The Summer Prince
The footsteps of the Andomerian army echoed through the silent forest. As they approached the massive gates of Edgecrest, Sir Nigel, general of the royal army raised his torch high in the air. The troops marched on, extinguishing their torches one by one as they took their positions outside the city wall. A horn blew a dreadful note, and the city gate was broken down with a thunderous slam. Hundreds of soldiers on foot and horseback flooded the sleeping city, slaughtering soldiers and civilians on their way to secure the area.
Amid the fire and destruction, a hooded figure rode swiftly on a strong, dark horse, slicing enemies deftly on his way up the old steps. He arrived at the castle doors where he was met by four guards, quickly surrounding him with their swords drawn. He pulled down the hood of his black cloak to reveal his long, amber hair. Chuckling at the men surrounding him he says, “There is no need for a fight here gentlemen. I will allow you to return to your families if you grant me passage into the castle.”
The guards laugh raucously at the confidence of the mysterious man. He rolled the sleeves of his long cloak up to his elbows to reveal a dark, purple ring, inscribed with the house sigil of the Hurwells, this was none other than the dreadful King Boreus. Picking up the cold, steel blade, he offered them a final chance to leave his presence, but none obliged. “Very well”, he said with a dark grumble. The first guard rushed toward him from his left-hand side with his blade raised high, hoping to catch the great king off guard. The purple ring glowed and Boreus cleaved the soldier's left leg from the remainder of his body with a single swing of the massive weapon. The man let out a mortifying scream as warm blood gushed from the severed limb, freezing the other three guards in horror.
The screams continued to ring throughout the castle as Boreus kicked the doors open, dragging his bloodied sword along the ground behind him. In the master bedroom on the top floor, King Ceas lay silently in his bed, where he had been for the last two months. A violent sickness had overtaken him, so much so that all the most skilled physicians from the widest reaches of Escium were not able to heal him. His body had shrunk down to little more than bones, his face pale and lifeless. The bracers he once wore with pride and skill now served as nothing more than a reminder of the warrior he once was.
Surrounded by his family, nurses, and kingsguard, he calls for the young Prince Gabriel in a weak voice, “Bring my son to me.” The boy, only a young teenager, walked over to his ailing father where he stared painfully at the sores on the king’s scaly flesh. Ceas struggles as he slowly removes the golden bracers for the first time since his coronation all those years ago, “Give me your hands boy”, his raspy voice commanded the prince. He placed the bracers on Gabriel’s wrist and the young boy instantly experienced a violent headache. His father commands him to focus and listen to his instructions, “Boreus has arrived my son. You must leave this place immediately and return to the land of my birth. It will be the only safe place for you and our relic when this kingdom falls.” Ceas coughs violently and lays his head back on the pillows behind him.
The sound of the great sword dragging ominously along the stone floors grew louder and louder, spurring the kingsguards into ready positions. Ceas softly beacons to Sir Riley Mylner, his most trusted warrior and leader of the kingsguard. Pulling him close Ceas speaks, “Ensure the boy’s safety. It is my final order to you, Sir Riley.” “With my life, your grace,” Sir Riley says as he bows his head, sword in hand. He takes Gabriel quickly and exits through the back door of the room out into the cold night. Boreus approached the doors and opened them slowly to find eleven men standing between him and Ceas. No chuckles would escape his lips in this encounter.
The guards stood valiantly around the bedside of Ceas, forming a wall between him and Boreus. “I would like an audience with the king, if you men would be so gracious?”, Boreus says as he stares past the wall of men to look at the sickly king. None of the guards answered him and instead drew their weapons. Wiping the blood off his sword he speaks to the guards, “You knights and your unwavering bravery. I am certain Ceas will ensure your praises will be sung for the many generations that follow.” The moonlight shined through the sheer curtains, lightly reflecting off the sweaty faces of the guards. They’ve all heard the stories of Boreus on his quest for power, how he started and finished wars singlehandedly, killing more men than they’ve ever shaken hands with. And there they stood, moments away from being little more than vague memories in the mind of the vicious king. Whether they were frozen by fear or bravery was indistinguishable at that point, but their legs refused to move. Ceas coughed again in the background as he watched the spectacle.
