III | THE LIGHTNING PRINCE

The cylinder brick walls of the chamber were cracked and crumbling, and the only light came from the dim candles that hung from the shattered silver chandeliers.

“Master, have you seen the new book by the famous bard, Rylar?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic at least.

His master looked at him with a cold smile and said lowly, “The bard is a liar, and his book is a waste of paper. He has no talent, and he has no knowledge. He writes of things he has never seen, and he makes up stories that have no meaning. He is a fool.”

The hooded face sighed and gave up. He always knew that his master had no interest in anything. He wondered if he had ever enjoyed anything in his life or if he had ever felt anything but hate. He looked ahead and spoke in a low whisper, careful not to disturb his master’s silence. “The thirty-seventh champion, Aegis Kuzin, the Lightning Prince,” he said, naming their enemy.

“He wields one of Eldred’s sacred relics… How shall we deal with him?” He waited for a reply, but none came. He continued, “I am prepared to face him, master. The God of Molten Gold has blessed me with its power after many offerings.”

His master said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts. He was aware of the changes in No Man’s Land, the forsaken realm where they were caged. He spoke at last, “The warden of No Man’s Land… the chains are breaking, one by one. We must act quickly; you may take the dagger, but leave the boy alive. He will be written amongst the others. And make sure the Hazel House knows nothing of our scheme.”

His master handed him a scroll, and as he opened it, he saw a map of the lands, marked with symbols and names. His master took out a book, bound in leather and metal, with a silver skull on each corner. He dipped his brush in ink and began to write.

White feathers rained down like a disgruntled dove as black hair was whipping about. Aegis and Snow tore through the sky, a thousand angry sorcerers on griffin-back, hot on their tails. The sorcerers, clad in matching silver-hooded armor and wielding staffs, were more intent on looking menacing than actually aiming their beams. Hitting anything at this speed was about as likely as winning a staring contest with a stone.

They soared above the clouds, and the night sky was a tapestry of stars and twin moonlights. Aegis wore a scowl that could sour milk. He cared not for the fate of the Hazel House. He only cared for himself, his kin, and his own ambitions.

Snow, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the whole chase, snorting and rolling her eyes (well, if pegasus could roll their eyes) at the inept pursuit behind them. “All your fault,” she snorted, her voice a mental whisper in Aegis’s head.

They ripped through the clouds, the world below a blur of mountains and valleys bathed in the soft glow of a thousand frustrated staff beams. Snow dipped low, skimming the treetops of a dense forest, sending startled birds scattering.

“Snow, down!” Aegis was the one occasionally peeking behind, and snow just flew as fast as she could.

“Think they’ll give up?” Aegis asked himself more than Snow. The wind was singing a wild song in their ears. Aegis grinned, a flash of defiance in his pale eyes. “Hey, at least we’re having fun. And besides, who doesn’t love a little chaos?”

They plunged into a valley, the griffins’ angry cries echoing above. Aegis glanced back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. This was insane, ludicrous, and just the kind of mess he seemed to attract. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

And then, just as suddenly, the ground rushed up to meet them. Aegis yelped, Snow let out a surprised whinny, and they plummeted towards a dark, forbidding mountain range.

The valley walls rose like obsidian teeth, their shadows swallowing the griffins’ enraged cries. Aegis, adrenaline a coursing fire in his veins, gripped Snow’s mane, his eyes scanning the sheer rock face for a sliver path of escape. The ground, a brutal maw, gaped closer with each heartbeat.

But then, amidst all, a glint of silver flashed in his mind’s eye, the silver dagger tucked at his belt. Not just any dagger, though. This one is from the Great Priest, Eldred.

The valley walls closed in, a crushing black vise promising oblivion. Aegis’s, usually as sharp as ice, felt like snow melting under a dragon’s breath. But then, in that split second, he saw it—a narrow cleft splitting the rock face, barely wide enough for Snow to squeeze through.

“Hold on, Snow!” he roared, his voice swallowed by the wind. Snow, understanding without words, banked hard, her wings straining against the air as she angled towards the crack. The griffins shrieked above, their angry forms filling the gap like teeth in a monstrous jaw.

With a gasp, Aegis yanked the silver dagger from his sash, its cool metal a grounding touch in the whirlwind.

As they hurtled towards the crevice, Aegis flung the dagger, not at the griffins but at the rock face itself. The blade struck true, embedding itself in a protruding ledge just within reach. With a desperate lunge, Aegis snagged it, his fingers white with strain.

The impact jarred his bones and sent a searing pain ripping through his shoulder. But he held on, teeth gritting against the scream that threatened to break free. It was brutality.

