PROLOGUE

The specter of war had eternally cast a grim shadow over Marion, a haunting echo resonating through the winds that swept across its blood-stained battlefields. This land bore the scars of conflict, its fertile soil steeped in the memories of spilled blood. Such turbulent histories form the roots of our story.

In the year 795 RE, a relentless force awoke in the distant western realms. This formidable empire, known as Azure, hungered for dominion, its ambitions as boundless as the sea. It set its sights on Golgotha, the verdant sanctuary in the northeastern arms of Marion. Thus, a new era of strife and turmoil was inscribed in the annals of history.

For forty-five harrowing years, the ground trembled under the ceaseless clash of these titans. Time itself seemed ensnared in the cacophony of battle – the metallic ring of sword against shield, the thunderous charge of cavalry, and the haunting cries of the fallen. In the end, Azure emerged victorious, its iron fist closing around Golgotha’s throat.

The cessation of war brought whispers of hope to Marion’s people, a fragile promise of peace shimmering on the horizon. Yet, as the reverberations of war faded, a more insidious threat began to weave its way through their lives. This silent, shadowy poison, elusive yet pervasive, had already begun to taint the fabric of their hard-won peace. History would soon reveal the devastating swiftness with which such venom could unravel the threads of a society, proving elusive and deadly once it had infiltrated the heart of a nation.

~ A Rider At Sunset ~

~ 845 RE ~ Golgotha’s Capitol: Elitus, at Dusk ~

Dust clouds billowed along the old country road as thunderous hooves tore through the bittersweet pastures. At the forefront rode a figure emblematic of valor, clad in gleaming armor. He was Guildred, a Lord Knight of the Azure Empire and the esteemed leader of the griffon knights. On the battlefield, his presence was akin to a tempest, renowned for his ferocity and unwavering courage.

He led a formidable cavalry, each rider armed with rifles and spears, a relentless wave of might and metal. As they galloped past the ‘heart of death,’ a field strewn with rusted weapons marking the graves of fallen warriors, the visage of battle haunted Guildred. His mind conjured images of bodies piled high, their stench mingling with memories of bloodshed and chaos. The clashing of iron and the screams of the dying pierced his heart, yet Guildred rode on, embodying the very essence of resilience. His white cape, a symbol of his rank, caught the dying rays of the red sun, creating a stark contrast against the backdrop of devastation.

Approaching a castle shrouded in a rusty haze, a sense of urgency surged within him. The rhythmic pounding in his veins mirrored the beat of a war drum. The creaking of his horse’s reins resonated as he tightened his grip, preparing for what lay ahead. Raising his saber, he pointed towards the battered city gates of Elitus, his resolve as sharp as the blade he wielded.

Several guards, clad in blue uniforms, were already stationed at the gates. As Guildred raised his hand, signaling a halt, the soldiers swiftly positioned their spears in readiness. The Lord Knight’s heart raced, the tension palpable as his steed came to a standstill. Within moments, two guards aimed their polearms at Guildred’s exposed neck. The elder guard’s face was a tapestry of snowy whiskers and deep, chasmic wrinkles, while his younger counterpart, despite an air of youthful invincibility, betrayed nervousness with a slight tightening of his stance.

An unsettling silence enveloped them. Guildred knew the outcome was inevitable; the only question was whether it would require him to unsheathe his blade. Recognition flickered in the old guard’s wide eyes, providing Guildred a moment of relief, though he could not discern if it was born of fear or respect. “Lord Knight Guildred, what brings you here?” inquired the elder guard.

“I am here under the orders of High King Grandor, to protect the prince! Time is of the essence,” Guildred replied with authoritative firmness, deftly brushing aside the spear with his sword. “Stand aside.” His command was met with a nod from the guards, who parted to allow the cavalry passage. With a sense of urgency, Guildred led his troops across the threshold, their hooves thundering like a relentless river.