“What is it that you seek Boreus?”, Ceas says as he slowly lifts his frail hands, “The power you crave is not here anymore.” Looking at the bare hands of the ailing king, Boreus grew furious. Wielding his great sword in two hands, he violently swung the blade in a half circle, cleaving two of the guards in the chest. The other men rushed toward him, attempting to overwhelm him but to no avail. Killing four more men in quick, successive strikes, his eyes began to glow a dark purple. The guards stared at him as if he were a shadow, each of them hesitant to attack next. With only five of them left, he engages two men simultaneously, running his sword through the leg of one and crushing the spine of the other with his bare hands. The final three surround Boreus with their swords ready, hoping someone else will make the first move. Dropping his sword to the ground, Boreus holds both hands out to his side, begging the men to attack him. Ceas watches on in sorrow as his men desperately fight to protect him. One man attacks him from behind, but Boreus turns and grabs the blade with his bare hands. He stares deep into the man’s eyes as he bends the weapon in half, after which he grabs the guard by the neck. He lifted him off his feet high above his head and the guard squirms as he attempts to breathe. In a quick motion, he slams him powerfully into the stone floor beneath them, splattering blood and bone throughout the room. The remaining guards look at the array of bodies lying across the floor around them, unsure of what to do next. “This is your final chance to leave my presence; I suggest you take it gratefully”, Boreus says as he rolls his sleeves once more. The two men bolted off the balcony, dashing into the woods where they were never heard from again.
Walking over to the king’s bedside Boreus speaks, “I did not travel such a distance to be disappointed Ceas. You will tell me where the bracers are.” Looking at the violent king with a pained smile, Ceas lets out a raspy laugh. He says to Boreus, “Your thirst for power has outgrown your morality, foolish king. Those bracers are of the Eastone’s and that is how it shall remain.” Looking out of the balcony window into the burning, pillaged city, Boreus paced back and forth. His quest to wield both artifacts had consumed him for years, and when he was at his closest, he seemingly came up short.
“The boy must have them then. You believe I will not hunt him down and remove his wrists along with those bracers if I must?”, Boreus shouted at Ceas. “I would delight in ending the Eastone bloodline if that were what it would take!” He walked to the bed and stood over Ceas, grabbing him by the neck with two hands. “My patience has run out. Tell me where your son is or die!”, Boreus sternly speaks as he squeezes the neck of the old king. He looked at Boreus with a crazed glare, choking as he struggled to speak, “Burn in th- the furthest re- reach of Eurath.” Tightening his grip on the king's neck, he squeezes the last vestiges of life from Ceas under the full moon. As he walks back to his horse he barks orders to the rabid soldiers, “Search the city and find every boy of twelve years or less, the bracers are with the child!”
Under the cover of night, Sir Riley and Gabriel navigate their way through the dark alleys of the pillaged city. Andomerian guards swarmed every house and tavern in search of the golden-haired prince, eager to be the one to bring him back to Boreus. Screams and struggles could be heard around every corner as the duo hastily made their way to the docks. As they got closer to the shoreline, they came upon two soldiers watching the docks, one of them shouting out, “Reveal yourselves, who are you?”
Sir Riley motions Gabriel to stand behind him as they walk closer to the guards, “We are fishermen from Udra, good soldiers. We mean to leave immediately so that we should catch the favorable winds”, Sir Riley proclaims. The soldiers looked at the duo intently, paying special attention to the boy. “The child is a fisherman too I suppose?”, one soldier said skeptically. “He is my son, a very skilled assistant might I add”, Sir Riley says with a forced chuckle. The soldiers began to grow much more unsure as they continued to question the two.
Looking down at Gabriel, one of the guards noticed a shred of light reflecting from the boy’s wrist, the cloak he put on to shield his identity had shifted, which exposed one of the gold bracers slightly. “What is that on your wrist little one?”, one soldier says as he reaches out to grab the boy. “This may not be a poor fish boy at all, we’ve got the little prince himself!”, the other exclaims. Before the soldier can touch the arm of the boy, Sir Riley delivers a crushing blow to his jaw. A brawl ensues and Sir Riley and one of the soldiers wrestle, leaving Gabriel alone with the other.
