The Heiress
Casscairn
The Great Hall, with its magnificence and scale, commands a presence that dwarfs all who enter. It’s a testament to the power and legacy of the Heirs, the golden statues as silent sentinels to their dominion. The absence of my own likeness among them doesn’t stir a single regret within me; my authority needs no stone confirmation.
The massive dark wooden door, an anomaly in our palace of white and gold, leads to the throne room -a place I shun with every fibre of my being. The lion’s head knocker, a symbol of judgement and scrutiny, seems to pierce through anyone who dares approach, including myself.
As I exit through a side door, my hand instinctively caresses the cold, ancient stone of the pillar -a ritual of centuries. The chill of the stone against the even colder touch of my fingers is a peculiar comfort, a reminder of the permanence of this place. I wonder if, one day, my repeated touch will wear away the stone, leaving a mark as enduring as the legacy I strive to build.
The guard at the gate, clad in their dark uniforms adorned with gold, stands vigilant. Their clothes, practical, yet imposing, bear the emblem of our house. Commander Hamilton, recognizable by his stature and greying hair, has his back to me. Michael, the youngest guard, and enigmatic Junior, whose name’s origin remains a mystery, face me. Their presence is both a comfort and a reminder of the responsibilities resting upon my shoulders.
The tension in the air was palpable as I halted before the guards, runes at the ready. With quick strokes, I drew them in the air, and a portal crackled into existence, revealing the square in Casscairn. The scene was eerily tranquil, the stone fountain and mundane buildings standing silent, betraying no signs of the chaos that was reported.
“Where are we going?” Michael’s voice, tinged with a naive excitement, broke the silence. His innocence in such grim times was a horrifying contrast to the gravity of our mission.
“We’re heading to Casscairn,” I said, my voice steady despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. “There’s been another attack. Jasce is there, and with any luck, so are the creatures. We need to capture one -alive or a piece of it. They’re not undead, I just don’t know what they are.”
Junior’s suggestion that Alane might be held captive hung in the air. With a nod, I gestured towards the portal. “After you, gentleman.”
As we stepped through, the comforting light of the hall vanished, replaced by the oppressive gloom of dark clouds. The square was deserted, the absence of bodies and signs of struggle unsettling in such a bustling city.
“Shouldn’t there be dead bodies?” I whispered, my eyes searching the empty square.
“Are you sure something is going on here?”
“Does this seem damn normal to you, Junior?” Hamilton’s hand moved to his sword instinctively. “It could be a trap,” he murmured, voicing the dread that had taken root in all of our minds. The silence of Casscairn was not a mistake; it was a prelude to something far more sinister.
The decision to divide out forces was met with a mix of apprehension and necessity. “It’s quite likely,” I mused, eyeing the ajar doors that lined the street, their silent invitation to explore further. “We’ll split up.”
Michael’s uncertainty was evident, but the plan was set. “Junior grew up here, he knows this place, he’ll go with Hamilton. You’re with me,” I said, motioning towards the town hall. “We might find Jasce, the mayor, or clues to what’s going on here.”
As Hamilton and Junior departed, Michael’s grip on his sword betrayed his nerves, despite the calm demeanour he projected. “Your Majesty,” he asked, a formality he clung to even in dire times.
“Go ahead.”
“How do you know Junior grew up here?” the curiosity in his voice gave him away.
I couldn’t help but reveal a hint of amusement. “With the highest clearance and guarding my door, you think I wouldn’t know where my men hail from?” I retorted, my knowledge of my guards as thorough as the protection. “Besides, have you met the Second Heir?”
The desolate streets echoed our solitude, the bustling city we should’ve entered somehow gone. The urge to knock on doors, to call out for any sign of life, was overwhelming, yet time was not on our side. We needed to find the source of the silence, the creatures responsible for the chaos -or the lack of it.
“And I know about your fear of chickens,” I teased, breaking the tension.
“That’s not true,” Michael protested, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His denial was endearing, but there was no time to dwell on it. His laughter, though brief, was a welcome reprieve from the unease that clung to us like the city’s oppressive silence. We moved on, the weight of our task was as heavy as the air around us.
As we neared the crossroads, the city’s heartbeat seemed to pulse through the cobblestones beneath our feet. To our left, the lane dipped into the city’s depths, while the right ascended towards the town hall -our destination. Memories of my last visit here were distant whispers, lost in the fog of time.
The architecture of Casscairn was a cacophony of styles, each building vying for attention with ornate gables, balconies propped by sturdy posts, and windows of stained glass. Magical lamps adorned the facades, casting an ethereal glow. Individually, the houses were works of art, but together, they clashed in a riot of colour that left them feeling overwhelmed rather than welcomed.
A scream shattered the silence, high-pitched and laced with terror, drawing our gaze and quickening our pace towards its source.
Casscairn, a nexus of commerce and governance for eastern provinces, sprawled before us. The town hall was not a singular structure but a complex of buildings huddled together like a stone village within the city. Yet, it stood deserted, the absence of life becoming a defying contrast to its design.
The town hall’s walls, grey and imposing, were adorned with wooden beams from which royal flags hung limply. Above the entrance, framed by gold and jewels, the golden sun shone -a symbol that had spread across the world, as pervasive as the empire itself.
In Nerkam, where the sun’s eternal gaze was unyielding, my grandfather had found a kindred spirit in its ceaseless light. He saw immortality in its golden rays, a vision he immortalised in the symbols that adorned our most significant edifices. The temples have adopted this emblem, weaving it into the fabric of faith and empire. Yet to me, its ubiquity had rendered it ordinary, stripped of the awe it once inspired.
