MYLES:

  The High Mage awoke in his day, the day was grey and bittercold. A chill went over his spine as he tossed and turned in his sweat soaked bed. He was nearly naked aside from a pair of braies. He pushed the heavy woolen sheets off his lithe body, and climbed from bed. A bed that still wasn’t his own, in a tower that was not his own, in a castle that was not his own.

  Cold yet I still sweat. Myles thought before he garbed himself in a silk doublet of bck and red with the mighty hawk of House Drake embroidered onto his left pec and a pair of bck breeches. He slipped on a pair of dark brown leather boots, a snug fit. Bck and red always suited a Drake, it was the only colours he could imagine his father in.

  His dreams had been rough, blurred faces and a dead man cursing the king. Perhaps that was why he sweated. The night terrors never ceased for him. They had only gotten worse during his training as a High Mage. When he was a boy it was but a dull hazy dream of his father’s head rolling on the dirt, dirt that became sullied with blood, so much blood.

  It was the day of the funeral that brought bleak sadness upon Myles of the House Drake. His friend, near-father and master, the High Mage Gren was an older man who had not chosen to train his repcement until it was far too te. Myles was a boy of only seventeen and now had the duty of being the High Mage, it made him feel sick with worry. He was the High Mage of the King, a noble duty and one that Myles expected would not stay with him for much longer. Myles doubted that King Damon of the House Imperial Ren would keep him as the High Mage for long after the funeral.

  Myles had joined the Fraternity of the Arcane as an Initiate, before rising to an Acolyte with the first trial. The trial’s were grueling, each one causing worse strain on Myles. It was only to be a few days until it was his st trial. He was a High Mage in name alone, only to be granted a seat on the council among the other seven if he survived the final test.

  I haven’t perished yet, no doubt the fifth time’s the charm. The Trial of the Ascendant must kill a good few when they try, or scar some so bad that they become Tarnished. So much to look forward too.

  The Mage’s Spire was made of stone and brick, with a hearth embedded into a wall to keep out the cold of growing Winter, the cold that had killed Gren. The chill still seeped in. I must stoke the fire. Myles shivered. A grand table was close to Myles’s bed, filled with notes, ledgers, tomes and books, so much junk for Myles to read and learn. A grand bookshelf was opposite the hearth with so many books, vast with knowledge. Knowledge of the old magics now forbidden, knowledge of the Fae kings, the Aston Kings of the Winter and their wars against the Grey’s, the Willow Kings, the realm of Arakia and beyond, so much knowledge at a boy’s finger tip. Myles was drowning in pages and pages of knowledge, he felt like he was suffocating in an ocean of crisp parchment.

  New letters came everyday, offers of sympathy, tales of Gren’s past and his charitable deeds, stories that brought a smile upon Myle’s lips.The King himself had even sent a letter to the Spire despite it not being that far a walk to talk to the Young Hawk of Drake. A new letter had come this morning from Cedric Palefoot, the King’s justicar, the albino had offered some courtesy and sympathy. And there were bad letters too, yet they were rare and far between. Some people praised Malek for Gren’s death and the Coinmaster Theobald of House Merdus had demanded money from Myles since the Lord Treasurer cimed that Gren had taken a loan off the entrepreneur before his death and now he had come to collect.

  The High Mage had made good attempts to ignore the letter, believing that if he did then it would be forgotten. And the Mage used the parchments of hate mail as kindling for the hearth.

  Myles did not love the new King Damon, he rather loathed the usurper for all the strife he caused the House of Fae and Drake alike.

  A day in the hands of Damon the Usurper, the Titans better take my head like the false king took my fathers.

  Myles’s face turned to an icy cold stare as he took deep breaths. A cold sweat lingered on his pale brow, he dabbed it away with his icy fingertips.

  I must not act on hatred, love the king for the people and loathe him in the soce of my spire. My life is one of servitude now and I am in service to the king and his isles until the end of my days.

  The great oaken doors to the Mage’s Spire were pounded on. Myles scowled, who was that? Sir Bracken Mageson perhaps? Bracken was the eldest son of High Mage Gren and his Magess wife, the boy was knighted and took the name Mageson for his House. There never was a nobler d than Bracken Mageson.

  Or maybe it was the King himself that put fear into Myles’s eyes. The imposing Usurper knocking at a rebel’s son's door.

  I am not a rebel’s son, I am the son of no one and belong to no one but the realm and the arcane arts.