“Come on now young one, King Boreus would be delighted to meet you”, the soldier says as he walks over to Gabriel. Getting closer to the boy, he lunged at him but to his surprise, Gabriel had moved out of his path completely. Confusion came over both, as he and Gabriel were unsure of how he moved so quickly. The frustrated soldier tried again and again; each time Gabriel unknowingly avoided his attacks with ease. Sir Riley, after finally incapacitating the soldier, turned around prepared to save Gabriel. He watched the soldier’s futile attempts at capturing the boy, after which he walked over and delivered a blow to the fatigued man’s stomach.
“What happened to me?”, the young prince questioned Sir Riley as they ran over to a fishing vessel at the end of the dock. “It was the bracers, my lord”, the knight says as they enter the boat. The city of Edgecrest was now fully ablaze as Andomerian forces feverishly searched for the young boy. The pair watched sorrowfully as they slowly exited the harbor, the fires of the great city lighting their way into the dark sea ahead.
Tucked away in the clear blue waters off the coast of Udra is the mystical island of Cre Drad. Its lush jungles envelop the rugged peaks in a brilliant emerald embrace, while its volcanic roots whisper secrets into the breeze. Waterfalls flow down sheer cliff faces, feeding the blue lagoons below that sparkle with an ethereal shimmer. Reaching the shore at the end of a tough journey, the pair sought nothing more than rest and shelter.
“Did my father tell you where we should go, Sir Riley?”, Gabriel says as they make their way onto the dock. “Not exactly my lord, but I’m sure we will figure out where he would want us to look”, the tired knight responds to the boy as they walk up toward the island. They proceeded to move through the expansive jungle in search of civilization, as hunger and fatigue began to wear on them. As they continue to make their way through the endless forest, the prince takes a step, and the thick undergrowth engulfs him. Wrapped in fear, his whimpering was quickly silenced as a gloved hand suddenly clamped over his mouth. “Remain calm, little one”, murmured the rough but gentle voice. There was no sign of Sir Riley, which led the prince to wonder if he had been captured as well. With an unusual effortlessness, the stranger carrying the prince moved through the deep foliage while wearing leather armor that appeared to blend in with the jungle itself.
They emerged into a large clearing after what felt like a lifetime. A stunning waterfall tumbled over mossy rocks, its mist gleaming with a unique brightness. Gabriel was especially astonished at the individuals standing beneath the waterfall. They moved with an elegance that bordered on the supernatural, dressed in robes that shimmered with the same mystical light as the waterfall. The leader knelt before him, a woman whose eyes gleamed like the moon on the night sea. Her soothing, melodic voice eased the shivers of anxiety across his tense skin. “Welcome, young prince, to Cre Drad.”
Before he could respond, Sir Riley appeared next to him, his expression filled with confusion. Further relief swept over him, however, the knight’s furry brow remained scowled. With a steady look, the woman said, “We mean you no harm, good knight. We felt you both carrying a weight, a shadow that was clinging to you. This is where you could find comfort and possibly enlightenment, in the Order of the Gifted Dream.” Sir Riley had never heard of these people in all his years, which led him to question whether Ceas intended for them to be found by this sacred order. “What do you know of Ceas, king of Edgecrest in Escium?”, Sir Riley says as they turn to follow the woman. With a small chuckle, she turns to the duo, “I know much of the great king, and of many other kings, but these are tales for a different occasion.”
The sound of the thunderous waterfall accompanied Sir Riley and the young prince as they followed the woman, whose name was revealed to be Zanta, farther into the secret dwelling concealed by the water’s curtain. As the temperature dropped, the air swelled with an aroma that was both energizing and calming. Zanta guided them through the massive cave, the smooth, moss-covered walls of which gleamed with a constant light that reflected from the falls above. The pathway they followed led to a large room with a ceiling that was hidden by thick shadows from above. The natural glow was stronger here, lighting the surroundings in a way that seemed surreal. The eyes of the young prince lit up with an unparalleled fascination as he gazed at his surroundings. A glassy pool glistened in the center of the chamber, its surface refracting the mystical light like a shattered rainbow.
With a silent grace, they found more individuals dressed in navy blue robes walking around the pool and throughout the great room. A few sat in meditation positions, with their bodies appearing to be covered in a similar kaleidoscopic light that filled the rest of the space. Others walked with uncanny precision and measure, in near ceremonial fashion as they tended to various tasks. Gabriel felt his spine tingle slightly as the air around him seemingly vibrated with a low hum. Zanta pointed to a bundle of woven mats tucked neatly away in a corner, “Get some rest, please. We will reconvene when you are both ready.”