Snow clawed her way through the cleft, her wings scraping the jagged edges. Aegis’s arm screamed, tendons threatening to snap, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t let go. Inch by agonizing inch, they squeezed through. They burst out of the crack, tumbling onto a rocky plateau.

Gasping for breath, they hastily flew away, his injured arm throbbing crazily. His vision blurred, tinged red with pain. But he was alive. They were alive.

Aegis managed a weak grin, blood oozing down his chin. “Close call, haha!”

The griffin roared, its shadow falling over the blood-red sky. Under it, the land was a blur of green and brown, fading in the light of the rising sun. General Zaleka gripped her leather glove, the steel of her sword-staff biting into her flesh.

“Gone,” she hissed, the word laced with both rage and a hint of… something else. A trace of doubt, perhaps? Her faithful sorcerer, cloaked and dark, said naught, biding his time.

“Sigil’s out.” Zaleka’s voice was a lash. “Every hovel. Let the sun show his face; mark him for all to see. Double the hunt,” Zaleka snapped, her tone hardening. “Every town within a day’s ride. He shall not see another moonrise.”

The griffin roared again, Its wings pounding the air like a war drum.

Snow landed with a graceful thwap in a field of wildflowers, far beyond the reach of any angry griffins. Aegis, however, stumbled to the ground like a newborn foal, his injured arm screaming.

“Agh,” he muttered, wincing at the pain.

Snow snorted, a wisp of mist escaping her nostrils. “You… every time we go out, you chase after trouble; this might be the biggest you’ve courted of all time,” she said, her mental voice dry as a desert wind. “At least we’re alive, I guess.”

Aegis looked as if he had fought a wolf and lost, with his scrapes and bruises and the red stain spreading on his chest. He tore the sleeve of his robe, baring a pale arm, and wrapped it in a ragged bandage. Aegis had been hearing Snow's voice in his head and thought It was his bloodline that linked him to nature. The bond, unique to him, did not reach others who lacked the connection. “Right, new plan,” he said, more to himself than to Snow. “We need to hide, blend in. Perhaps find some… honest work.” Snow arched an eyebrow, or so Aegis imagined she did. He puffed up his chest, which sent a fresh jolt of pain through his shoulder. “Hey, I can be responsible! Perhaps I can be a… librarian. Or a baker! Or a… bear tamer!”

And so began Aegis’s attempt at blending in. He ditched his flashy robes for a threadbare tunic and trousers (borrowed from a startled farmer with no apologies) and donned a blindfold (a necessary precaution; possessing a pair of otherworldly eyes can be bad after all).

Northern Realm, The Freezing Lands of Al’dun

The showering of white snow, the mesmerizing white blanket that coats every uncovered surface, is a sight like no other—nothing but eye candy accompanying this horrible weather: bitter cold and inevitable snowfall.

Amidst all that was falling white, there was warmth. He struggled, his boots sinking under every step. Pale ivory skin glows softly beneath dull white, wavy golden blonde hair that falls elegantly around his face, outlining a pair of charming eyes, cold-blooded that gleam like a crystal of sapphires. Though his scarred visage may seem as delicate and handsome as a shattered moonlit rose.

He d’nned a cloak of rich brown fur that cascaded down to his knees, enveloping his figure in warmth.

Tear’s of Skadii, behold of the Elder Epochs, the time that birthed ‘Tears of Skadii’, where the queen once reigned supreme.

Her liquid silver tears, wrought from the shards of her shattered soul, possess a mystical power that mends the deepest wounds of the heart.

Yet to attain this precious gift, one must embark on a perilous quest.

Many days after, northeast of Delago

Snow was hidden and circled overhead, a silent guardian in the morning sky. Below, Aegis squinted through his fashioned blindfold, pretending to apply ointment to a particularly malodorous grizzly named Rasa. In truth, the “ointment” was mud flavored with burnt toast (courtesy of an overly-generous pigeon), and Aegis’s real focus was the stack of freshly made posters plastered around the circus wagon.

His face, thankfully obscured by the blindfold and a strategically placed beard (courtesy of Snow’s tail feathers—never ever underestimate the versatility of pegasus grooming), stared back at the bold writing. “White-eyed youth, lightning-wielder, a threat to peace,” it declared, “WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE.” Dead sounded inconvenient, and alive with millions of angry mortals on your tail sounded downright unpleasant. So, blending in seemed like the wisest, albeit smelliest, option.

Threatening peace? Hazel House! Don’t slander others!

A circus, Aegis discovered, was a melting pot of misfits and eccentrics, perfect camouflage for a fugitive with unusual and ‘highly wanted’ talents.