  He thought. He took more deep breaths before he opened the great doors with a grunt, it took the lithe youth some effort to open them. And he was met with the fairest beauty in all of Faeton, Princess Myra Ren, sister to the king.

  “Uh, Princess, my dy. What brings you here this morrow?”

  He murmured, his voice a mumble under his breath. His hand shaked a tad bit, she scared him like how all women scared him.

  “Books, the king commands me for them. And he commands me to tell you to hurry for the funeral of that mage. Fancy doublet, for a Drake.”

  Myles’s face flushed, she knew about him, she always knew what he was and what he wasn’t. He gave a graceful nod. Myra had long coal-bck hair, eyes of gold that sparkled in the sunlight. Myra was tall and slender, taller than Myles. She had a fair bust, and small hips. The Princess had on a purple dress and wore a gold tiara. She was something out of a Bard’s tale, something to make men weep.

  “Right, of course. What books does our grace require?”

  Myles inquired, still quite unsure on what her comment on his doublet meant. It was quite the nice doublet, House Drake wasn’t the wealthiest of Noble Houses, or the eldest. They were made Nobles nearly a hundred years ago by some King Fae, they had good cattle and were loyal. The Drakes were loyal only to Fae.

  “Books on beastial possession, books that make animals bend to the readers will and stuff of that sort. Will that be an issue?”

  “Uh well no. But doesn’t the king already have enough books on that? I just gave him all my goods one near a fortnight ago.”

  “They worked well but my brother required one with stronger magic, we could hardly bend eight Greyhounds to our will.”

  “You need the right person to command it, Princess. I do not condone the king using vicious magics, even on rebels and criminals.”

  “Well the King does not care what you condone, only that you do your duty to the one whom you serve. Will we have an issue?”

  That caused Myles to let out a sigh. He shook his head. Best not argue with a woman who could have him castrated at a whim.

  “No m’dy, no issue. The books are on my desk, take what you please. I need to be at Tideus for the service of the Mage.”

  “Then be gone, boy.”

  Myra snarled at him. He hurried away quickly, having made a fool of himself in front of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  A beautiful face but a wicked heart, just like her vicious king brother. Vile fiends, both of them.

  He scowled as he thought of strangling Myra for the things she’d said, Myles knew he could never do such a thing. But even touching a fair maids neck was something to dream of. A wife was something he could only imagine, who would marry a rebel's son condemned to live in service of the realm. A Magess by his side, rexing him after an evening of reading. Idiotic thoughts for an idiotic boy.

  He pondered on the life service as he walked down the spire, a life chained to the will of books and queries, a life of helping. A life of helping did not sound bad, it was the person he was helping who was bad.

  Titans, life is relentless.

  Myles hated being a rebel's son, hated reading, hated being a mage. This wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. A loveless and miserable life spent with the worst king the Titans could have chosen, Myles had decided to be content with that even if he was not. Better than to be executed, like father, if he rebelled.

  Myles wandered down the steps and into the Grand Pace of Faeton, he wondered whether Faeton would be renamed to Renton

  Renton just sounds dull, not that Faeton doesn’t either. King Damon hasn’t changed the name of this fine city yet, so I doubt he will anytime soon.

  Faeton was indeed a fine city, crafted by the Fae’s nearly five hundred years ago and made the Capital of the Imperial Isles of Soren. The King’s ruled the High East, like the Dukes of the Cardinal Kingdoms. Seven Dukes to Eight Kingdoms, with a King to keep them in line.

  Myles could only mope as he walked to the Tideus, a temple dedicated to the Titans and sometimes the gods. A temple to the Gods of the Book of Stallions and Serpents was a Basilica, if a temple was to both it was the Tideus and Basilica.

  He walked past the Imperial Guards, looking down at the floor out of cowardice and shame. Myles knew he could never be as strong or brave as them, he didn’t deserve to look in their eyes. They wore red cloaks, and great armor.

  The Pace’s Eastwing had it’s own private Tideus, and a tiny Basilica for those who wished to pray. Myles made his way through the vish and ornate pace, the carpet being a silk red and soft to step on. He found the great oaken doors to the Tideus, the Basilica and Tideus weren’t attached but rather very close together, it was only down the hall.

  Myles took a gulp, dipping his fingers in the lukewarm bowl of water that was mounted on the wall next to the door, he wiped the water down his gabel and across his forehead in a T shape in honor of the Titans. His legs quivered.

