CHAPTER ONE

A Desperate Struggle

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“It’s no use glaring at me, o’ Herald of Bloody Murders,” whispered the weary traveler who gazed up at a sky bathed in harsh scarlet hues. “If I am to die tonight, I will do so knowing I did all I could…to change my fate.”

Of the twin moons that usually lit up the night, only the red moon was visible. It was full and fiercely glowing like a great crimson eye glaring down at the ground with a gaze full of judgment and promise…blood would be spilled tonight.

Others who saw this portent of misfortune wouldn’t dare to leave their homes. Whether commoner or noble, they would lock their doors and hide behind the safety of their walls for fear that death would come calling for them—but not him. Not for this young man who dared to scale the jagged mountain without sorcery to aid his climb. For him, the ‘Bloody Moon’ was a welcome boon whose gaze lit the path up the mountainside, its crimson light showing every outcropping of rock to cling to so he might stave off death a while longer.

“I cannot surrender…” Sweat dripped down his brow while his arm stretched out toward the next handhold. “I must prove my worth… I must—”

An arrow pierced into his left shoulder. It must have been enchanted for its tip was like a hot poker that scorched his flesh while digging into the meat underneath. Searing pain lanced up his back, nearly forcing him to let go of the outcropping of rock he clung to.

“Fuck!” This word felt peculiar on his tongue as if it didn’t belong somehow. At least not to any language known to the Imperium. Still, it was strangely comforting for him to bellow this alien curse aloud for it reminded the young man of wild possibilities. The kind only a cursed being like himself might achieve. “Fuck~~k!”

Despite the arrow digging deeper into his shoulder, a stubborn desire to live instilled in him the will to pull himself up to the top of the cliff that he’d scaled with a body stretched to its limits. This was a great feat of strength that was also the reason he’d been mocked his entire life. Because in a land where sorcery was the dominant power, what use was a strong man with no talent for even the most basic spells that would have made his climb much easier?

The young man heaved himself over the edge and then crawled onto the safety of the ledge. Only then did he pull the arrow out of his shoulder. He didn’t cry out this time. He simply gritted his teeth and allowed the pain to wash over him. His breathing was ragged, and his back was coated in blood and sweat, but he was alive…for now.

“I…” The young man rolled over so he could gaze up at the sky. “I’ve finally arrived.”

Besides the red moon, the night sky was also painted with a sea of glittering stars, each one twinkling too brightly as if to suggest that all the gods of Aarde were watching this tragedy play out.

“I must succeed…”

Pain wracked his body, but he ignored it. His breath remained ragged, but he ignored this too. Urgency drove him to rise from the rocky ground. Knowing his pursuers were coming, he turned away from the ledge and began limping toward the cave he’d climbed a mountain to reach.

“All of Lotharin is counting on me…”

It was barely ten yards away, a black hole whose edges revealed the tell-tale signs of an entryway hewn from rock corroded by time. Yet the warning carved over its entrance remained readable to those who dared look upon it.

ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE

“If it’s a choice between embracing the darkness or dying a mongrel’s death…then I shall willingly sell my soul for this opportunity.”

The young man was so close to the entrance that he could almost taste salvation on the tip of his tongue. Hope fluttered inside his chest…only to be crushed by the billowing wind that pressed against his back.

“Damn…”

He couldn’t help looking over his shoulder and seeing the four hooded figures who’d just landed on the ledge behind him as if they’d floated down from the sky. They’ve been chasing him since he left the safety of his bastion’s walls a day and a half ago, their intents made clear by the aura of hostility they showed off. Their hoods were wide and deep to keep their faces veiled, but the pristine white armor they wore was unmistakable. These were knights of the White Rose, an order of assassins who faithfully served the imperial family. His family.

That’s when realization dawned on him.

One of the other royals wanted him dead, although he had far too many siblings for him to determine which of them sanctioned his murder. Only, if the White Rose had been sent to take him off the board, then the imperium’s game of succession was finally beginning in earnest.

“I applaud your tenacity, Prince Bram,” said the lead knight whose voice was coarse and rough. “You’ve made us chase you for two days without rest.”

“Surely, this is a worthy accomplishment for our ill-fated prince,” agreed the knight standing behind the lead. Hers was a feminine voice. One filled with spite for Bram.

The ‘Ill-Fated Prince’…this was the title his older siblings bestowed on Bram after it became clear that he was a child whom the gods had cursed with a body that couldn’t become a vessel for the magical energies permeating the western continent of Gaullia.