Guildred couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast of Elitus, once a city fortified with metal and wood during the war, now eerily quiet and seemingly peaceful. Yet, this tranquility was quickly overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, as prayers replaced the hallowed silence. His armor-clad warriors thundered through the streets, their presence shaking the very earth.

A wide-eyed man in a well-worn cloak caught Guildred’s attention. Towering over him, Guildred pointed forward, directing the cavalry to fan out into their assigned positions. They moved as a cohesive unit, their training evident in their swift and precise actions. Two soldiers took up positions at each junction, clearing the path amidst growing panic. Guildred remained stoic, even as townspeople hurriedly locked their shops and fled from the knights.

Grumbling to a young soldier beside him, Guildred remarked, “Traveling in a group will slow us in this chaos.” He observed the escalating hysteria, feeling a sharp sense of urgency. “Time is running out,” he muttered to himself.

Seizing the reins, Guildred spurred his horse into the crowd. “My Lord, wait!” the young soldier called out in vain.

Guildred navigated his steed through the crowded streets, relying on pure instinct. In battle, commanding a horse was second nature to him, but this was a different challenge – a game of avoidance amidst a sea of people. The imminent threat of collision sent adrenaline coursing through him. Yet, his horse adeptly weaved through the masses, a testament to their shared resilience under pressure.

~ A Legacy Remains ~

Children’s giggles echoed through the cool, marble chapel. Sprawled on a red blanket on the floor, an infant girl and boy played. Around them stood a group of men, clad in expensive attire, their faces hidden behind intricately carved wooden masks depicting animals: a bear, a boar, a bird, a deer, a fish, a fox, and a wolf. The man in the bird mask adjusted his cufflinks with a noticeable restlessness. Their swords lay across their laps, glinting in the candlelight. The candles flickered, casting hungry shadows, as if awaiting a sacrifice, while phantom winds stirred the room. The men’s whispers, barely audible, seemed to drag through the silence.

Suddenly, a loud “Wham!” resounded down the hall. The sound of approaching hooves followed, prompting the masked men to leap from their seats. Forming a protective circle around the children, they grasped their swords. The fox-masked man pointed towards the door. The bear and the boar, the most robust among them, charged out of the sanctuary into the hall, sabers at the ready.

Guildred rode down the marble halls, approaching the enigmatic masked men. The bear and boar figures assumed combative stances, swords poised for battle. “Royals,” Guildred muttered under his breath. His disdain for the lesser houses, often deemed idle and cowardly, was palpable. “This duo seeks power through their perceived authority,” he thought, his warrior’s mind analyzing their stance. Their posture and garb betrayed their true nature – not just countrymen, but traitors.

Guildred’s suspicions of Grandor’s fears about usurpers were confirmed. Gripping the spear’s shaft tightly, he prepared for confrontation. As the boar charged, Guildred commanded with an authoritative bellow, “Halt.” Under different circumstances, this might have drawn a laugh from him; now, it only fueled his rage. With a focused and unrelenting charge, his eyes narrowed into slits. A violent burst of blood erupted as his spear pierced the man’s chest. The forceful thrust dislodged the wooden boar mask, revealing a face contorted in a toothy, agonized scream.

In the aftermath, Guildred’s gaze locked onto the man’s tear-filled blue eyes. The once-proud nobleman gasped for air, a strand of saliva trailing from his mouth. Desperately grasping at the spear’s tip, the nobleman writhed as Guildred hoisted him. Paralyzed with horror, the second man, adorned with a bear mask, stood frozen, his body quivering.

The Lord Knight emitted a low growl, riding several feet with the impaled man who roared in pain. A forceful thrust sent the boar’s body hurtling from the spear. As he flew through the air, he collided with a wall, causing a tapestry to collapse in his wake.

As the bear-like man jerked at his knees and turned tail, he fled from Guildred. Towering in his silver armor, Guildred appeared as a colossal brute. For a moment, a primal thrill for the chase surged within him, but wisdom prevailed. He chose instead to stride towards the open chapel doors from where the men had emerged. Inspecting the bloody spear, once buried in a fleeing man and now adorned with “royal” meat hanging uselessly from its bent end, Guildred tossed it aside. The spear rolled away, leaving a crimson trail.