  I despise funerals, nothing but sappy bastards crying a river. I better not be the sappy bastard, not again.

  He resolved himself by taking a deep breath, amping himself up. He could do this, he knew he could do this. Myles had done this in the past, he’d gone to his Lord father’s funeral and balled like a baby, perhaps he could not do this then.

  Myles felt queasy, He took a deep breath again. His legs seemed to forget that they were attached to a person who needed to go inside and pay his respects to a great man. Gren was like a second-father to Myles at Faeton, as Myles became a ward of a King, he truly became a ward to Grenard Storm. Myles had nearly forgotten that Gren’s full name was Grenard, a simple Storm living in the slums of Faetown until stealing from the High Mage and being taken under his wing, that was nearly 70 years ago now, back when King Theseus III ruled these nds. Myles thought about how Gren’s master was leading him into a sughter if he wasn’t worthy of the touch, that touch of magic inside every High Mage, every Tarnished, himself. How did Gren’s master know he was worthy? How did Gren know he was worthy?

  Gren served three kings in his lifetime, Theseus first, then his son Thaddeus I before finally dying whilst serving Damon the Usurper. Gren had seen the nds ravaged by war time and time again, he was a good man who served the realm, Myles knew that Gren despised Damon just as much as he did but Gren never said a word.

  Duty over honor, duty over belief, duty over everything. Gren was my father, and I shall do my duty as his apprentice.

  The sound of a cane and footsteps spooked Myles as he turned his face, meeting face to face with the White Boar. Myles slowly panned up his vision, towards that thing, that monster, that cripple.

  “Dear Mage, scared?”

  Cedric Palefoot said to Myles in a low and deep voice, smirking and showing off his yellow-tinged teeth. His cane smacked on the ground as he walked, it being engraved and adorned with silver and jewels, the pommel being a boar’s head.

  “Palefoot, no .. no.”

  Myles shook his head, lying as he was quite fearful of the Albino.

  “Palefoot, we’re on nicknames already? Is it the cane that scares you? I won’t whack you over the head, not unless you get on my bad side, young buck.”

  The Palefoot had an unnerving smile, pale eyes that had nothing behind them. His eye color was a light grey, not as waxy white as his skin though.

  “I didn’t know that Palefoot was a nickname but … no, no. The cane doesn’t bother me, Sir.”“Palefoot started out that way, before I cimed it for my own when I was knighted. Is it the foot then? Quite ugly I know.”

  Myles gnced down at the twisted clubfoot that Cedric lived with, he gnced back up to the Pale man’s face. The Palefoot tapped his boot with his cane. Cedric was quite thick in some areas, his neck and belly especially but he held an unnerving handsomeness to him, that if were not an albino nor clubfoot he could be quite the catch. He had near white eyes, and tied back silver hair. He stood upright at six-foot which dwarfed the five-six Myles.

  “No, the foot could not bother me. You cannot do anything about it. But you are … y’know quite …”

  “Scary? Unnerving?”

  The White Boar finished Myle’s sentences.

  Holy Lothor, this guy is begging to be a part of the creepshow in the circus. He must be doing this intentionally, no one is this creepy if they didn’t mean so. Myles shook his head.

  Nope, no, nah. It’s the uh you know, funeral. Quite the … downer on the old … moral.” Myles nodded awkwardly, gulping. It was hard to feel mournful when he was about to piss his breeches in terror.

  “Right, of course. Sorry, silly me. I’m always so self-conscious about the foot, and the paleness. Especially around young bucks like you.” Cedric put his pale, sweaty hand on Myles shoulder, caressing it in a weird, too forward way that could be hidden under the guise of awkward consoling.

  “Yep, I totally understand that … Ceddy. So did you know Gren then?” Myles was freezing up, why on the titan’s cold earth did he call him Ceddy. Myles had decided to hang himself at the first opportunity lest he see Ceddy around and embarrass himself, or continue to get touched. No, I'm too craven for that. And it would be too easy really. Myles told himself, He gulped as Cedric kept caressing him. Cedric was a man well into his thirties and Myles was a boy barely out of his childhood.

  “Ceddy, ha. I knew a boy back in Narvos who called me that, sweet boy, very sweet boy.”