“Your monstrous stamina’s the only good thing about you,” scoffed the burly warrior standing to the left of the lead knight, a hint of jealousy in his tone.

“Not so.” Disagreed the smallest knight who sounded much younger than the others. “Even without sorcery, he had wits enough to evade our pursuit for so long… What a waste of a good mind.”

“If you’re that curious, then perhaps you could examine his brain once the ill-fated prince is dead. Discover what makes him so…peculiar,” the female knight suggested.

The small knight glanced at their leader. “Can I?”

“You cannot defile the corpse of a royal,” The lead knight growled. “He may be an ill-fated prince, but he’s still the Sovereign’s son…”

“Ugh,” the small knight sighed. ‘What a waste…”

Bram listened to their blatant disrespect with a furrowed brow.

Their contempt was nothing new for him. He’d lived with it for as long as he could remember, and Bram remembered much. Even the first time he’d opened his eyes on the day his mother had given birth to him. The seventh prince of the Atlan Imperium was special. Though not in the way those around him had hoped for. Over time, their hopes dwindled, twisting into scorn, resulting in this very moment where Bram’s life hung by a thread.

“I did everything they wanted…” Anger rose from Bram’s chest as he confronted his pursuers. “I sullied myself in worldly pleasures and stayed away from the court…”

It was true that the talentless boy who was humiliated repeatedly by all the Sovereign’s retainers grew up a recluse who hid from his mother’s court, ensuring he would have no friends or allies to call upon now when he needed them most.

“I didn’t ask for the responsibility the Sovereign placed on my shoulders…” Fury was beginning to show on Bram’s face. “I didn’t ask to be made Governor of Lotharin!”

“Unfortunately, the choice was not yours to make,” the lead knight spoke up in his irreverent tone.

“When they come of age, each child of the Sovereign must lead one of the twelve kingdoms that make up our mighty imperium to see which of you is worthy to become the heir,” the female knight chimed in. “Sadly, for the Forest Kingdom of Lotharin, they drew you, Ill-Fated Prince.”

He couldn’t see her face from behind her deep hood, but Bram was certain that she gazed at him with equal venom as the poison that spilled from her spiteful tongue.

“Killing an incompetent governor like you would be a blessing for Lotharin,” she shamelessly continued, “and remove the stain that has plagued the royal family for seventeen long years…”

“You’re right, I am incompetent,” Bram sighed heavily. “And I pose no threat to my siblings for I’ve made it clear time and time again that I wish not to participate in their game…”

This was an obvious lie, at least to Bram. He wouldn’t have risked climbing the jagged mountain if he had already given up. Though it wasn’t ambition that goaded him onward. Bram didn’t wish for Atlan’s throne. His only desire was to prove his worth. It was a desire now stained in anger and resentment, and soon enough, they burst out of him like the roar of a wounded beast that had been backed into a corner.

“So, why…” Bram’s right hand moved to the sword hilt strapped to his waist. “…Why have I been marked for death?!”

As his rage rolled over them, the knights flinched involuntarily. Their reactions were understandable though. Bram may lack the talent for sorcery, but a griffin’s cub was still a griffin.

At seventeen, Bram was a tall muscular youth with wavy pale blonde hair and irises the color of molten gold—the physical traits that proved his bloodline. His sun-kissed face was oval, almost delicate, with long lashes complimenting almond-shaped eyes, a long pointy nose, and full lips the color of fresh blood.

More than any other royal, Bram was the perfect likeness to his mother. This was the reason for the knights’ hesitation. For they saw the Sovereign’s face and her fury in his expression. This illusion lasted only a moment, however, and as Bram drew his sword, so too did the four knights draw their weapons against him.

The lead knight let out a heavy sigh. “If only there was even the slightest bit of magic flowing in your veins…then you might have become a worthy candidate for the Burnt Throne and not the embarrassment you’ve become.”

“Is that all?!” A furious Bram pointed his sword at the lead knight, its blade quivering as he held it aloft. “Is lacking talent enough to deserve death?!”

In response to Bram’s protest, the lead knight gave a nod to his smallest companion, signaling the beginning of the battle.

The small knight yelled in glee just as the telltale golden sparks of sorcery spread out of the soles of his boots. A gust of wind exploded underneath him, propelling him forward at great speed, bringing him close enough to brandish his sword against Bram, who, to everyone’s surprise, managed to parry the enemy’s attack with a steady sword.

“Wh-what!?” the small knight cried in protest.

