Prologue - Father

The sky bore a deep shade of red, indicating the setting of its sun which roamed in orbit. Clouds fluttered past the vast expanse, ceaselessly chasing one another in an attempt to reach the horizon before its neighbors. Along this stretch of sky, rolling hills painted the landscape in a healthy green, indicating the prosperity of the earth in this region.

Despite the changing magnitude of the brilliant star that harbored in the space above this land, a city of extravagant architecture still retained its bright scenery. The light never departed from this metropolis, on the contrary to the denizens and wanderers alike that created a constant flow between the city and the wilderness beyond. On the streets, stores bid farewell to their customers and the dregs of society inhabited the deep alleyways. This equilibrium retained the business of the city, as the transactions in the shadows were hardly out-performed by those in the brightest of the day.

Those of decent living would, at last, be freed from the shackles of their jobs. Some would walk the brightly lit streets of cracked stone back to their dwellings where their family would await them to enjoy the rest of their evening. Others would find enjoyment elsewhere, the most common places of merriment being bars or brothels. Spending the night drinking after a day of adventure was the easiest way to relieve the stressors of the possibility of death, but in turn, was the fastest way to empty the poor adventure’s pockets. Yet adventures hardly had one profession. The scavengers, wanderers, mercenaries, bards, or others of their ilk gathered here or there to revel under the stars. Yet the most beautiful of stars were obscured by the light of the city.

Not every individual had the pleasure of participating in the parties of the city. Obligations of the job led others to work during the night as that was the time when a certain sort of business was most prominent. The underground was just as unkind to its members as it was to outsiders. Unsuspecting citizens or criminals who had perhaps rustled a nest may they should have avoided would be found during the night. Their possible fates lay in the thousands, but most will never be found walking again.

Populations of the city were separated, of course. The dignified and noble could not be found mingling and trading words with the rats. Such an act would be unbecoming and would no doubt stain their reputation among their peers, something which their circles would no doubt hear of. Even among the aristocracy there lay circles. In a city such as this one, that stood on the edge of a lower world, only the ruler of the town held the title of a Lord, outranking all other residents. This land, bestowed upon him by his Baron, fell under his complete control. Lord Broche was not a kind man, but a businessman. Everywhere below his rule, dealings both in the day and the night were silently allowed, leading to the current situation of the town of Rendhall. Just by turning a blind eye to the politics of these mercantile groups and gangs, the money would almost magically appear in his coffers either way.

One such result of his reign currently played out in an indiscreet manor that lay on the border of the aristocratic and commoner districts.

Despite the unfavorable location of the manor, it still held its charm of nobility. Shaped shrubs lined the enclosed yard. A large metal gate that could fit two horse-drawn carriages beside one another connected the poorly paved road to a beautifully designed stretch that led up to the magnificent building. Statues decorated the area between the tall, metal enclosure. Some of the art depicting a warrior in his prime, gun on his waist with a broadsword in his hand, while others tastefully displayed various women exposing themselves to the world. Marbled in the middle of the yard lay a fountain which depicted a dragon, neck craned to the sky in a bellow, as its centerpiece. Water sprayed forth from its maw with abandon. The end of the spout received no contest, leaving the water to simply fall back into the pond to continue the endless cycle. Alongside, the beautiful yet simple flowers that lay in patches around the courtyard, anyone would feel the extravagance once this sight laid upon their eyes.

The interior of the manor also did not fall short compared to the yard. Although the halls were not aligned with gold, aged furniture designed by a specialist decorated the rooms and every white marbled floor presented itself with a carpet of upper-class design. Of the many rooms in the house, few could not contend with the nobility of a Lord.

In front of the building, a green and black carriage lay idle while a servant stood nearby, attending to the horses. Despite the day having been long over, the animal’s equestrian physique remained robust and strong, ready to take off at a moment's notice. Another carriage of red and gold was left in the shadow of the building, near a stable like structure, no horses to be found. Inside the mansion the long halls stretched with an intermittent light, giving off the perception that every soul in the manor lay sleeping. However, after traveling long enough and climbing a couple of flights of stairs, one would see a heavy-built man of intimidating stature sitting beside a door that slightly spilled light into the hall. Only upon closer examination would one notice that the guard sat there asleep upon the comfortable, padded seat. The man had naturally fallen asleep after sitting guard for two-full hours.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was contrary to the tranquility of the rest of the building. Only one window was situated on the opposite wall to the door in the room, but it’s size more than made up for its sole existence. Faint moonlight shone upon the room that overlooked the commoner’s district and shed light on the furniture that was meticulously placed to create a sense of openness in the confined space. The dim lighting of the room resonated well with the grim expressions of two men facing each other, separated only by a table two meters long. One of the men nervously looked down at his hands that lay separated upon the table, clenched in fists. The only sounds that reverberated in the tense silence of the room were the slight twitches this man clad in green would display every so often. Besides his rustling, the faint but distinct sounds of sweat colliding with the table resounded as loud as a gong in the repressive atmosphere. The source of his fear being the man on the other end of the table.