Entering the sanctuary, Guildred’s presence caused the remaining men to cower in fear. With a swift dismount, he drew his saber, rising in one fluid motion. The men, in a half-hearted defense, pointed their ceremonial blades towards him.

His blade shimmering, Guildred commanded, “Drop your swords in the name of Lord King Grandor!” His voice boomed as he angled his body, his gaze piercing through the frightened children.

Suddenly, a bird-like man yelped, raising his hands. “Sir Guildred, you must understand—”

Guildred scoffed, thinking, Already pleading their cases? His attention snapped to a wolf-like figure charging forward, bellowing, “Quick, kill the child!”

As Guildred spotted the fox-like man hovering over a young boy, he swiftly grabbed his throwing dagger. As the fox raised his sword, Guildred’s dagger flew across the room, striking the fox’s throat. Collapsing, the man clutched his neck, blood gushing, before falling and tugging at a co-conspirator’s cloak, letting out a final, pathetic squeak.

Guildred’s reflexes kicked in as he narrowly blocked a vicious swing aimed at his head. “Clang!” Metal clashed, their blades slipping and sliding in a deadly dance, ending with Guildred’s saber piercing the wolf’s ribs. As the man gasped, grasping the blade lodged in his lung, blood painted his shirt in broad, wet strokes. With a swift pull, Guildred freed his weapon, its crimson hue dripping onto the floor. The wolf’s eyes betrayed his faltering heartbeat.

Around Guildred, the chapel echoed with children’s shrieks and the wails of the remaining masked men, a cacophony of fear and despair.

When the deer and fish sculptures jittered, they dropped their brands. The bird, too startled to do much, remained perched. Behind Guildred, a procession of soldiers swarmed into the room, pointing their spears. Suddenly, the bird cried out, “Mercy!” Guildred turned his sapphire gaze upon him, discerning from his voice that he was a relatively young man. The bird’s hands shot into the air as the sword rolled out of his grasp. The blade landed on the floor with a clunk, revealing a face flushed with a shade of pink Guildred had never seen before. His eyes, puffy and sullen, filled with streaming tears, he exclaimed, “I had nothing to do with this.”

Except for the crying children, the only sound was Guildred’s first step, echoing with an audible metallic clank. With the chapel bells ringing, its weightiness became clearer. Slowly and deliberately, Guildred marched toward the men, who cowered at his approach. Guildred stood over them, loosening the leather straps on his right hand and drawing a quiver from the men. A similar reaction followed when he did the same with his left. With a bang, the gauntlets fell to the ground, fingers spreading, palms open.

Guildred squatted down and lifted the children off the ground. “How do I stop their cries?” He wondered to himself. He then recalled what his nursemaid mother would do with his siblings. Humming a song he knew from the bards, the noble warrior gently bounced, cradling the pair. Russet infantile hands gripped his silver breastplate firmly. It wasn’t long before they stopped crying. Guildred didn’t even bother to glance at the others as he rose to his feet. His soldiers parted as he walked across the sanctuary’s purple carpet. He paused his humming to command, “Arrest them,” before resuming his croon and continuing out of the room.

“Please! Mercy!” a shout echoed. Mercy is the last thing he deserved, Guildred judged.

Following Guildred, six soldiers march in solemn formation. In his arm, a young boy—barely more than a baby—struggles fiercely, his tiny limbs flailing against the knight’s metallic armor. “Papa!” he cries out, his voice piercing the silence and rousing Talumn from her sleep.

A lump forms in Guildred’s throat as he whispers, “Silly kid.” Struggling to hold back his tears, he reassures the boy, “Don’t worry, your father is on his way.” The bitter truth lingers unsaid: the boy’s father had been poisoned at a dinner just hours earlier. Approaching a large silver door, adorned with the relief of a winged man reaching for the clouds, Guildred pauses momentarily. The doors part to reveal a circular room, its transparent walls offering a panoramic view of the village below.