Huh—an old man stood beside him.

Aegis’s heart hammered against his ribs, a furious drum masked by the creak of the wagon wheels.

Owen Zuran’s face, twisted in a smug smirk, mocked him from the faded ink. It was impossible. The graverobber, Aegis’s nemesis from a past, shouldn’t be here in this sleepy village circus. Yet, there he was, poorly disguised as a weathered tinker, his brown eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.

He forced a smile, and the muscles around his injured shoulder were once again screaming in protest. “A chance! I need to strike him off guard,” he silently muttered, his gaze glued to Zuran.

The memories flooded back: frantic chases through moonlit tombs, desperate fights over plundered artifacts, the glint of stolen fortune reflected in Zuran’s youthful eyes. He’d cornered the graverobber once, but Zuran, full of deceptions, had vanished like smoke, leaving Aegis with a bruised ego and an unquenched thirst for his treasures. He only had four so far: the Spear Acrimosan Sky of Blue, the Bow Sun Gazer, the Silver Dagger of Priest Eldred, and a pearl necklace he had gotten from a sea race. Aside from the weapons forged looking like a menace, mythical ones had their own specialty!

The three weapons were fleeced from his grandfather, which resulted in a beating, though it remained the best decision as the weapons were recorded as top-notch in all of Oracrum.

I promised the old man some wine too.

Snow, sensing his agitation, dipped lower, her feathered shadow falling across Aegis. “Trouble?” she rumbled, her voice a comforting tremor in his mind.

Snow’s voice, calm and clear, cut through the turmoil. “He isn’t worth it, Aegis. Focus on what matters now.”

With a reluctant sigh, Aegis turned away from Zuran, his gaze landing on the dirty children watching him with wide, curious eyes.

Frost kissed Aegis through his pale flesh as he hunkered by the hut doorpost, twin moons of bleeding silver tears and a pearl wrought of mother’s light pouring the world like a cracked skull, leaking moonlight dreamscapes onto the earth below and beyond. Always, the moon had sung to him in songs of the wind couldn’t carry through the human tongue.

He was not born of this world pure human. He knew it with a certainty that defied logic and reason. Offspring of humankind and something else would be a deformity; one would not live for long.

No mortal born could feel the moon like this, its power woven into his very being.

Why was it sealed? And with it, exiling a part of Aegis himself.

Why bar him from his heritage?

Were there others like him—cast out, hunted?

One by one, his mind discarded the unsuitable.

Elves, ethereal and aloof, worshipped the sun, their veins thrumming with its golden fire.

The Fae, creatures of trickery and glamour, their silvered laughter echoing through ancient glades.

He rose and gathered the essence of the moon; his damaged arm, born of near demise, pulsed with renewed life, the moon’s silver stitching the flesh back together. He flexed his fingers, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What healing power.” No scars. No blemishes.

His body was flesh, upon which the moon painted perfection.

His eyes, eerie white and ash, pulsed with a silver fire against the skies. “Aegis Kuzin,” he declared with clenching fists, his voice ringing with newfound power, “heir to the heavens rage, I am the greatest after all!”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Aegis’s eye peeks open, then slams shut like a startled clam. Daylight. That isn’t the problem. It’s the chorus echoing above him, performed by a leaky thatch. He rolls onto his side, listening to the rain pat-patter-pattering its way down his nose.

Aegis squints at the ceiling. Sure enough, right above, a new waterfall cascades down, splashing onto his makeshift pillow—a pile of rags. “I think Nature forgot it’s supposed to rain outside, not in,” he grumbles, pushing off Snow’s muzzle from his chest with a finger.

Aegis groans, the leaky roof reaching a crescendo on his forehead. Rain, like a cheeky imp, sneaks between the gaps in the thatch. He swats at the light, then at the source, a plump pigeon perched on his nose, cooing serenades for an imaginary worm breakfast.

“Outta here, you feathered thing!” Aegis swats again, sending the pigeon into a comical tailspin. It lands with a disgruntled ruffle on Snow’s back, the pegasus snorting a laugh with a puff of white mist.

“Ahhh, another glorious day, hehe,” he mumbles, sitting up. His patchwork tunic, stitched together with pegasus mane (courtesy of a grateful groom’s “accidental” scissor slip), barely contains the yawn stretching his jaw wide enough to swallow a small melon.

His makeshift "ointment" from yesterday clings to his arm like a stubborn barnacle, the burnt toast aroma rivaling the stench of Rasa the grizzly. A shudder wracks his frame from the mere thought.