The differences between the two men were on full display at this moment. When comparing both of the gentlemen, the various appearances of the human race could describe just how different the two were. The green-clothed man had an aged face that had long lost its vigor and was accompanied by narrow-shoulders that shook involuntarily from the sheer pressure released from the other man. Clothed in purple and gold, the source of the repressive atmosphere began in the eyes of the later. Contrary to the other gentleman, the gold trims of the man’s robe accentuated his large frame and wide build. Along with the royal purple on the man’s clothes, his sharp features created a feeling of danger which only further accompanied the mystical force that was released solely from his gaze. With a demeanor that exhibited the very aspect of nobility, the man looked to be no older than thirty. His appearance seemed to be blessed by the heavens with a chiseled jaw, a sword-straight nose, high-cheekbones that looked more manly than feminine, and hawk-like eyes, to which his brow created a slight hooded appearance. Yet, his most outstanding feature did not belong to his countenance, but the ruby gems that lay just below his eyes, along his cheekbones.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

To be fair, the man robbed in green also had gems of his own, but they were closer to scales, the true appearance of these structures. His scales held a similar green just like the robe around his body, but, rather than reaching a deeper hue towards viridescent, the green of the scaled gems lay more towards a dirty juniper. His gems were also situated on the back of his hands instead, which hardly reflected the moonlight that fell upon their dull surface. The distinction between the scales of these individuals revealed a gap that most of society could never cross.

The vermillion gems upon the picturesque face of the man held immense power. Its color was deep, lacking any impurities, and was cut more masterfully than the abilities of the most prestigious of craftsman could. Simply the act of being in the presence of such a jewel oppressed the scales of the opposite man, forcing them to recede into his body. On top of the sparkling of vermillion from the gems and the power slowly leaking from the crystals, the atmosphere felt in the room was not the inferior gentlemen’s imagination. Rather, it was the reality created from the pure power of the victor in this battle of suppression. To make the situation even more unfavorable, an ingeniously designed gun clad in black titanium and dressed in golden designs lay upon the table in front of the purple-robed man.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock that decorated the full length of the wall ceaselessly ticked behind the timid man. Its hands dictated that only minutes remained until midnight struck, to which who could say what would happen. The curved designs of these extensions created the visual of a pendulum’s blade, with each hand holding one half. Such a design placed the head of the man in the direct center, treating his crown as the centerpiece, creating a piece of modern art.

Finally, it seemed the green man crumbled under the pressure. With a swallow of his throat, he raised his head to speak, only for his gaze to fall once more to the table, yet his held remained above his shoulders. “Lord Balkin, you need not do this. My connections in the city are many and they will not sit idly by as their sizeable investments tantamount to nothing. I urge you, think this through once more.”

After saying his piece, the man seemed to have lost his breath and hung his head once more, exhausted by the effort of only a couple of sentences. These were the words he thought of throughout the long period of silence he could hardly endure. His words contained respect, even titling the Balkin patriarch a Lord. Also within his words was a concern for his future clients and a threat that would hopefully force the other to stay his hand. His muddled thoughts could only come up with these calculated words to try to save his life one last time. Everything was on the line in what resulted in only just those few seconds of speaking.

Lord Balkin did not speak in turn, but only slightly shifted his gaze to relieve a minute amount of pressure.

Happiness surged through the broken man. Although the change was barely noticeable, it seemed his words had some effect on the Lord. This was a new lease on life granted to him and one he had to seize. “Of course I do not plan on pursuing this venture alone! My arrival here today was to ask the esteemed Lord Balkin for a cooperation of sorts and I am prepared to do anything to make it happen. To display my generosity, I even brought along a favorable contract to bring this plan to fruition as soon as possible.”

Quickly, the man left no time to waste as he surged forth to grab his briefcase in a practiced motion. Despite the confidence in his movement, tremors still interfered with his nerves, causing awkward pauses as he missed the handle and later as he tried to unlatch the case. Upon the satisfying ‘click’ of the briefcase, the man rifled through the countless documents inside, in search of a specific document that he soon removed. Respectfully, he passed the contract across the table so that its final destination was directly in front of the Lord of the manor. The man in green once more settled down, hoping with all his being that this contract to which he sacrificed much for would appease the patriarch of the Blakin family.

