, I tell you all."

As the weight of Eimir's words settled upon them, a fervor ignited within the group. Without hesitation, they joined in a chant, their voices rising in unison:

"Hail Emperor Julius! Hail the empire!"

Their voices echoed into the night, a chorus of loyalty and defiance against the looming threat of civil unrest. Around the campfire, the flames danced in rhythm with their fervent chant, casting flickering shadows upon the faces of Amon and his companions.

Amon felt a swell of pride and determination welling up within him, at that moment any reservation and shame for participating in this incoming war had vanished.

As the night wore on and the fire burned low, Amon felt a deep sense of contentment settle over him. This was his first time being out riding with his man without his father. With a final glance at the stars overhead, Amon settled down for the night.