The rain passes, and the ringmaster’s booming voice shatters the afternoon calm. “All performers now to the big top! Time in ten!” Aegis jumps, nearly braining the pigeon again.

He stumbles out of the hut, tripping over a discarded juggling pin (an excellent makeshift walking stick, as he discovered last time after a particularly nasty encounter with a crazy fat youth). Snow snorts again, her wings rustling like wind through autumn leaves.

With a flourish, Aegis adjusts his blindfold and beard (still strategically adorned with Snow’s feathers) and swaggers towards the big top.

Aegis pauses, a cocky grin curving his lips as he glances at the wet posters plastered around the circus wagon. His white eyes, usually blazing with an unsettling intensity, twinkle with amusement as he admires his own depiction. “I look handsome, eh?” he murmurs, stroking his chin beneath the fake beard.

But, of course, they can never capture the true essence of my magnificence.

Suddenly, the wind whips around them, a chilling gust carrying the stench of leather and ozone. Snow lets out a sharp whinny, her wings bristling as five dark shapes soar into view against the bruised sky. Griffins, sleek and deadly, mounted by figures clad in gleaming silver armor, were hooded warrior-sorcerers.

The circus goes silent. Laughter dies in throats, replaced by gasps and whispers. Aegis feels a flicker of his defiance rise within him, but Snow presses a mental image against his mind: vivid and urgent, danger, escape, and hiding.

His grin vanishes, replaced by a steely mask. He grabs a stray juggling pin, the wood warming beneath his touch as he channels lightning into it. In an instant, it transforms into a gleaming spear, its tip humming with bolt energy.

“Hazel House,” Aegis spits, his voice echoing through the stunned crowd.

The lead griffin rider, a woman with eyes as cold as winter ice, sneers. “So, the lightning wielder graces us with his presence. Surrender, and your death will be swift.”

Aegis laughs—a sharp, youthful demeanor. “Fools.”

The crowd panicked.

Faster than an eye blink, the spear sings through the air, a bolt of purple lightning cleaving through the sky. It strikes the lead griffin, its wings ablaze and petrified, sending it crashing to the ground in a shower of feathers and smoke. The remaining riders, their faces contorted with rage, unleashed a volley of spells, fire raining down on the circus grounds.

Chaos erupts. The non-sorcerer mortals, their faces etched with terror, scramble for cover, diving beneath stalls, behind wagons, anywhere they can find.

Aegis sees his chance.

Aegis sprints towards the towering oak, where Snow huddles. With a leap that defies gravity, he clambers onto the lowest branch, then scrambles higher. Snow’s white form was a beacon against the darkening sky.

But the pursuers won’t be so easily dissuaded. They wheel through the air, their silver armor glinting and spells crackling at their staffs. Aegis knows going airborne would paint a giant target on their backs. They need to vanish and blend into the chaos below.

Just as a bolt of razing water cuts past his ear, Aegis makes his decision. He swings on a low branch, propelling himself onto a passing carriage laden with brightly colored silks. The man yelps in surprise, the bison mount rearing and snorting, but Aegis holds on, his grip like iron.

Below, the streets teem with life—merchants hawking their wares, pedestrians bustling about their errands and carriages, and mounted beasts of all shapes and sizes weaving through the road. It was a perfect chaos to swallow them whole, a human shield against the might of the pursuers.

With a silent nod to Snow, he leaps from the carriage, rolling into a tight ball as he hits the gravel. The world spins for a dizzying moment, then he scrambles to his feet, blending into the panicked crowd. The air crackles with stray spells, merchants abandon their stalls, and horses whinny in fear, but Aegis keeps running, his eyes scanning for an escape route.

He ducks down an alleyway, the stench of stale food and damp earth stinging his nostrils. The twisting lanes, cluttered with overflowing bins and wooden structures, offer a maze of shadows to cloak his movements. He swings through ropes, traverses across rooftops, and slides down drainpipes skillfully.

They pursue relentlessly, their shouts echoing through the narrow alleyways. They launch bursts of spells, shimmering orbs of energy that shatter windows and send bricks and wood flying, but Aegis stays out of their reach.

He knows, however, that this can’t last forever. Eventually, they will corner him and trap him at a dead end with nowhere to run. His breaths come, his muscles warming up.

A flash of white soars overhead. Snow, a magnificent blur of feathers and power, swoops down from the sky, her hooves slamming into the back of a pursuing griffin. The beast shrieks, losing its balance.

Hehe, attempting to catch this master? Dream on.

He rides Snow swiftly, leaving the town and gaining momentum. He heads towards the deeper parts, away from human settlements.