Ever the vigilant knight, Sir Riley examined the room with his hand still lingering over the grip of his dagger. His eyes were concerned, regardless of the immeasurable beauty that surrounded them. Gabriel on the other hand couldn’t help but be enchanted by the spectacle. With his eyes still wide in amazement, he slumped down into the surprisingly plush mats and gazed up at the sights above him. “This isn’t a typical prison”, Sir Riley muttered to himself as he also sat on a mat. “Maybe this is the place my father wanted us to find Sir Riley, it must be!”, the prince says with a voice filled with hope.
Waking to the sound of a beautiful hum, the boy opened his eyes to see members of the Order in dreamlike meditation. Shortly after, they were offered a meal and sat along the great table with Zanta at the head. The Order rarely engaged in idle conversation, much to Gabriel’s disappointment, as he yearned to know much more about this fascinating place. After their meal, Zanta decided to take the pair to the glassy pool they passed by earlier.
“You must be curious, young prince, regarding our identity and your purpose here”, Zanta says as they make their way around the cavern. Gabriel, who is unable to contain himself exclaimed, “This place must be magic!” Zanta smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm, “In a sense, it is. The Order of the Gifted Dream is who we are; a group of individuals who can manipulate the Nova, an ancient technique handed down by the ancestors of Cre Drad.” Sir Riley looked over at the wrists of the woman and noticed that she wore a pair of bracers similar to the boy’s, but hers were silver.
“Very perceptive you are, Sir Riley”, the woman says looking at him from the corner of her fluorescent eyes. The knight continued in shock as he wondered how she noticed his glance at the bracers. Her fingertips moved to the two intricate, silver bracers she wore on her wrists. The glowing light seemed to latch onto the metal, giving it a subtle shine. “These are the tools that allow us to access the power of the Nova, made of a rare metal that was only found in the old world. With these, we can access great agility, illusion, and perception.
Sir Riley’s eyes narrowed as he briefly glanced at the others in the room. While some wore identical silver bracers, he noticed others with blades that appeared to flicker with a similar light. “The boy, his bracers, are they of the same light as yours then?”, the knight questioned. “Indeed”, the woman says as they finally arrive at the pool. She raised two fingers toward the still water and it began to stir circularly, “Your father sent you here for a reason beyond your wildest imagination, young prince. Place both your hands into the water and look deeply.”
The boy did as he was instructed and instantly a headache came over him. He cried out in pain but was unable to move his arms and Sir Riley looked at the woman with his hands on his weapon. “What is happening to the prince? Release him at once!”, the knight says as the prince struggles in front of him. After a few more moments the struggle ceases and Prince Gabriel falls to the floor at the feet of Zanta. She kneels and cradles his head, after which the golden bracers on his wrist begin to faintly glow with the same brilliant light as all the others. The rest of the people in the cavern gather around the prince and Zanta runs a hand through the boy’s golden hair, “Gabriel Eastone, son of King Ceas; he is the Brightgift”, she says in a soft voice as the rest of the order kneels around him.
A kingdom carved out of fury and ice was Andomery. Sharp peaks of icy darkness grasped at the brutal skies above, casting shadows that covered the cold terrain like frozen fingers; a bone-chilling cold that penetrated every strand of garments hung heavily in the air. Perched atop a throne in the ancient castle carved from the unyielding ice core, Boreus reflected silently. His violet ring glinted in the moonlight, the only natural light that dared to enter the frigid room. The conquest of Escium provided little joy to the king, as this granted him nothing that he did not have before. The boy and the bracers had been missing for what felt like years, leaving the king in a perpetual state of anger at his missed opportunity. His obsession with being the first to wield both artifacts grew into an insatiable hunger, leaving those around him terrified as to the lengths he would go to achieve his goal. He stood up from his cold throne and made his way down into his planning room where he found his advisors hard at work. Stepping up to his seat, he smashed a cup on the rough, wooden table with his enormous fist.