“How can an entire city vanish?” I pondered aloud, the streets empty and silent. Cities like Casscairn were built as sanctuaries, their structures capable of sealing shut at the sound of an alarm, safeguarding those within. But such a retreat would be marked by chaos, not this ghostly calm. The mystery deepened, and with it, the urge to uncover the truth.
The air was thick with the scent of impending doom as I stretched out my hand, summoning my sword. The red crystal at its hilt shimmered darkly under the overcast sky. I always had that strange feeling holding the thing. It’s literally a double-edged sword. It could kill anything and that gave me a sense of security. But it could kill anything. Including Immortal bastards who claimed the whole world as theirs. Thanks to this, every second of every fight, I could dread someone knocking the sword out of my hand and turning it against me. Michael, too, readied himself, his blade a reflection of the empire’s radiant symbol.
The woman’s scream pierced the silence once more, guiding us through the labyrinth of buildings. We found her, a solitary figure in mourning, her expression hauntingly vacant as she knelt beside a fallen man.
Michael looked around, and raised his sword, ready to repel any attack. He signalled me to follow him. With a slow step, he sowed in an alley next to the large building. I don’t know if he hears better than I do or if he’s just lucky.
In the shadows alley, I stood over Alane Jasce, the man’s body sprawled on the cobblestone, a dark coat masking the severity of his wound. The pool of blood around him was the only indicator of the grim reality. I knelt beside him, urgency coursing through me as I sought any sign of life, any faint hope that I could reverse the inevitable.
I lowered my sword and walked over to the man lying on the ground. “Michael, take her away,” I instructed, referring to the woman in shock. My focus was solely on Jasce now. Gently, I brushed his hair aside, fingers of my other hand seargćhing for the pulse that would signify his tether to this world. It was there, but barely -a weak, faltering rhythm that spoke of life slipping away.
I worked quickly, unbuttoning his coat and shirt to reveal the source of the bleeding. Not a single layer of clothing is torn. The wound was grievous, longer than my hand, and I pressed down, attempting to stem the flow of blood. He gasped -a reflex, perhaps, or a sign of lingering consciousness.
As I struggled to save him, Jasce’s eyes opened, revealing an unnatural blue that was not his own. “Finally,” he rasped, his voice a dry, grating sound that seemed to echo from another place. “I can finally see you, through borrowed eyes… my little creations finally called you to me…” His gaze fixed on me, and then, just as suddenly, the light in those eerie eyes faded. “...so beautiful.” were his last words.
“Alane?” I called out, desperation edging my voice as the sweet scent of magic filled the air. I pressed my hands to his neck again, willing his heart to beat, but it was silent. The man who had been Alane JAsce was gone, leaving behind a chilling mystery and the cold, unyielding grip of death.
The blood on my hands, once vivid red, had turned inky black, refusing to be wiped away. The sword, now unnecessary, vanished from my grasp as I closed Jasce’s eyes one final time, a gesture of respect for the departed.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis, leaving me grappling for comprehension in the wake of the surreal encounter. Jasce's wound, devoid of any tear in his clothing, suggested a sinister force at play, one that sought me out specifically. The voice that had spoken through him was a harbinger of a conflict yet unseen, a declaration of war from an invisible adversary.
As time slipped by, I stood frozen, the only sound was my own breath. The voice, the possession of Jasce -it all pointed to a meticulously orchestrated event. But for what purpose? And by whom?
Michael stood nearby, cradling Jasce's wife, her consciousness mercifully spared from witnessing her husband's body being used as a vessel for that eerie voice.
“Is the exercise done?” The question came from behind, snapping me back to the present.
“Exercise?” The word echoed in my mind. Was this the rise used to clear the streets? A mock drill for an attack?
I turned to face the speaker, the mayor of Casscairn, clad in a garnish green suit. His presence irked me, his ignorance blatant. “Your Majesty? Is it over?” he asked, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
“A member of my Council has been murdered in your city, and you ask me if it's over!? Believe me, this is just the beginning,” I retorted, my words laced with a promise of retribution. His expression shifted from complacency to shock.
Stammering, the mayor struggled to form a coherent response. “What happened here? Where are the city guards?” I demanded, though part of me dreaded his explanation.
“I don’t know exactly, Your Majesty. It was supposed to be just an exercise; we were told to wait inside,” the mayor began, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Lord Jasce… he sent them all there, the people, on his direct order!” Beside him, a guard in a dark nondescript uniform stood silent, the perfect opposite of my own Guardman adorned with red and gold.
“We couldn’t figure out what was going on. We cannot oppose the orders of the Council! Lord Jasce,” he trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging like the unanswered questions that filled the air. The city, once a hub of life, now lay silent -a cheesboard awaiting its next move.
“Enough,” I declared, my voice a calm contrast to the turmoil within. The crowd’s eyes were upon me, their silent stares heavy with expectation. Words failed me, drowned by the tide of anger that rose with each unanswered question. Peter had spoken of the skirmish, of three dead, yet only one body lay before us, and not even in the square. Was it the guards’ negligence or something sinister? The absence of the bodies was a riddle wrapped in a conspiracy.
“Stop looking for excuses, close the entire city and restore order. Arrange for Alane’s body to be transported to the capital, and for the Light’s sake someone attend to his wife,” I commanded, my instructions cutting the mayor’s stutters.
“Michael,” I continued, turning to my trusted guard as he relinquished the body to another. “Fetch Deacon and Junior; my business here has concluded. Have someone reliable gather information from the townspeople and ensure Hamilton delivers the report to me. Let there be no talk of today’s events.”
His concern was palpable. “Will you be alright?” he inquired, a hint of worry lacing his words.
“It’s not the first corpse I’ve seen,” I reassured him, though we both knew the true depth of his question. With a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, I departed, the city’s chaos behind me, the need for solitude -and a change of clothing- pressing.
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