.𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘴𝘩.

FENRIR

Fenrir watched as the last members of the company wandered into the war room. Bellinor was last – and at the sight of him Fenrir raised a single eyebrow. The man’s attire was… interesting, to say the least. Still, he did not say anything, choosing to turn and check through his belongings one last time. Once they’d departed, there would be no turning back. Anything that was forgotten would be left behind. Fenrir’s hand brushed against a polished metal disc in his pack, and his fingers reflexively closed around it. He knew what it was without removing it. He exhaled, and forced his hand to relax, releasing the object. He’d almost left it behind, but found that the thought of not having some piece of his mother, even if it was an old, faded portrait held within a locket, was too much to bear. He’d stowed it away where it would be safe. Distantly, he heard Bellinor talking to Shayne. He heard her quip something about the foreign king’s attire in her usual dry, sarcastic tone.

“Shall we?” Kaiva said, and Fenrir blinked, his momentary reverie broken.

“In a moment,” Fenrir replied. He flicked a glance to his brother, gaze questioning.

“The king has taken ill, and regrets that he is unable to send you off with good tidings,” Alistair told his elder brother. He offered a slight brow. “He sends me in his stead, and hopes that you will forgive any insult. He will be there to welcome you home.”

Fenrir inclined his head in response. His brow furrowed slightly, and his jaw clenched, but he had no other outward sign of distress at Alistiar’s words. Internally, however, he was roiling with pain and sorrow and anger. His father knew how dangerous this mission was – knew that everything Fenrir did, and would do, was to ensure the safety and prosperity of their kingdom and yet… and yet he could not even be bothered to wish his son a farewell. Taken ill? Hardly. More likely he’d had far too much drink last night, and didn’t feel like rousing this morn.

“Is everyone prepared?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. They would not have shown were they unprepared. Kaiva stood from her chair and shouldered her pack. Fenrir did the same, and gestured that everyone should follow him. He led the way to the secret entrance in silence, with the rest of his company trailing behind him. His brother, Alistair, walked alongside and slightly behind him, deferring to Fenrir as the Crown Prince. It was like a funeral procession, moving through the castle. Finally, they reached their destination. Fenrir stood before the door, silent.

It was an unassuming thing, for the most part; only someone who knew what they were looking for would be able to find it. There was barely any seam in the wall to denote any change in structure. Fenrir stepped forward, and pressed his right hand against one of the stones of the wall. He applied pressure, and the stone slid inward with a grinding sound. There was a series of clicking noises, before finally the door began to move. It pulled inward, and then moved aside, revealing a dark tunnel beyond. He turned to face the rest of his company. “Before us lies the path that will take us into the heart of the mountain,” he began. “I do not know what we will find when we reach it, nor what else may be lurking in the shadows. There are far worse things than trolls in the deep places of the earth.” He met the gaze of each member in turn. “For those who travel with me, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you wish.”

He turned, and grabbed a lit torch from the wall. When he moved towards the door, he glanced at his brother.

Alistair spread his wings slightly, and spoke so that his voice resonated with authority. “In the name of King Rolnar, Lord and Sovereign of Traeterra, I bid thee farewell upon this journey. Hold to your purpose, my friends, and know that the blessings of this kingdom go with you. May the gods light your way.”

With that, Fenrir stepped into the tunnel, and was shortly swallowed by the darkness. Only the glow of his torch chased the shadows away. “Let us begin,” he said. “A long journey lay before us.”

He did not see as Alistair caught Kaiva’s eye; something brief passed between the two. The youngest prince watched as each member of the company, including both of his siblings, entered the darkness of the mountain.

HELIKE

As of late, Helike’s life had been like the slow, repetitive turning of a wheel. She arose each morning in the palace barracks (which were mostly empty because of the war; only a few soldiers such as herself were stationed permanently in the capital). Then she had breakfast in the mess hall (the choices were either fried eggs and bacon or porridge and jam). Then she went about her tasks of the day, which mostly involved patrolling the battlements, trying not to doze off at her station in the king’s throne-room, and joking around with the others of her station. It had been months since her services as a blood donor were even necessary. Only two phoenixes lived in the capital, and they behaved more as socialites than warriors.

Sometimes she trained by sparring with the other soldiers. Or shooting arrows at the hay-stuffed dummies outside the stables.

For the most part, she felt rather useless. It was necessary, of course, that some of those trained in combat remained in the capital to protect the royal family should there be an attack by the Selvans. But the warfront was far from the dragon city. At times, Helike envied her compatriots who spent their days fighting for their country. The wounded returned with outrageous stories of the ice storms created by the Selvan sorcerers or of the brutal sieges in the remaining fortresses. Other days, she was glad for the time she could spend reclining in a chair at the top of the barracks and breathing in the southern sun. She knew she was fortunate. That did not quite take the sting off the boredom of the daily routine and the guilt of not contributing.

It was for this reason, her features perked up at the rumors of the crowned prince’s return to the capital. Word of Fenrir’s arrival spread through the barracks like wildfire. By the time she was off her morning shift in the throneroom, the men were tossing around phrases like “royal hunting party” and “quest into the mountains.” By the afternoon, she’d received orders from her captain to stand guard at the palace walls for the send-off party. Word was, Fenrir was assembling a crew to take into the tunnels. The purpose of the mission was difficult to uncover (some claimed it was related to selvan magic, others believed it was an eccentric goose-chase schemed up by the royal family).

That night, she stood watch while the palace was alight with music and the bright colors of nobility. She could hear the revelry drift down to her quiet station beside the castle walls. The moon was the round face of a familiar friend, one who chose to keep her company rather than attend the party.

But she was not alone for long. When the night was still young, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. It was her captain, a pleasant man by the name of Jasson. He came to join her in the moonlight, leaning his back against the wall to mimic her posture. He was a friend of sorts, as all the soldiers at the capital were.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he had said.

She agreed with a low hum, and tipped her head back to look at the stars.

“I’m not sure if you’re entirely happy here.” This time his words caught her off-guard, and she looked over at the captain, brow furrowed. She did not know how to respond. It seemed like a loaded statement, but it was said in a conversational tone.

Sensing her confusion, Jasson continued, “I’ve told Fenrir you will leave with his crew tomorrow morning. As you’ve heard, I’m sure, he is taking a small party into the mountains on a secret mission. Word is they’re looking for dragons.”

He paused, attempting to read Helike’s face, but clearly failing. “Anyway, they needed a blood donor. Apparently there are several Phoenixes going along, and not enough blood should they fall in battle. I proposed you join them, not just because I think you’ll be useful, but because I think you’re bored here. I can see the need for adventure in your eyes. Though you’re pretty good at hiding it.”

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And that was how Helike found herself descending into the depths of the earth, with nothing but a torch to guide the way. The events had felt like a blur, as pivotal moments often feel. Just a day prior she had been catnapping on the palace walls, and now she was off to hunt a mythical creature with a motley crew.

As they set off, Helike kept mostly to herself. She could tell that several among them were figures of importance. Two of the royal children led the charge into the tunnels. Then there was Bellinor, a real king and a legendary warrior, as well as his son. And there was Kaiva, the “Prodigy” whose mentor had turned the tides of the war decades ago.

Thankfully the blood donor was not easily intimidated. She had spent the last years in the presence of the king and all of the royal court. As a fly on the wall at the palace, she knew people of fame and fortune were just as human as she was, sometimes comically so. So she reserved the right to judge all of them for whatever flaws would soon come to light.

In the meantime, she was focused on not slipping on the cracked steps that led them down, down, down.