He growled with a voice that snarled like the snowstorm that raged above, “Where is the boy?” With nervous expressions about them, his advisory council, a group of wizards and strategists, circled the busy table. None of them wished to meet his deathly gaze. At last, Klemert speaks, “The prince has disappeared, your excellence. Despite scouring the continent far and wide, none of our search parties were able to locate him or the bracers.”
The sound of Boreus’ furious roar shook the castle’s stone walls, “Disappeared? A prince does not simply disappear! He must have had some allies that assisted him. After all, the boy was not a skilled soldier!” Klemert stood amid the frigid room unable to speak, until a thought crossed his mind, “Maybe the prince is not in Escium at all, your grace. Ceas likely knew that you would search the farthest reaches of the continent to find him, so he may have sent him away completely.”
Boreus ponders this idea briefly, “If this is possible, where would he send the boy? He would have no idea how to navigate the land of Udra.” Elias the warlock proposed, “If history would hold any weight in his decision making, maybe Udra isn’t where the king sent him. According to the books, Ceas Eastone was born on the isle of Cre Drad, just off the coast of Udra. It is possible that the young prince was sent there but I cannot fathom that he completed the journey, especially by himself.”
Laughing loudly, Boreus sent a resounding echo throughout the room. Frost danced along his beard while his advisors clustered around the large table. “The heralded summer prince seeks refuge on a forgotten island, you say?”, he bellowed further, his tone filled with cold laughter. “The Isle of Whispers we called it, a suitable hiding place for Ceas to choose for the scared boy”, Boreus says as he sits.
“We send a fleet. Submerge the island, search every peak and valley, and snatch the prince from his hiding place”, Boreus says with a sinister grin on his face.
“But your Majesty”, Elias says, “there are rumors that powerful forces still reside in Cre Drad. Tales tell of light-bearers, monsters, and storms, I believe we should proceed with much caution.” Boreus gave an irritated huff, “Those worries are fit for children, Elias. We will show whatever lies on that isle that Andomerian fury is inevitable.” He turned to Sir Nigel, the vicious general, “You will lead this expedition. Choose only our most formidable soldiers and you will depart at first light. Cre Drad will be nothing more than a speck of dust and the prince will be a trophy at my feet.” With a proud look, Sir Nigel hammered his fist against his breastplate, “As you wish, my lord. We will bring the prince back to you succesfully!”
The journey to the southern island of Cre Drad from the north was grueling. The dull symphony of wind, sea, and creaking timber filled the ears of the Andomerian soldiers. The early excitement that enveloped Andomery’s harbor had vanished, leaving nothing more than a tired stillness among the fleet now. Days were only distinguishable by the icy sea’s rise and fall. They continued with the cold winds from the north pushing them quickly through the freezing waters until they finally began to see sunlight. The eternal grey of the north had finally vanished and was replaced by the bright hues of the southern waters.
On the horizon, the lush green jungles crowned with vibrant flowers, leading to the white sandy beach came into the view of the grizzled soldiers. The sway of the palm trees seemed to taunt the frozen army while soft blue waters washed gently along the shore. Disbelief traveled across the army like a wave as they all looked at the picturesque island. With a hint of wonder in his voice, one of the soldiers whispered, “What is this place?” Another says, “This must be some sort of trap, maybe a thing of magic like they speak about in the stories.”
It was beyond the unexpected beauty that Sir Nigel felt a flash of anxiety. This was not the mythical, silent, wasteland that everyone said it was. He raised a hand to silence the fleet, bellowing he said, “Soldiers of Andomery, do not let this place fool you. Remember that we are here to capture the prince, so I demand that you stay focused.” There was a grudging cheer from the gathered ships as they drifted closer to the beach. Even still, Sir Nigel could not shake the feeling that their entrance to this beautiful island was the first step into treacherous territory. As he set foot onto the warm shore, the men all gained newfound confidence, raising their weapons high as they filed into battle positions. Sir Nigel raised his battle axe with a roaring yell, the sound oddly resonating among the eerie quiet of the beautiful landscape. The Andomerian soldiers, clad in thick, northern armor rushed past him, as their boots kicked up the grainy sand.
As they moved into the jungle ahead, their initial excitement was quickly dashed. The space around them was crowded with the heavy foliage, making it very difficult to move in their thick armor. Buzzing insects surrounded their heads, leaving terrible bites on the soldier’s faces. Various soldiers began to find themselves ensnared in a web of vines and tall trees, as they were much too accustomed to the icy, Addomerian landscape. Sir Nigel urged them to proceed more cautiously as they searched for signs of life in the forest around them.