  “Narvos? You’ve been to Arakia?” Myles enquired, he had never met anyone from Arakia. Not truly meeting them, he had gnced at them whilst in the court and King Damon had the Arakean gold eyes due to his Fae heritage, but that did not count. Cedric did not look like the“Oh yes, dear buck. I have been far and wide. Travelling circuses, sve encampments. My early life was quite fun until I came here.”“Circuses, woah, so fun. So about Gren then.” Knew he was a clown really. Myles moved his arm back Cedric so he would stop caressing it, Cedric licked his full white lips. A shiver went down Myles' back and he felt bile at the back of throat.

  “Work colleagues, friends. That sort.” Cedric told Myles in a breathy, half whisper.

  “Right, a High Mage deals a lot in ledgers and ws and all that boring stuff then?”“More than you know.”

  “Oh, right then. Sounds … fun for me since I’m the new Hi-” Don’t cut me off, you freak. Myles could not believe he was interrupted, there was no need for that. He obviously wasn’t going to compin to the very scary pale man, but he was still seething. The awkward smalltalk was not making the Palefoot limp away on his pale foot.“High Mage, we know.” Cedric gave him a little nod, his smirk going up and down his lips, quivering almost. Salivating.“We?” Myles was worried, worried over nothing hopefully.

  “The court, the people, Faeton.”

  “Oh … okay.” He let out a small sigh of relief, the only shadowy order he should worry about was the Fraternity. Peasants were the least of his worries. But still, the thought of the court and King’s council thinking about him made Myles sweat a little. Eyes on me, so many eyes.

  “Oh? The job is indeed quite boring but Gren did his duty, a mighty duty. I too do a duty to the King. A lush duty, just for me.” Cedric spoke of duty but Myles thought he was fill of codswallop.

  You know nothing of duty, you wouldn’t know duty if it kicked you in the teeth. Duty isn’t torturing men into confessing their crimes, duty isn’t causing pain, duty is the death of will . The only will you know is the one you write on behalf of dead men.

  “By being his justice?” Myles responded, he wanted to be snarky and confident but it came out as a meek question. He was a fool to think that the Lord Justicar, the Lord of Torture would ever feel his wrath.

  “His gavel in flesh, pale white flesh. I speak with the king’s word, I dispense the King’s justice on those who oppose it. Judge and jury alike, me alone, I do that.”

  Myles stayed silent, not quite knowing what to say.

  “Being the court’s only form of Jury does cause quite a lot of stress, it turned my hair white with the stress.” Cedric told Myles, his thin milky lips pulling taut into an unnerving smirk. His smirk was like it was on a string, being pulled tight every few seconds before dropping back down into a gaze of nothingness.

  Myles tried to wrap his head around the enigma that was Sir Cedric Palefoot, the White Boar. And yet he could not figure it out. The Mage stood in awkwardness, confusion, uneasiness. He wondered if Cedric was japeing with him, was he messing with Myles the whole time?

  “You seem weary, boy? Funeral getting you down or something else?”

  “Nothing, ‘tis nothing. Just some letters and ledgers, I have nought the time for it all.” Myles tried to shrug it off, not caring much. The letters were the least of his worries. And the ledgers just confused him, why would a High Mage get financial records? He did see Gren with them just before he passed, but he couldn’t figure out what they were for. Perhaps they were for the Fraternity, did Gren have to manage their income? Did the High Mages even get income?

  “Letters of loveliness I hope, who could have a bad word about Gren the Storm?” Cedric spoke as if he was Gren’s best friend, his confidant and everything else a friend could be. But Myles knew that was a facade, Gren had mumbled a few loathings about the Palefoot in private with Myles.

  “More than a few, and he apparently took a loan before his death so that just adds to worries.”

  Myles’s words fell out of his mouth, he could help it. Theobald Merdus’s letter was on the mind, demanding gold, since he began thinking about the ledgers. Myles knew the ledgers weren’t reted to the loan, the gold owed was different in the ledgers compared to the letter sent by Merdus. The ledgers did have a list of names, maybe Gren’s name was on there. I ought to have a good sift through those.

  “A loan? Is that the work of … Mister Merdus perhaps?” Cedric smirked further.

  “Yes, actually. How did you know this?” Myles was perplexed once more. Did Cedric know more than he let on, or was Merdus just a loan shark who did this to more than just Gren.

  “Let us just say that Merdus has a big shadow, but a little tree. Though he has a few friends who are the opposite so keep vigint and frugal.”

  “What? What does that me-” Myles was cut off by Cedric.