The boy, still squirming, tugs at Guildred’s white cloak, his small fingers grasping for freedom. Inside the room, four more soldiers stand at attention. As the silver doors shut, the room begins to ascend, the cityscape expanding beneath them. Guildred gently points to the window. “Look, Illian.” The boy’s eyes, a deep shade of blue, light up with wonder. Slowly turning his head, he offers Guildred a tentative smile. “I thought that might make you smile,” Guildred remarks softly. “Remember, this is your kingdom. You’ll escape this madness tonight.”

The ascent lasts less than a minute, but to Guildred, it stretches on like hours. When the doors finally open, they are greeted by a night sky, the red moon looming ominously in the distance. The soldiers dash across the castle’s expanse, driven by urgency. A warm summer breeze carries the promise of freedom to Guildred. “All clear,” one soldier announces.

In the distance, Guildred spots a massive airship approaching. “We will get you out of here,” he assures the boy. To Guildred, the airship resembles a flying fortress, albeit smaller in size. Yet, anything of its magnitude that can soar through the skies commands respect. As it nears, its blue-white landing lights momentarily blind them. Anchoring itself to the castle wall, the airship’s presence is announced by the loud clang of a metal board dropping from its deck, echoing in the night.

Guildred squinted, turning slightly and shielding the children from the blinding spotlight. Two gigantic guards, draped in cloaks of deep blue, cast ominous shadows. Their helmets, reminiscent of pointed metal hoods similar to bishop’s caps, obscured their faces entirely. Brandishing large lances akin to cannons, these towering soldiers, standing at least nine feet tall, crossed the metal bridge. Their mere presence exuded an unintentional menace.

As another figure approached, the light briefly dimmed. This man, adorned in royal robes, was notably shorter and unarmored. A hearty greeting echoed from a fresh-faced man, “Lord Ashnod, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Recognition sparked delight in Guildred’s eyes. “It is an honor, Lord Gallion Gravios.” Guildred had once trusted him, as a child would. “Alas, the circumstances are far too grim for pleasantries,” Guildred remarked, while Illian wept loudly.

Gallion extended his arms, taking the children. “They will have a life beyond their wildest dreams,” he assured, his eyes narrowing in a manner that unsettled Guildred. “Were the nobles really plotting against the royal family? Is it true?”

Guildred responded, “It appears so.”

Gallion glanced toward the ship, then turned away from Guildred, his expression darkening. “In that case,” he muttered with a grimace, “Kill them all.”

General Gallion paused when Guildred said, “I have three of them captured; should we not at least question them? So we can understand the situation better.” Gallion stood motionless. Guildred swallowed uncomfortably, wary of undermining the nobleman’s authority.

“Kill every one of them. If it weren’t for King Bridehan, we could have had lasting peace between our kingdoms. Now, the balance rests in the hands of a weeping child. Leave Bridehan alive, though… we will deal with him later,” Gallion commanded coldly. Guildred bit the inside of his cheek, a sense of unease growing within him. Something more seemed to be happening beneath the surface. Watching Talumn sleep in Gallion’s arms, doubt crept into his thoughts. ‘Hopefully, Grandor will provide them shelter, and they will prove me wrong,’ he mused.

Gallion, turning back to Guildred while standing on the bridge, said, “I trust you will handle this. Come morning, we may need new nobles. Secure Elitus and move north. The fools in Tidus must witness the true cost of their actions. Spare the public from these affairs; they need not be burdened with such matters.”

As Gallion boarded the airship, Guildred responded, “Yes, sir.” His guards retracted the bridge, securing it onto the ship. As the vessel ascended into the sky, Guildred, his eyes wide with resolve, gripped his saber. Turning to the guard beside him, he ordered, “You heard him. We have work to do.”

23 Years Later

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