Again, his shock was understandable. He didn’t know the secret that only one of Bram’s retainers was aware of. In his years’ long seclusion, the seventh prince hadn’t been idle. A lack of magic had made Bram consider other options. It’s why he trained his body in all manner of martial studies and honed his muscles to such extremes as to bring forth a strength that would be his tool against sorcery.

Bram’s sword pushed against his enemy’s blade, leading it downward to open the way for a riposte aimed at the small knight’s throat.

‘Tang!’

Sparks flew as the sword clashed against the glowing aura that grew over the small knight’s white armor. The sight of it caused Bram to grimace for he remembered now that this shimmering veil spreading across the armor’s white surface was a ‘Barrier’ enchantment that would be hard to penetrate with a blade that wasn’t empowered with sorcery.

‘Crack!’

Though the barrier cracked from the force of Bram’s blade impacting against it, its magic repelled the seventh prince’s attack and forced his sword from his grasp.

“Did you think you could win?”

The small knight let out a laugh while his hand stretched forward to tighten its fingers around the seventh prince’s neck.

“See, I do not need muscles like yours.” As the telltale sparks of sorcery escaped his fingers, the small knight lifted the seventh prince off his feet with a strength that couldn’t have belonged to such a slight form. “I can simply cast a spell to overwhelm your ogrish strength with even greater power.”

Bram’s feet kicked in the air while his enemy tightened his fingers around the seventh prince’s neck and began choking the life out of him.

“This is how you die. Unable to do a single thing while I deprive you of breath,” the small knight taunted.

“You”—Unwilling to surrender, Bram’s hand moved to his back, his fingers grasping at something he kept hidden there—“should…have…”

“Still struggling?” the small knight frowned. “It’s quite unseemly, Ill-Fated—”

“Watch out, Sir Jasper!” the lead knight roared, but his warning came too late.

‘Crack!’

It took only a moment for their fates to be reversed. For while the small knight arrogantly assumed Bram could do nothing more, the prince surprised him by plunging the enchanted arrow that had hurt his shoulder during the climb into his enemy’s throat.

“Ack…” The small knight’s eyes widened in surprise. “H-how…?”

Bram fell to his knees thankful that he’d had the foresight to keep that arrow for a crucial moment because the sorcery that had made its charred tip searing hot proved effective against his enemy’s weakened barrier. In the same breath, the small knight staggered back, his fingers grasping at the shaft stuck to his neck.

“You shouldn’t have come…so close to me… bastard,” Bram managed a taunt between breaths.

He heard the small knight croak a garbled response before the fool fell dead on the ground.

‘I…killed him.’ In his mind, Bram realized what he had done—the taking of a life—and it was all he could do not to throw up. However, the seventh prince had no time to let guilt overwhelm him, for something otherworldly had arrived to remind him of his all-important task.

“Murderer!” the burly warrior roared.

Bram wasn’t paying him any attention though. He was too distracted by the otherworldly messages that appeared floating in the space between him and the now-charging knight.

 

 

 

 

 

Bram sighed inwardly. ‘Once again you taunt me with promises of power but show me no path forward in seizing it…’

He had seen these otherworldly messages pop up every time he achieved something of note, although they were constantly negative and always denied him the boons he rightly deserved. To Bram, this strange power that was his alone only served as a reminder of his ill-fated moniker. Tonight, however, it would prove useful for the very first time. These ghostly blue windows would serve as an excellent distraction to aid his escape.

“Share notifications!” Bram roared.

As he uttered the magic words—the only one he could cast and recently learned too—these same ghostly blue windows became visible to the burly warrior’s eyes, causing him to mistake them for a surprise attack conjured by the seventh prince.

“Warbringer’s balls!” the burly warrior cursed. “You do know sorcery?!”

Thanks to his confusion, the burly warrior’s swing went wild. He missed Bram completely while his sword sliced through the floating blue windows which didn’t disappear from his attack.

“You fool!” the lead knight yelled. “How could you miss him?!”

N-no!” Embarrassedly, the burly warrior protested, “Prince Bram has summoned some sort of devilish specters against me that cannot be hurt by simple steel!”

“What are you on about, oaf?” the female knight complained. “There’s not — he’s getting away!”

With his enemies sufficiently distracted, Bram threw himself over the threshold of the cave.

“Stop him!” the lead knight commanded.

Once again, his warning came too late. For Bram had already plunged into the darkness of the cursed cave he knew even the most unrivaled champions of the imperium feared to tread. He could only hope its legend of containing great evil would keep the White Rose away long enough for Bram to change his fate.

 

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