Yet what followed was most unexpected. Lord Blakin had not even turned his gaze away from the man’s face when he gave a harumph and his gaze turned disdainful. Raising his hand, he performed a motion with the intent to beckon someone forth. From the corner of the room, the silhouette which had long stood perfectly still came forth with another document in hand. This one looked nearly the same as the one that now sat in front of the Lord, only with small differences. Previously silhouetted by the shadows, the lanky middle-aged man placed the document before the surprised businessman. After completing his job, the skinny case gave the Lord at the table a bow and then returned to his initial position. The man in green picked up the document to begin his reading but was surprised by how similar everything was. With a flash of insight, he knew this meant that the contract was leaked to the other party beforehand so they were already privy to his intentions at this meeting. Sweat continuously poured from the man’s forehead and shivers shook through his body as he continued reading the modified contract.

“Honored Lord Balkin, is this contract a mockery to myself and the family behind me? The terms in my prepared contract were already extremely favorable towards you and the concessions from my party were by no means small! This deal would cost my family half of our assets built over a hundred years, not to mention all of our future income would decrease by manyfold. Please reconsider!” Fear had been replaced by anger as the words surged forth from the gentleman’s mouth. Although he might have been slightly disrespectful in his speech, the other party had no intention to give him even a modicum of civility. The contract was outright egregious.

Suddenly, the atmosphere chilled as Lord Balkin’s gaze turned another degree sharper. His gaze now caused the other gentlemen tangible pain, another level compared to only the discomfort from before. A laugh emerged from the Lord’s mouth as he spoke in a powerful voice. “Unfortunately, this was never negotiation nor do you have any other options. There lay two paths before you but in only one of them do you return home another day. I hope you will choose wisely.”

‘The absolute gall!’ Becoming angrier by the second, the scales on the man’s hands slightly lit up to release a dim shade of green on the table. His power was indeed lacking compared to the overbearing lord, but that made the injustice thrust upon him even more frustrating. This attitude could only belong to someone without any fear or remorse for their actions. Although the Balkin family had made a resurgence in recent years, the reason has always been shrouded in mystery. However, after seeing the new patriarch of the family, the reason was all too clear and the mist was lifted.

Power! It seems that after spending twenty years away from the city, Crusius Balkin had reached new levels in his cultivation of ability. His return would outshine any other powers in the city and his intentions were all too visible, even to the common folk of the region. The Lord of the Balkin family would soon become at least the Count of the surrounding territory, but it could be assumed his aspirations lay further. Before his rise to power, he wanted to create a foothold in the area to financially support himself. The measly few factories and a mine or two currently owned by the Balkin family would not be able to support this new character of the area.

The aged man could only sigh under his breath. He would not be the last to undergo this injustice towards his family. However, what could one do under the force of such power? This was the law of the world and only through power could one have what they wanted. At least this overbearing Lord took the assets that were most easily transferable so the transition would go smoothly. If not, his family would most likely need to sell even more properties since their income would no longer be capable of sustaining them. His only desire now was to cut his losses and create a favorable relationship with this soon to be rising power. The sounds of the midnight bell tolled as he grabbed the pen and wrote his name onto the paper, “... signed, Fendrick Quis.”

Hooves clapping against stone could be heard as the carriage in green left the courtyard and drove into the distance, towards the aristocratic district. The gate to the manor returned to it’s closed state for the last time. Silence once more returned to the manor as Crusius let out a sigh and returned indoors. Walking along the halls, he walked the path that would take him to his bedroom but stopped in front of a door on the way. The door’s majestic bearing was only a step below that of the Lord’s bedroom. Inside his son lay in bed, feigning sleep. In truth, the Lord had known that his son was watching his business ‘negotiation’ through the crack in the door. Nothing could escape Crusius’ vision since his awakening. He had to give his son some credit, sneaking past the guards of the Balkin family was not easy, whether they had fallen asleep or not.

The Lord of Balkin moved once more towards his room. He would need to rest before the coming days as war would come knocking on his door before he knew it. His steps echoed throughout the halls of the manor, his power unconsciously released with every stride, resounding like thunder in the hearts of all those who heard it. However, Lancing thought he felt something else in his father’s steps. It wasn’t power, nor an unfaltering momentum, but just a hint of loneliness.