Their concentration was snapped by a chilling scream; Sir Nigel turned around to find a young soldier a few paces behind the group with a spear sticking from his chest. The tip of the spear was assumed to be obsidian but it glistened like nothing they’d ever seen before. More cries came from the bushes around them, an attack had been launched on them by the Order. They wore cloaks that reflected perfectly off the sunlight surrounding them, effectively making them invisible. Moving with great speed, a shower of arrows with glass tips rained down on the soldiers, pinning many of them to the soil beneath them and forcing others to scramble in fear into hidden traps. Panic began to sweep across the rest of the soldiers as they bolted further into the expansive jungle. Sir Nigel shouted over the clashing of glass to his men in an attempt to focus them. Only a few of the party remained and he knew they must stick together in order to survive. “A clearing up ahead! Run!”, the general cried as the men ran desperately with the little energy they had left. Exiting the jungle with a strained shout, they all fell to the rocky ground beneath the clear skies. The waterfall raged in the background, leading the men to turn and behold the otherworldly scene before them.
Figures appeared from the waterfall’s opening, not the spear-wielding warriors that they’d encountered moments ago, but a small group dressed in cloaks. A woman walked ahead of the group, striding magnificently in a silver-streaked dress gleaming in the warm sunlight. She wore a calm expression as they made their way over to the tired men. The soldier’s eyes widened even further when they realized who was walking next to her; the young prince Gabriel, standing tall and proud was no longer the scared child they’d written off as a myth. The golden bracers he wielded shined with an unparalleled light and he’d also acquired a sword of a similar fashion. “General Nigel”, Zanta says as they reach the soldiers, “We are not here to fight any longer. I'm sure you have witnessed the ability of the Order and our willingness to defend against intruders.” Sir Nigel stood and dusted himself along with the rest of his men. Zanta chuckled as she watched them, “I understand that you have traveled a great distance in search of Prince Gabriel, the Brightgift.”
The general looked around at his men with arrogant confusion, “Brightgift”, he growled, spitting out the word with disdain, “Do you believe this firefly could withstand Boreus’ fury?” Gabriel moved forward, with a voice absent of fear, “I was told all about the atrocities that Boreus has committed; those against many kingdoms, against my father. He seeks power selfishly, which is why I will ensure he will never achieve it.” The soldiers stared at the boy amazed, as his fiery eyes peered directly into the cold general’s. “Is there not more to fight for, good soldiers?”, Zanta says as she paces in front of the line of men. “When we think of the future, do you truly want a man as vicious as Boreus to wield such immeasurable power?” A faint tremor of doubt began to spread among the Andomerian soldiers.
Many of the troops clung to Gabriel’s spirit, as they were truly tired of unceasing conflict and yearned for something greater. Sensing their spirits faltering, Sir Nigel shouted to the woman, “We won’t leave this place without the prince. We have no other choice!” He raised his axe, signaling the men to attack but was only met with a reluctant silence. The soldiers shifted uneasily, as their gazes bounced between the frigid general and the valiant Brightgift. Zanta pleaded with the general, “You do not have to follow him, General. There is another road to travel if you choose to take it; a road of peace. Join us and we can end Boreus’ quest for power together.” Her words hung heavily in the air and the general lowered his weapon, as visible doubt washed over his rugged face.
One soldier moved forward, and then another, as they knelt before the young prince. Before long, a row of Andomerian soldiers placed their weapons at the feet of the Brightgift, openly defying the defeated general. With his influence eroding, Sir Nigel scowled first at his soldiers and then at the young prince. Zanta looks at the distressed man, “What seems more favorable, general; returning to Boreus empty-handed or returning to him empty-handed and proclaiming you met the boy face to face?” This question pained the broken general, as he knew the wrath of Boreus would be horrifying to incite. Gabriel reached out a hand to the man, “He killed my father on his dying bed, General. That is not a man you should put your trust in… he is no king.” Nigel looked around at the faces of the Order and his men, all urging him to make peace with the young prince. After a few moments of reflection, he takes the hand of the brave prince, as tears begin to stream down his face.