Prologue: Sins of the Past

SKY MARIGOLD

Prologue

"Sir…Noir was attacked."

"By who?"

"By…monsters sir. Monsters wearing plated armor."

"Armor? And what does their armor look like?"

"The accounts vary. But they all agree that the attack came from nowhere."

"What do you mean?"

"The monsters simply have 'appeared' inside Noir. The guards at the gates didn't see anything. Even the castle was attacked. The assault seemed to come from inside."

"And Auria?"

"Sir… our sources told us that…Queen Auria was…badly injured…."

"Tell everyone to pack their things and arrange me a meeting with The First Exiled."

"Sir? Where are we going?"

"We're going back to Threanas. We're returning to Noir."

Deanor absentmindedly massaged the scar on his forehead. Two years. It's just two years since their banishment yet here he was, about to step his foot back inside the kingdom of Threanas. 'Appeared out of nowhere'. The phrase troubled him. It was impossible to teleport such a large force from a great distance. The guards at the gates should have seen something but they didn't. He knew of only one possible culprit for the attack.

Queen Auria. Deanor smiled as he remembered his man's words. It appears that her daughter had become a splendid ruler…unlike him. However, such things don't matter right now. Auria was badly injured by an unknown band of knights who materialized out of thin air. The cold mountain air amplified the shiver on the banished king's spine. His past came back to haunt him, and the kingdom and his daughter are paying dearly.

"Sir The First Exiled had agreed to meet us within three days' time on the nearby mountain." Deanor's man reported, a large scar bearing the rune for 'Exile' clearly seen on the latter's forehead. Deanor thanked the man then left their camp. He needed to be alone. Alone once more so that he may think things through. He looked back at the roaring fire and what few men were left of their group. Life as nomads had taken its toll on his men. What started out as a company of a hundred men thinned out as they made their way out of Threanas' borders. It didn't help that in-fighting and the lack of sustainable source of food immediately became a problem within their first year. By the start of the second year on their life as exiled, a number of people have already died while some have splintered into smaller groups and went on their own ways.

The First Exiled. It was a dangerous gamble but Deanor had no choice. There were only a few mages in their group, but none were as skilled as those from the First Exiled. Entering the borders of Threanas is no simple task but he would rather face the wrath of those from the House of Flaur than let anything bad happen to Auria and the kingdom. He might not be its king anymore and even its citizen but the guilt of having brought upon the calamity to befall Threanas ate at his very being. Deanor wished that his assumption was wrong, however, the memory of the past kept coming back to him. It seemed that banishment gave his conscience the perfect opportunity to torture him.

"We need your help," Deanor began. He can feel the tension from both sides as he spoke, swords, arrows, spells, and whatnot were aimed at the two of them.

"What made you think that we would help you?" The man before Deanor asked. Just a few years younger than the banished king, the man also bore the all too familiar rune for exile on his head while sporting an unkempt beard and a head with streaks of silver hair.

"Threanas. I made a mistake, a grave—"

"Your family made a grave mistake ever since you decided to usurp the throne from our house." The man bared his teeth, anger evident on his face. Deanor can only listen. Right now, this man, Marcus Flaur, is his only hope of coming back to Threanas.

"We gave you our word that we will leave. But what did your ancestors do? They branded us. And during your reign, you even asked that sorcerer to put up a spell to prevent us from setting foot inside the kingdom ever again. Now you need our help to circumvent that very same magic. Bah!" Marcus Flaur spat at Deanor's feet. His people had suffered enough. They spent a decade just trying to find a workaround on the spell surrounding Threanas. He would not let their ancestors be humiliated by granting a Glacia's request.

"Please! I beg you! You don't understand! They are coming! Threanas will fall!" Deanor stepped forward. He can feel not just his anger rising but the tension around them as well. He heard blades being unsheathed, bowstrings tightening, and the murmur of casting spells.

"And it's all because of you...am I right? Then we don't see any reason to deny the people of a chance to further hate your bloodline." Marcus gritted his teeth once more. Anymore. Anymore words or act from the idiot before him and he would command his followers to eradicate the group known as The Second Exiled.

"Please…if you can't do it for the sake of the kingdom then do it for the sake of a father. A father whose daughter—"

"Whose daughter is suffering right at this very moment?! Did your great grandfather feel that way when he ordered the execution of my grandmother and her cousins?!" Blood splattered on the grassy mountain terrain as Marcus punched Deanor squarely on the face. The banished king spat some more blood on the ground before getting up and walking closer to Marcus.

"Please…help me. I-I'll do anything. I-I'll ask the sorcerer to lift the spell. I-I'll even kill myself after I've talked to the Midnight Council. Just let me return." Deanor handed a dagger to Marcus. He knew the man might take the chance to kill him right at that very moment, but he would take that risk.

Marcus gritted his teeth again. He hated it. He hated how the man before him seemed to have lost all the ferocity the latter had. He hated how the shuffling of feet behind him meant that some of his followers are now unsure of themselves. While some of the members of The First Exiled are from the house of Flaur, most of them, young ones, now only barely remember the hate that drove them to seek revenge and the hate that caused them to have no place to call home.

The dagger felt light and sturdy on Marcus' hands. It's so easy, so easy to drive the dagger between Deanor ribs, so easy to shout a command for his followers to strike and kill everyone from The Second Exiled. However, before Marcus could even do anything with the weapon, Deanor punched him in the face.

"I'm offering you a chance to return! I'm offering you my life! Yet you still turn me down?! You're useless! You act like you were oppressed but in all these years, you've done nothing for Threanas! My daughter did more for Threanas in two years than your lot can do in your whole lifetime!"

"Do I need to remind you who has the upperhand here?!" Marcus shouted as he grabbed Deanor by the collar, letting the edge of the dagger rest along the latter's neck. Around them, blades were drawn, arrows nocked, and the chanting of spells intensified.

"Go on. Do it. Kill me. Then let my daughter die. Let's see what you will do when the calamity has come down to Threanas. Let's see how your revenge will help you and the people." Deanor spat at the bloodied face of Marcus. Marcus, on the other hand, shoved the banished king away from him.

Kindness comes from everyone, but to receive it kindness must come from yourself first. Marcus' grandmother would always tell his father when the latter was a child. Marcus never met her, but his father would tell a lot of stories about the woman, how she always puts Threanas ahead of herself. He tightened his grip on the dagger. The weapon felt strong, it gave him power. Yet, it also scared him. He's scared of the future. While him and his people had been used to the life of nomads, he always dreamt of a far better future for them. A future where they have a place to call home. A future in Threanas.

"We will help you. But after sorting out your affairs in Threanas you will live with us." Marcus tossed the dagger at Deanor's feet while wiping the spit off his face. Live with them. Marcus laughed at the idea. He wondered if his ancestors too were laughing in their graves at that very moment.

"Very well. What now?" Deanor asked. He can feel a large bruise starting to form on his face while his bleeding lips had begun swelling.

"What now? Here's your answer." Marcus took of his robe and tunic, and raised his arms, revealing the same numerous runes carved into his own body.

"While some of the runes on our bodies are for casting spells and curses, most were engraved to allow us to enter Threanas without being killed by your damn protective spell." Marcus grinned as he saw Deanor's eyes understood what must be done.

"You want to go back? Then join us. Become one of us. Carve on your own bodies these numerous runes you forced us to carve on our own…then we shall return to Threanas as one." Marcus chuckled while Deanor picked up the dagger.

"Then so be it. Let the two Exileds become one." Deanor proclaimed as he ripped open his tunic and instructed his men to do the same. The blood they will shed is little significance compared to the blood that might be shed if they don't return.