  “We have high hopes for the High Mage, pity that Grenard took the young hawk so te in his life. But he could not have chosen any better to take but a young buck, full of vigor and might to enthuse the old man. Little wonder he abandoned the Mageson for the true Mage’s son.” Cedric’s eyebrows raised one after the other as he gave Myles a leering smirk.

  Myles nodded, more confused than ever. He seriously could not tell what just happened. He stood in shock, His head hurting a little. ”Better get to the funeral, see you around Sir Palefoot.” Myles needed to leave, fuck his own questions about Merdus.

  “I hope so, young buck. I will be certaining be seeing to you, and seeing you. Anything you need, young hawk, just say the word and me and my Palefoot will see to you that it’s well taken care off.

  Myles nodded with a nervous smile, his feet remembering to move to get away from the fucking weirdo. I hope I don’t see that freak around again.

  Myles thought as he pushed the door open. He entered the Tideus, the gold lined walls, the candle light, the graceful steps that led upwards to the body. Candebra lined the walls in warm, buttery golden light. Phoenix’s were engraved in the walls, the Phoenix of Fae no doubt. The steps made of pure gold, a thief’s paradise. A crowd was gathered by the steps, some standing but most on benches lined with gold, or golden paint maybe, it was hard to tell what was a simple trick of Fae to help boast about their gold supply without actually dispying it. Was anything real at all

  Myles wondered. What was the point of the shiny yellow if not, perhaps it was because gold was the house color of Fae and not to show wealth? Myles then shook his head, it was obviously to show wealth, any nitwit with one eye could see that.

  I thought Tideus’s were meant for worship of the Titans, not of gold and profit. Gold would be a better thing to pray to instead of nameless, bodiless flecks of pig shit that are called the Titans. Unless they are real, if they are then I don’t mean that … obviously. But who even came up with the Titans, a silly idea, the Gods were a better story but zily written near the end to write them out to expin why we don’t bloody see them anymore. Maybe the gods are only there to shield kids from the idea of genocide and the fact that we are not a good race of people, then why the bloody hell do grown men believe in Lothor and Alia.

  Myles thought grumpily. Years of study of the Book of Stallions and Serpents, learning all about the Godlock, was it all wasted? It was all just a story to expin why Humans and the Elves exist, too bad they can’t coexist. I suppose it’s because we’re Alia’s sons and daughters, and the Elves are Malek’s sons born from shadows.

  He gazed across the hall of people in silent solemnity, Bracken Mageson was there looking half a god with a tear rolling down his cheek. Bracken was tall and handsome, with blonde hair that hints of strawberry blonde in there, with a sword that could hack off a giant’s head, and pristine white armor, he was the pinnacle knight, a man who should sit the Throne. Bracken turned his handsome head, flexing his jaw to any maid that dared see. Myles wondered if he did that intentionally. Brack looked to Myles and wiped away a tear before approaching. Don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me. Oh, titans, he’s going to talk to me, no. Lothor, I beg to take my head. Why does he want to talk to the schmuck that repced him as Gren’s son? Bracken moved beside Myles, ready to speak before the Tidon spoke, the Tidon was the priest of the Tideus. A Tidon was not to be confused by their female counterpart, a Tida.

  “Today we gather to mourn the loss of Grenard, the High Mage. He was not all good, not all bad, a man of duty, a man of honor. He was a man with things we should strive to be like. He had committed bad actions, but we have forgiven him. Because in our hearts, my heart, he made up for in death the sin he committed in life. In the next realm, he may be shackled by guilt, a burden of regret, and that alone is his to carry, but we can make it so we look upon him fondly. These words are to Gren alone, I shall grant you all the right to listen:

  There are people here who might hate you, I am not one of them. You tried to live up to what I believe you, and everyone, could be. And that is what the Titans guide us to do, to do our best. Grenard, oh Grenard, you shall be welcomed into the Frozen Pins with a bnket wrapped around your shoulders and a light in your hand because you did try in life, more than others. We cannot hold death to the same standard of life, every man deserves forgiveness and peace. A man of youth will cause the burdens of his old age, and that is the burden that Gren carries. An effort is an effort, and that deserves praise since so many do not try, because they believe if they try they will fail. Perhaps Gren failed to atone in life, perhaps he did. It is not our pce to say anymore.”

  The Tidon finished finally, walking down the golden steps. The Tidon wore robes lined with gold, fine silks of yellow and red. Myles couldn’t decide if that it was or wasn’t a half shabby speech about death and forgiveness. It did drag a little in the end. He did wonder what kind of man Gren was in his youth to be so hated by a few people, then Myles thought perhaps it was better not to sully the memory. He gnced to Bracken next to him, trying not to roll his eyes at this pristine knight.

  “Myles, how are you holding up?” Bracken spoke warmly, smiling like an older brother. Myles mented at why this asshole was so nice.

  “How am I holding? How are you holding up … Bracken?” Myles simply had no clue how to speak with Bracken and it made him want to curl up into a ball and bawl his eyes.

  “How am I holding up? C’mon, how are you holding up, Myles.” Bracken put an emphasis on the word You. Myles couldn’t believe he was stuck in this conversation, it was like a game of chicken to see who would say their feelings first. You’ve just repeated what I fucking said, you stupid bastard! Myles bit his tongue. He shrugged.

  “Fine, a little queasy and nervous but fine. Doesn’t feel quite real to me, y’know. I feel like I’m … I feel like he’s not really gone.”

  Myles was borderline lying, he didn’t feel anything really, all he felt was the knot in his stomach. He felt empty, like an empty skin of wine or a tome with no pages written in it.

  “I get what you mean, bro. I feel like I’m gonna wake up in my bed and then I’ll see dad in the spire in the middle of the day. But the only pce I’ll see dad is .. at the top of those steps.” Bracken gave a little point to the golden steps. Myles nodded, gulping.

  Bro, fucking bro. What an annoying … an annoying, I can’t be bothered. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He did not have the energy to get angry at every little thing that Bracken said, despite wanting too.

  “My, you should go up first. Say some Mage magic or some shit and some time alone with dad.”

  “Mages don’t do magic anymore, Brack. I thought you knew that?” Myles muttered through gritted teeth. For being the son of a Mage, Bracken really had no clue about anything to do with mages, or anything in general. Myles thought that the Mageson had one too many hits on the head during sparring practice. Bracken let out a small and breathy chuckle before mussing up Myles’s brown locks.

  “Go, I mean it. Well maybe after King D gets down.” Bracken looked down at Myles, giving him the warmest smile that Myles had ever seen, the kind of smile that could light a dry forest and turn it into a raging fire. His smile looked just like Gren’s, too much like Gren’s.

  King D, heh. That made Myles smirk and nearly ugh but he shook it off. He looked up the golden steps and saw Damon looming over the body, his back to Myles. He wore nightbck armor, a bck Arakean Steel Sword, and his crown with 8 sharp points in it. Myles felt sick when he saw the sword, that damned sword. Every night he saw that sword swing, hacking off his father’s head. Every night he saw it, it haunted him, loomed over him. If it was Myles, he’d melt the thing down. How much blood is on that sword, how many lives cut short by that sharp, dark bde. Too many, too damn many. Then Damon turned around, with thunderous steps. Damn near every leg in the hall quivered when they saw Damon Ren, the Bear on the Throne, the Bck Bear of Soren.

  “Grenard Mageson! His son got him the st name of Mageson, ironic considering he was the mage. But Gren preferred Storm, he was but a humble man, always was. He did his duty, to the realm and the crown. He was a noble man and every person in this hall, in this realm, can strive to be like him. Gren was no friend of mine, I’ll admit that, but he was loyal and fair. I was saddened when I heard that the chill of the growing season cut his long life short.”

  Damon gave his speech to the crown, he looked like a King, a warrior. The voice of the king made men’s knees shudder, Northern with a slightly eastern twinge. He sounded Northern since he was a boy fostered in the North, high or low, Myles could never remember. He left the North at sixteen, returning home before raising his banners against his kin. The Kinsying Kingsyer King, that was Damon. His eyes were golden, sparkled as such, Fae Gold littered Ren’s eyes because of how often the two married each other. He had a widow's peak and coal-bck hair that was slicked back, he was towering and imposing. He had crows feet around his eyes, typical of a man of near fourty. He was an unmarried man, having sired no heirs yet.

  Damon’s feet pounded on the golden steps, echoing it throughout the halls as he descended. He gave a nod to Myles as he passed him and out the Tideus, Myles went as pale as Cedric. Myles saw no one else going to climb the steps so he took a step for himself. Might as well, say some st words to the old man that’s not just tears.

  Myles gnced around the hall on the first step, not quite knowing what to do and nervous to keep climbing up. Then he caught the golden gaze of Myra as she entered the Tideus, he smiled like a fool when he saw her gorgeous face and she gave him some bats of her long eyeshes and acted depressed at the death. She lies in public, it's still nice though. Myra Ren, a beautiful humbug. I cannot stay mad. Drakes shall be known for their weak spines for being stepped on.

  He was half-lidded and deep in his daydreams about making Myra his Magess, having beautiful Drake sons with golden eyes, overthrowing the king in favor for Myra as Queen and him as King, then their son could rule one day, a Drake on the Imperial Throne, that’s how he knew he it was a dream. King Myles of the House Imperial Drake, that’d be nice. No it wouldn’t, being king would be such hard work. I’d have a heart attack in less than three weeks, best leave that to the big leagues. He took another step, and wondered if the body would smell. Gren did die over three days ago, was that enough for decomposition to set it?

  Probably, you’d hope it would. Would be hard for people trying to dispose of a body if it decays after three days, well if you were going to murder someone you’d want to have a pn to get rid of as soon as possible, if you didn’t then that’s just sloppy business. I’m stalling . Bad habits thrive in the best of times for Myles.

  Myles had realized that he was trying to do anything but go up these stairs and look at the old man. I must look like a big freak, standing here, not climbing the steps. Bloody hell, c’mon, it’s not bad, it’s the corpse of the closest thing you’ve had to a father. No, it’s bad, definitely bad.

  Myles knew he didn’t want to see Gren’s body, pale and lifeless, no soul left, no more Gren, only a vessel in which he used to expose the world to Gren. That wasn’t Gren, Gren was gone .

  Myles rubbed his forehead, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. He felt like he was about to topple off the steps despite only being on the second one.

  I’m taking too long, I can’t get down, I can’t look weak. Go up or get down, but I can’t get down and I can’t go up. Maybe I can just stay here? That’d be fine … I’m lying, that’d be awful and I know it.

  This mental battle and the rise of two steps had only really taken about twenty seconds and it looked to every in the crowd that it was just natural grief and nerves. Myles weighed his options of the worst things to happen to him: His perfect image of Gren being shattered, or the cadaver attacking him. He let out a deep breath, hung his head low and walked up the steps until he reached the golden block that Gren’s body rested on. Gren’s face was a sickly grey, eyes closed, big bushy white beard covering his jaw and a bald head.

  Empty, just like me. Myles sighed, a tear rolling his cheek before he wiped it away, determined not to be the mopey fool at the funeral.

  “You’re gone, well and truly. Why the fuck would you be so selfish? You’ve left me in the lion's den, or the bear pit more like.” Myles whispered to the body, scowling before he sighed and the anger washed away. He turned to the crowd, they looked up at him, ants before the High Mage. Then words fell out of his lips.

  “I’m uh … Myles of House Drake, Gren’s apprentice and new High Mage and Head of House Drake. You may know the Drakes from the rebellion over a decade ago, yeah .. same Drakes. King Damon took me as a ward when I could have easily become a Storm, I was alone and scared and Gren made me feel different. He made me feel at home here in the Grand Pace, these empty walls got less empty with him in it. Me and Gren had good times and bad, like anyone. He taught me how to write and read, taught me alchemy and how to tie my shoeces. I guess Gren must have seen something in me that no else did, he was good like that.”

  Myles didn’t know where he was going or what he was saying, but it was all falling out of his mouth even when he wished it didn’t. Myles wished he was back in bed, back at home, his real home, not this pace. He ran a hand through his mess of brown hair. Sweat on his brown.

  “I was a nobody before Gren took me into the Spire and taught me all the tricks of being a mage, I was alone and scared in the lion’s den of people my father tried to dethrone and only Gren made me feel like I belong. He was a good man, one of the few I’ve met. He had his fws, who doesn’t? Yeah he was distant to his true kids, and put his duty as a Mage above being a husband and father but I respect him all the more. Without Grenard Storm, I’d probably be dead or wishing I was. And now I have no clue what I am going to do without him, and I truly wish this was different but wishes are no more true than dreams. Gren, what’s more to say, he was a good man, what else did anyone want from him?”

  He looked out to the crowd, his face unblinking and unnervingly full of nothing and saw it back in the crowd, a few people snickered, a few sobbed, most were silent. Myles shrugged and walked down the steps, he hoped for appuse but heard nothing but deafening silence.